The High Valley
Page 6
He bowed his head. “I agree. I am not a sadist, Morgana. Accommodation is being prepared for them, and they will be adequately looked after.”
“But you can't just accommodate fifty-seven people indefinitely!” she protested.
“I do not intend to. Our plans are almost complete.” He frowned. “Besides, many more than that number live in this valley.”
“Yes, but the people who live here are used to it. Those people from the plane – they have families, relatives anxious to know that they are safe! Don't you care about that?”
His face darkened. “Of course I care. But we needed that plane, and if there had been any other way –” He broke off abruptly as Manoel came into the room.
Manoel gave Morgana a straight glance and then saluted his superior as before. “Sim, patrão!”
Luis moved towards him. “The senhorita's luggage is on the plane,” he said. “I would have you bring it here for her.”
“Sim, patrão.”
“No – wait!” Morgana shook her head. “Please – let me go back to the others. There is no need to make me different from them!”
Luis gave her an impatient glance. “The cases, Manoel,” he directed, briefly.
“No! Why won't you let me go back?” Morgana spread her hands. “At least let me go back and assure them of my safety!”
Luis appeared to consider this thoughtfully, and then he gave a slight lift of his shoulders. “Very well, Morgana, if that is what you want. I can see no harm in that. But you will return with Manoel, is this understood?”
“Oh, yes – yes!” Morgana was eager. She looked at Manoel. “Can we go at once?”
Manoel looked to his superior for guidance and received an affirmative nod before indicating that Morgana should precede him through the passageway to the front of the building. Morgana glanced back once at Luis to see his reaction, and met his tawny gaze. For the first time she saw something stir in the depths of his eyes, some vague sign of emotion disturb his otherwise enigmatic features, and her heart jerked ridiculously. She was a fool and an idiot, she thought, furious with herself for her vulnerability, and yet there was something particularly moving about the sight of him standing there alone, as though his isolation was responsible for his impersonality, and for an absurd moment she did not want to leave.
And then she looked at Manoel and reason asserted itself. If he was alone, it was because he wanted to be alone. It was madness for her to feel sympathy for a man who so ruthlessly cut off all those people from any means of communication with their families, who organised an illegal army of revolutionaries, and who used any means in his power to get what he wanted.
With decisive steps she passed Manuel and walked swiftly down the passageway to the freedom beyond the verandah.
CHAPTER IV
THE Land Rover drove through the village and Morgana was able to take her first proper look at her surroundings. The houses which had seemed so menacing last night looked much less sinister this morning with the sunlight casting deep shadows over porches and verandahs, highlighting the climbing mimosa and tropical vegetation. There were even roses growing at the road side contrasting vividly with the violent colours of wilder blossoms that flowered indiscriminately. Beyond the houses, orchards of trees stretched as far as the eye could see, some of them laden with fruit just ripening. There was livestock of every kind, and Morgana realised that the valley must be self-supporting, and no doubt crops were grown and corn ground into flour by methods long obsolete elsewhere. It was a small kingdom, complete in itself, and the ideal place for gathering an army.
Leaving the village behind they began to ascend the road that wound up into the mountains, and Morgana marvelled that somewhere among these towering ranges was a plateau large enough to take a plane. Looking back, the valley appeared rich and fertile, the river winding its turbulent way over the rocks and stones of the valley floor.
But now Morgana's attention turned to the aircraft and its whereabouts and she glanced curiously at Manoel wishing he was more communicative. At least he had not threatened her with his gun, and he had not considered they required an escort. He was driving today, and she was seated beside him.
The road was getting rougher, reminding her of her ordeal the night before when she had descended this very track full of apprehension. She leaned forward in her seat, trying to see beyond the encroaching cover of trees and presently her concentration was rewarded as, between the trees, still some distance above them, she glimpsed the pale grey fuselage of the aircraft. The Land Rover was labouring up the steep track now, and she gripped her seat with her fingers tightly.
Manoel finally glanced her way and said: “Do not be alarmed. The vehicle is more than equal to the task.”
Morgana relaxed a little and took the opportunity to speak to him. “Is it much further?”
“No, not much further. This is the worst part of the climb but we are near the plateau.”
The sun was very hot now, and Morgana, who had left her coat at the hacienda, rubbed her bare arm thoughtfully. “Have the other passengers been allowed to get at their luggage?”
“Not yet, senhorita. When they are transported to their quarters, their luggage will accompany them, why?”
“It's so hot! I thought perhaps they might have been allowed a change of clothes.”
Manoels expression hardened. “This is not a vacancia senhorita. It is unfortunate that these people are our – our –”
“Why don't you say it?” she challenged him. “We're your prisoners, aren't we?”
“Prisoners are treated rather more intolerantly,” he replied, suavely. “Believe me, senhorita, you are all very lucky to be here. There are other forces in the area who are less scrupulous!”
Morgana sighed. “Even so, you have no right to keep us here. Destroying all chance of communication between us and our families!”
