«Heat! A stove!» Louki was incredulous. «Your friends in the hifis — what are they? A band of old women?»
«And we also need bandages and medicine,» Mallory went on patiently. «One of our friends has been terribly injured. We are not sure, but we do not think that he will live.»
«Panayis!» Louki barked. «Back to the village.» Louki was speaking in Greek now. Rapidly he issued his orders, had Mallory describe where the rock-shelter was, made sure that Panayis understood, then stood a moment in indecision, puffing at an end of his moustache. At length he looked up at Mallory.
«Could you find this cave again by yourself?»
«Lord only knows,» Mallory said franidy. «I honestly don't think so.»
«Then I must come with you. I had hoped — you see, it will be a heavy load for Panayis — I have told him to bring bedding as well — and I don't think—»
«I'll go along with him,» Miller volunteered. He thought of his back-breaking labours on the caique, the climb up the cliff, their forced march through the mountains. «The exercise will do me good.»
Louki translated his offer to Panayis — taciturn, apparently, only because of his complete lack of English — and was met by what appeared to be a torrent of protest. Miller looked at him in astonishment.
«What's the matter with old sunshine here?» he asked Mallory. «Doesn't seem any too happy to me.»
«Says he can manage O.K. and wants to go by himself,» Mallory interpreted. «Thinks you'll slow him up on the hills.» He shook his bead in mock wonder. «As if any man could slow Dusty Miller up!»
«Exactly!» Louki was bristling with anger. Again he turned to Panayis, fingers stabbing the empty air to emphasise his words. Miller turned, looked apprehensively at Mallory.
«What's he tellin' him now, boss?»
«Only the truth,» Mallory said solemnly. «Saying he ought to be honoured at being given the opportunity of marching with Monsieur Miller, the world-famous American climber.» Mallory grinned. «Panayis will be on his mettle to-night — determined to prove that a Navaronian can climb as well and as fast as any man.»
«Oh, my Gawd!» Miller moaned.
«And on the way back, don't forget to give Panayis a hand up the steeper bits.»
Miller's reply was luckily lost in a sudden flurry of snow-laden wind.
That wind was rising steadily now, a bitter wind that whipped the heavy snow into their bent faces and stung the tears from their blinking eyes. A heavy, wet snow that melted as it touched, and trickled down through every gap and chink in their clothing until they were wet and chilled and thoroughly miserable. A clammy, sticky snow that built up layer after energy-sapping layer under their leaden-footed boots, until they stumbled along inches above the ground, leg muscles aching from the sheer accumulated weight of snow. There was no visibility worthy of the name, not even of a matter of feet, they were blanketed, swallowed up by an impenetrable cocoon of swirling grey and white, unchanging, featureless: Louki strode on diagonally upwards across the slope with the untroubled certainty of a man walking up his own garden path.
Louki seemed as agile as a mountain goat, and as tireless. Nor was his tongue less nimble, less unwearied than his legs. He talked incessantly, a man overjoyed to be in action again, no matter what action so long, as it was against the enemy. He told Mallory of the last three attacks on the island and how they had so bloodily failed — the Germans had been somehow forewarned of the seaborne assault, had been waiting for the Special Boat Service and the Commandos with everything they had and had cut them to pieces, while the two airborne groups had had the most evil luck, been delivered up to the enemy by misjudgment, by a series of unforeseeable coincidences; or how Panayis and himself had on both occasions narrowly escaped with their lives — Panayis had actually been captured the last time, had killed both his guards and escaped unrecognised; of the disposition of the German troops and check-points throughout the island, the location of the road blocks on the only two roads; and, finally, of what little he himself knew of the layout of the fortress of Navarone itself. Panayis, the dark one, could tell him more of that, Louki said: twice Panayis had been inside the fortress, once for an entire night: the guns, the control rooms, the barracks, the officers' quarters, the magazine, the turbo rooms, the sentry points — he knew where each one lay, to the inch.
Mallory whistled softly to himself. This was more than he had ever dared hope for. They had still to escape the net of searchers, still to reach the fortress, still to get inside it. But once inside — and Panayis must know how to get inside… . Unconsciously Mallory lengthened his stride, bent his back to the slope.