Manoel's fingers tightened on the wheel. “You were brought here on the orders of O Halcão,” he observed, with remarkable tolerance. “Nothing was said to make me believe that I must discuss your situation with you, its merits or otherwise.” He swung the Land Rover over the rise and Morgana saw the full length of the plateau for the first time. “But I repeat. Have a care. O Halcão has a limit to his patience, and while at the moment your position seems secure, it could so easily be reversed!”
“What do you mean?” Morgana stared at him.
“Some other time, senhorita.“ Manoel stopped the Land Rover. “Come. We have arrived.”
The vehicle had stopped outside a collection of huts at the edge of the airstrip, some distance from the tilted hulk of the plane. Its grey and steel exterior glinted in the bright sunlight, and Morgana could see curious faces at the ports. She wanted to wave, but she decided it might be better to wait before using her own initiative.
Manoel escorted her across to the huts and as they approached a door opened and a man appeared. At first Morgana hung back, but at sight of the man, she visibly relaxed. It was Vittorio Salvador. His long moustaches twitched in semblance of a smile, and then he gave his attention to what Manoel was saying in his fluent patois. Vittorio nodded several times, and then as Manoel finished he looked at Morgana.
“Well, senhorita,” he said, amiably, pulling out a half-smoked cigar and placing it between his teeth. “You are looking well this morning. Have you met O Halcão?”
Morgana nodded a little impatiently. “Yes, of course.”
“Were you surprised?”
“Did you suspect otherwise?”
Vittorio shrugged. “We thought perhaps – but never mind! Come. Manoel tells me you are here to collect your cases.”
“I should like to speak to the passengers if I may, just to assure them I'm still alive.”
Vittorio compressed his lips. “Do you think that's wise?”
Morgana frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Well, last night when you were taken from the plane I was told there were some murmurs of protest.”
“No, cara, you do not understand. It was suggested that perhaps you were not as innocent as you would have them believe!”
Morgana's eyes were wide with dismay. “But – but who would suggest such a thing?” she expostulated.
Vittorio tipped his head from side to side, shrugging his slightly stooping shoulders. “Who knows?” he said.
Morgana stared at him exasperatedly. “You do,” she said, with certainty. “It was someone here, wasn't it? One of these men! Who – who spoke to them last night? After I had left?”
Vittorio shrugged again, a vague continental gesture that infuriated Morgana. “Well, anyway,” she went on. “I shall see them. I shall speak to them. I shall make them see that they are mistaken!”
“And how will you do that, cara?” Vittorio spread his gnarled hands. “You are here, apparently free and unharmed! You spent the night in the hacienda of O Halcão! Now what do you suppose your fellow passengers will make of that?”
Morgana frowned. “But you know I was abducted! Taken against my will! I was forced to remain at the hacienda!”
“And no harm came to you No one seduced you? No one so much as laid a finger on you Oh, senhorita, it is such a weak defence!”
Morgana clenched her fists impotently, looking about her helplessly. The sun was beating down on her bare head and her eyes were beginning to feel the strain of the brilliance of the light. The magnificence of their situation meant little to her right then. She saw nothing awe-inspiring in the high cordilleras some of which still bore traces of snow on their peaks; the violent contrasts of arid rock and fertile valley sweeping away far below them meant only isolation and lack of communication with the outside world; the span of a waterfall dropping sheerly down the mountain side to a lake she had hitherto not known existed had no majesty, only a kind of primitive beauty. She was trapped, and what was more, they had attempted to put her in a position where her only contacts would feel unable to trust her. But why? Why?
Now she turned to Vittorio, almost pleadingly. “What do you want from me!” she cried, desperately. “Why are you doing this to me?”
Vittorio lit his cigar and patted her shoulder. She flinched away from his touch, biting her lips to prevent them from trembling. But he seemed unperturbed by her emotionalism, and said:
“Senhorita, stop trying to fight us! We are not your enemies! On the contrary, we mean you no harm.” He sighed as he looked into her disbelieving eyes. “Try to understand our position, eh? You are – how you would say – in a position of confidence with O Halcão –”
Morgana interrupted him. “Why do you persist in calling him that ridiculous name!” she cried, passionately. “His name is Luis!”
Vittorio shook his head. “Senhorita, he is the son of my dead brother,” he said, calmly. “But he is still O Halcão, and you would do well to remember it! Believe me, I never forget it.” He took his cigar out of his mouth. “And as I was saying, you are closely associated with him, and it is therefore inconceivable that you should continue to hold a position of confidence with these – hostages, for want of a better word.”
Morgana stared at him exasperatedly. “You cannot imagine I am any threat to your plans!”
Vittorio raised his bushy eyebrows. “No,” he said, slowly. “You alone can do little. There are so many of us, none of you would stand a chance against us. We are armed, after all, and you are not. But there remains the question of information and the use that might be made of it. Do you understand?”
Morgana turned away. “I – I – you're all impossible!” she exclaimed. “I thought – I thought you were different.”
“Why? What have I done that O Halcão has not?” Vittorio regarded her intently. “You have been treated well, haven't you?”
Morgana compressed her lips. “Oh, yes,” she said, bitterly, “very well.”
Vittorio shrugged. “So where is your problem?”
Morgana heaved a sigh. “You don't seem to understand my position. I am not one of you! I have never been a member of your – your force! And I never shall be!”