«Your friend Panayis must be quite something,» he said slowly. «Tell me more about him, Louki.»
«What can I tell 'you?» Louki shook his head in a little flurry of snowflakes. «What do I know of Panayis? What does anyone know of Panayis? That he has the luck of the devil, the courage of a madman and that sooner the lion will lie down with the lamb, the starving wolf spare the flock, than Panayis breathe the same air as the Germans? We all know that, and we know nothing of Panayis. All I know is that I thank God I am no German, with Panayis on the island. He strikes by stealth, by night, by knife and in the back.» Louki crossed himself. «His hands are full of blood.»
Mallory shivered involuntarily. The dark, sombre figure of Panayis, the memory of the expressionless face, the hooded eyes, were beginning to fascinate him.
«There's more to him- than that, surely,» Mallory argued. «After all, you are both Navaronians—»
«Yes, yes, that is so.»
«This is a small island, you've lived together all your lives—»
«Ah, but that is where the Major is wrong!» Mallory's promotion in rank was entirely Louki's own idea: despite Mallory's protests and explanations he seemed determined to stick to it. «I, Louki, was for many years in foreign lands, helping Monsieur Viachos. Monsieur Viachos,» Louki said with pride, — «is a very important Government official.»
«I know,» Mallory nodded. «A consul. I've met him. He is a very fine man.»
«You have met him! Monsieur Vlachos?» There was no mistaking the gladness, the delight in Louki's voice. «That is good! That is wonderful! Later you must tell me more. He is a great man. Did I ever tell you—»
«We were speaking about Panayis,» Mallory reminded him gently.
«Ah, yes, Panayis. As I was saying, I was away for a long time. When I came back, Panayis was gone. His father had died, his mother had married again and Panayis had gone to live with his stepfather and two little stepsisters in Crete. His stepfather, half-fisherman, halffarmer, was killed in fighting the Germans near, Candia — this was in the beginning. Panayis took over the boat of his father, helped many of the Allies to escape until he was caught by the Germans, strung up by his wrists in the village square — where his family lived — not far from Casteli. He was flogged till the white of his ribs, of his backbone, was there for all to see, and left for dead. Then they burnt the village and Panayis's family — disappeared. You understand, Major?»
«I understand,» Mallory said grimly. «But Panayis—»
«He should have died. But he is tough, that one, tougher than a knot in an old carob tree. Friends cut him down during the night, took him away into the hifis till he was well again. And then he arrived back in Navarone, God knows how. I think he came from island to island in a small rowing-boat. He never says why he came back — I think it gives him greater pleasure to kill on his own native island. I do not know, Major. All I know is that food and sleep, the sunshine, women and wine — all these are nothing and less than nothing to the dark one.» Again Louki crossed himself. «He obeys me, for I am the steward of the Vlachos family, but even I am afraid of him. To kill, to keep on killing, then kill again — that is the very breath of his being.» Louki stopped momentarily, sniffed the air like a hound seeking some fugitive scent, then kicked the snow off his boots and struck off up the hill at a tangent. The little man's unhesitating sur
eness of direction was uncanny.
«How far to go now, Louki?»
«Two hundred yards, Major. No more.» Louki blew some snow off his heavy, dark moustache and swore. «I shall not be sorry to arrive.»
«Nor I.» Mallory thought of the miserable, draughty shelter in the dripping rocks almost with affection. It was becoming steadily colder as they climbed out of the valley, and the wind was rising, climbing up the register with a steady, moaning whine: they had to lean into it now, push hard against it, to make any progress. Suddenly both men stopped, listened, looked at each other, heads bent against the driving snow. Around them there was only the white emptiness and the silence: there was no sign of what had caused the sudden sound.
«You heard something, too?» Mallory murmured.
«It is only I.» Mallory spun round as the deep voice boomed out behind him and the bulky, white-smocked figure loomed out of the snow. «A milk wagon on a cobbled street is as nothing compared to yourself and your friend here. But the snow muffled your voices and I could not be sure.»
Mallory looked at him curiously. «How come you're here, Andrea?»
«Wood,» Andrea explained. «I was looking for firewood. I was high up on Kostos at sunset when the snow lifted for a moment. I could have sworn I saw an old hut in a gully not far from here — it was dark and square against the snow. So I left—»
«You are right,» Louki interrupted. «The hut of old Leri, the mad one. Leri was a goatherd. We all warned him, but Len would listen and speak to no man, only to his goats. He died in his hut, in a landslide.»
«It is an ill wind…» Andrea murmured. «Old Leri will keep us warm to-night.» He checked abruptly as the gully opened up at his feet, then dropped quickly to the bottom, surefooted as a mountain sheep. He whistled twice, a double high-pitched note, listened intently into the snow for the answering whistle, walked swiftly up the gully. Casey Brown, gun lowered, met them at the entrance to the cave and held back the canvas screen to let them pass inside.
The smoking tallow candle, guttering heavily to one side in the icy draught, filled every corner of the cave with dark and flickering shadows from its erratic flame. The candle itself was almost gone, the dripping wick bending over tiredly till it touched the rock, and Louki, snow-suit cast aside, was lighting another stump of candle from the dying flame. For a moment, both candles flared up together, and Mallory saw Louki clearly for the first time — a small, compact figure in a dark-blue jacket black-braided at the seams and flamboyantly frogged at the breast, the jacket tightly bound to his body by the crimson tsanta or cummerbund, and, above, the swarthy, smiling face, the magnificent moustache that he flaunted like a banner. A Laughing Cavalier of a man, a miniature d'Artagnan splendidly behung with weapons. And then Mallory's gaze travelled up to the lined, liquid eyes, eyes dark and sad and permanent ly tired, and his shock, a slow, uncomprehending shock, had barely time to register before the stub of the candle had flared up and died and Louki had sunk back into the shadows.
Stevens was stretched in a sleeping-bag, his breathing harsh and shallow and quick. He had been awake when they had arrived but had refused all food and drink, and turned away and drifted off into an uneasy jerky sleep. He seemed to be suffering no pain at all now: a bad sign, Mallory thought bleakly, the worst possible. He wished Miller would return… .
Casey Brown washed down the last few crumbs of bread with a mouthful of wine, rose stiffly to his feet, pulled the screen aside and peered out mournfully at the falling snow. He shuddered, let the canvas fall, lifted up his transmitter and shrugged into the shoulder straps, gathered up a coil of nope, a torch and a groundsheet. Mallory looked at his watch: it was fifteen minutes to midnight. The routine call from Cairo was ahnost due.
«Going to have another go, Casey? I wouldn't send a dog out on a night like this.»
«Neither would I,» Brown said morosely. «But I think I'd better, sir. Reception is far better at night and I'm going to climb uphill a bit to get a clearance from that damned mountain there; I'd be spotted right away if I tried to do that in daylight.»
«Right you are, Casey. You know best.» Mallory looked at him curiously. «What's all the extra gear for?»
«Putting the set under the groundsheet, then getting below it myself with the torch,» Brown explained. «And I'm pegging the rope here, going to pay it out on my way up. I'd like to be able to get back some time.»
«Good enough,» Mallory approved. «Just watch it a bit higher up. This gully narrows and deepens into a regular ravine.»
«Don't you worry about me, sir.» Brown said firmly. «Nothing's going to happen to Casey BrOwn.» A snow-laden gust of wind, the flap of the canvas and Brown was gone.
«Well, if Brown can do it …» Mallory was on his feet now, pulling his snow-smock over his head. «Fuel, gentlemen — old Leri's hut. Who's for a midnight stroll?»
Andrea and Louki were on their feet together, but Mallory shook his head.
«One's enough. I think someone should stay to look after Stevens.»
«He's sound asleep,» Andrea murmured. «He can come to no harm in the short time we are away.»
«I wasn't thinking of that. It's just that we can't take the chance of him falling into German hands. They'd make him talk, one way or another. It would be no fault of his — but they'd make him talk. It's too much of a risk.»
«Pouf!» Louki snapped his fingers. «You worry about nothing, Major. There isn't a German within miles of here. You have my word.»
Mallory hesitated, then grinned. «You're right. I'm getting the jumps.» He bent over Stevens, shook him gently. The boy stirred and moaned, opened his eyes slowly.