“Never is a long time, senhorita,” Vittorio observed dryly. He glanced thoughtfully at Manoel and then said something to him in their own language. Manoel shrugged his shoulders indifferently and Vittorio nodded slowly. He turned to Morgana and said: “Come. If you want to enter the plane we will not stop you.”
Morgana frowned helplessly. She didn't know what she wanted to do any more. If these men had made her out to be one of them she wasn't at all sure she could persuade anybody differently. But similarly, if she failed to speak to them now, her position would be irreversible. With determination she turned to him. “Very well. Thank you.”
Vittorio raised his eyebrows and indicated that they should cross the strip. Manoel remained where he was. The surface was rough and uneven and the thin soles of her shoes gave little protection, but Morgana was intent only on thinking of what she was going to say. Reaching the plane, Vittorio hammered on the side with his fist and by the time they reached the entrance the heavy door had been opened. Vittorio pushed the flight of steps which had been used earlier into position and Morgana preceded him up them. If the passengers were hostile, she thought unhappily, would she be able to stand it?
The dimness of the cabin was as blinding for a moment as the sunlight, but as the darkness lightened she blinked rapidly and was able to look about her. The eyes turned in her direction were cool, accusative, and her heart sank. Vittorio spoke to the stewardess at the rear of the plane, asking her to open up the luggage compartment from within and find Senhorita Mallory's cases. This initial request was sufficient to arouse suspicion and Morgana wished desperately that he had waited until after she had spoken to them before voicing his demands, but of course the timing was deliberate. She gave him an angry glare but Vittorio merely regarded her innocently and frustration gripped her. There had been a man inside the plane, guarding the passengers, and now Vittorio indicated that he should step aside while Morgana spoke to them. There was an awful moment's silence, and then, realising that she must say something, Morgana spoke:
“You're – you're probably wondering why – why I was abducted last night, and wondering whether I know these men. I – I don't. At least no more than any of you –”
The pilot got to his feet. “We were told differently, Miss Mallory.” His voice was cold and bitter.
Morgana glanced painfully at Vittorio but he was staring broodingly down at the toes of his shoes, apparently unmoved by her silent appeal for assistance. Then she said: “I don't know what you've been told, or why anyone should lie to you about my part in all this, but I ask you to believe me when I say I am not involved!”
One of the women got to her feet. “You expect us to believe that you were singled out for attention quite objectively?”
“Of course.” Morgana frowned. “Why should you think otherwise? I played no part in this affair. I was an innocent bystander. Surely you can vouch for that!” she appealed to the pilot.
The pilot shrugged. “I only know that you were amazingly accurate about our whereabouts long before any of us knew what was happening.”
“But I told you – one of the men –” she turned swiftly to Vittorio – “this man, in fact, told me.”
Vittorio spread his hands. “Me!” he said, with assumed indignation. “Why should I tell you something so confidential?”
Morgana uttered an impatient exclamation, and turned back to the passengers. “You must believe me,” she cried, passionately. “For some reason I am being used, but honestly I am not involved!”
“Then tell us why they chose you,” said another woman. “Was it for your beauty? Your intelligence? Some special knowledge you possess?”
Morgana shook her head. “I don't know why,” she answered.
The pilot sounded sceptical. “Can you tell us in all honesty that you have never met these men before this journey?”
There was the sound of a whispered conversation, and the pilot bent to hear what one of the passengers near him had to say. Morgana turned helplessly to Vittorio.
“You could help me!” she said, bitterly. “Why are you torturing me like this?”
Vittoria shrugged. “What would you have me say, senhorita?”
“Tell them I am innocent! That I had no part in any of this.”
Vittorio frowned. “That is what you want?”
“Yes.”
“Very well.” He moved forward, holding up his hand. “What the senhorita says is the truth,” he averred. “She did not know where we were going. I told her. She is as innocent as she claims.”
Morgana stared at him with amazement, and then swung round to confront a blank wall of hostility. Her expression altered and she stared uncomprehendingly at the pilot. “What's wrong?” she cried. “Surely I am vindicated now!”
The pilot's lips thinned. “You must be – as they say in England – joking!” he replied, contemptuously. “This man stood with his colleague last night and told us of your part in all this. How can we take the word of such a man?”
Morgana pressed a hand to her throat, then she swung round to stare at Vittorio. “Is that true?” she cried. “Did you do that?”
Vittorio shrugged. ‘What is the use, senhorita?” he asked mockingly. “Whatever you say they will not believe you – or me!”
Morgana hated him suddenly for his treachery. For a moment he epitomised her hopeless situation and as tears stung her eyes she moved impulsively, her fingers tingling after their impact with his bearded cheek. As red marks appeared on Vittorio's cheek, the man beside him moved swiftly returning the slap Morgana had delivered so that she reeled under the blow.
Vittorio thrust the man back furiously. “Imbecil! Idiota!” he roared angrily, and Morgana swayed unsteadily, hardly appreciating his defence. She looked round at the passengers who were watching this interchange with curious eyes, and said appealingly: “If I were one of them, why should they wish to advertise the fact?”