«We're going out for some firewood,» Mallory said. «Back in a few minutes. You be O.K.?»
«Of course, sir. What can happen? Just leave a gun by my side — and blow out the candle.» He smiled. «Be sure to call out before you come in!»
Mallory stooped, blew out the candle. For an instant the flame flared then died and every feature, every per-V son in the cave was swallowed up in the thick darkness of a winter midnight. Abruptly Mallory turned on his heel and pushed out through the canvas into the drifting, wind-blown snow already filling up the floor of the gully, Andrea and Louki close behind.
It took them ten minutes to find the ruined hut of the old goatherd, another five for Andrea to wrench the door off its shattered hinges and smash it up to manageable lengths, along with the wood from the bunk and table, another ten to carry back with them to the rockshelter as much wood as they could conveniently rope together and carry. The wind, blowing straight north off Kostos, was in their faces now — faces numbed with the chill, wet lash of the driving snow, and blowing almost at gale force: they were not sorry to reach the gully again, drop down gratefully between the sheltering walls.
Mallory called softly at the mouth of the cave. There was no reply, no movement from inside. He called again, listened intently as the silent seconds went by, turned his head and looked briefly at Andrea and Louki. Carefully, he laid his bundle of wood in the snow, pulled out his Colt and torch, eased aside the curtain, lamp switch and Colt safety-catch clicking as one.
The spotlight beam lit up the floor at the mouth of the cave, passed on, settled, wavered, probed into the farthest corner of the shelter, returned again to the middle of the cave and steadied there as if the torch were clamped in a vise. On the floor there was only a crumpled, empty sleeping-bag. Andy Stevens was gone.
CHAPTER 9
Tuesday Night
00:15--02:00
«So I was wrong,» Andrea murmured. «He wasn't asleep.»
«He certainly wasn't,» Mallory agreed grimly. «He fooled me too--and he heard what I said.» His mouth twisted. «He knows now why we're so anxious to look after him. He knows now that he was right when he spOke about a mill-stone. I should hate to feel the way he must be feeling right now.»
Andrea nodded. «It is not difficult to guess why he has gone.»
Mallory looked quickly at his watch, pu
shed his way out of the cave.
«Twenty minutes — he can't have been gone more than twenty minutes. Probably a bit less to make sure we were well clear. He can only drag himself — fifty yards at the most. We'll find him in four minutes. Use your torches and take the hoods off — nobody will see us in this damn' blizzard. Fan out uphill — I'll take the gully in the middle.»
«Uphill?» Louki's hand was on his arm, his voice puzzled. «But his leg—»
«Uphill, I said,» Mallory broke in impatiently. «Stevens has brains — and a damn' sight more guts than he thinks we credit him with. He'll figure we'll think he's taken the easy way.» Mallory paused a moment, then went on sombrely: «Any dying man who drags himself out in this lot is going to do nothing the easy way. Come on!»
They found him in exactly three minutes. He must have suspected that Mallory wouldn't fall for the obvious, or he had heard them stumbling up the slope, for he had managed to burrow his way in behind the overhanging snowdrift that sealed off the space beneath a projecting ledge just above the rim of the gully. An almost perfect place of concealment, but his leg betrayed him: in the probing light of his torch Andrea's sharp eyes caught the tiny trickle of blood seeping darkly through the surface of the snow. He was already unconscious when they uncovered him, from cold or exhaustion or the agony of his shattered leg: probably from all three.
Back in the cave again, Mallory tried to pour some ouzo — the fiery, breath-catching local spirit — down Ste vens's throat. He had a vague suspicion that this might be dangerous — or perhaps it was only dangerous in cases of shock, his memory was confused on that point — but it seemed better than nothing. Stevens gagged, spluttered and coughed most of it back up again, but some at least stayed down. With Andrea's help Mallory tightened the loosened splints on the leg, staunched the oozing blood, and spread below and above the boy every dry covering he could find in the cave. Then he sat back tiredly and fished out a cigarette from his waterproof case. There was nothing more he could do until Dusty Miller returned with Panayis from the village. He was pretty sure that there was nothing that Dusty could do for Stevens either. There was nothing anybody could do for him.
The guns of Navaronne Page 16
