Dennis Wheatley - Duke de Richleau 01

by The Forbidden Territory

  “What of Finland?” said Marie Lou. “That looks to be nearer—thirteen hundred miles, perhaps?”

  “Nope.” Rex shook his head quickly. “Too far north —we’d sure run into blizzards this time of the year. Might get lost and forced down in the Arctic, and that ’ud be the end of the party.”

  “Persia and Georgia are about equidistant—some sixteen hundred miles,” the Duke went on. “But I do not fancy either. Perhaps it would be best to make for the Ukraine.”

  “But that is Soviet,” Marie Lou objected.

  “True, my child, nevertheless it is a separate country to Russia proper. If we were forced to land we might receive diplomatic protection there, and the frontier is only thirteen hundred miles. It has the added attraction that if the petrol does not give out, and Rex can make a superhuman effort, we might do the few hundred extra miles into Poland or Rumania, which would mean final safety.”

  “I never knew Russia was so big before,” groaned Simon.

  “I don’t reckon the Ukrainians’ll exactly ring the joy-bells,” said Rex. “I’ve always thought they were pretty tied up with the rest of the Bolshevist bunch.”

  “They preserve at least a measure of independence,” argued the Duke. “Not much, but possibly enough to serve our purpose.”

  “O.K. by me,” Rex agreed. “What’s the course?”

  “Dead south-west.” The Duke folded up his map. “It is dark already. Let us be going.”

  “What’ll we do with this bird?” Rex jerked his head at Rakov.

  “He shall carry our knapsacks. Later we will tie him to a tree, and if he is lucky someone will find him in the morning.”

  Their preparations were soon made; Rex was the last to leave the foundry which he had come so many thousand miles to search for the jewels of the Shulimoffs. It was with the greatest reluctance even now that he tore himself away.

  In single file they crossed the garden; Simon put up a better performance than they had hoped with the rough crutches that they had made for him, but their progress was slow. It took them over an hour to reach the death-dealing fence.

  They decided that it was better to allow the camp to settle down for the night before making their attempt. Simon lay stretched out on his furs in a little hollow they had found—the journey had tired him sorely. Rex spent a considerable time searching for a tall sapling that would bear his weight. At last he found one to his liking and made several practice jumps, sailing high into the air. They divided their last tin of sardines and a packet of stale biscuits. Rakov was tied securely to a tree, and at last they decided that it was time to start.

  Rex took De Richleau in his strong arms, and lifted him clear above his head. With a great heave he pitched him feet-foremost over the deadly fence—four feet clear of the wire.

  The Duke smothered a cry of pain as he landed partly on his bad shoulder, but he was soon standing ready on the other side; the rugs and knapsacks were then passed over.

  Marie Lou was easy. To Rex she was like a baby, and he dropped her gently in De Richleau’s arms.

  Simon was lifted over with the greatest precautions —to throw him was to risk injuring his leg. De Richleau, being so much shorter than Rex, the business was not accomplished without difficulty, and Simon passed some apprehensive moments while he was within a few inches of the wire—but they got him safely to the other side.

  “Stand clear,” Rex warned them, and with a rush his big body hurtled through the air; he dropped his pole neatly as he sprang, and cleared the fence by a yard at least.

  Together they crept forward the two hundred yards to the edge of the trees. A row of hangars stood, a dark bulk, no great distance away. They crouched in a small runnel while Rex gave his last instructions.

  “I’ll go forward on my lonesome,” he said. “When you hear me whistle twice you’ll know the sentry’s got his bonus. Come over quick as you can, then this is the drill: We’ll get Simon in the ’plane right away, the Duke gets the petrol hose and brings it to me in the shed, Marie Lou keeps her eyes skinned and her gun up outside. Is that all O.K. ?”

  There was a murmur of assent and he crept away; they watched his big form till it disappeared in the shadows, then they lay waiting with beating hearts and bated breath.

  XXI - The Homing Pigeon

  It seemed an eternity to them as they waited, crouching in the shadow of the last trees that fringed the open space of the giant aerodrome. Within a mile there must be several thousand men; on the left the glow from the hundreds of windows in the main blocks of barracks veiled the night sky and the stars. Sounds of wireless from many loud-speakers came faintly to them; in one of the nearer huts a group of men were singing a wild, plaintive song in a minor key.

  Each second Marie Lou expected to hear the sharp challenge of a sentry, or a single rifle shot. Either would bring that singing to a sudden stop, men would come pouring out, running with lights and rifles. What would happen then? Retreat without Rex was impossible with that terrifying electric fence behind them—capture would be only a matter of moments.

  Simon sat patiently, propped against a tree. He was thinking of the grey figure they had seen among the trees on the day they first saw the fence and met Marie Lou. It was to be hoped that the sentries became so slack after eventless days in lonely woods that they dozed on their rifles. There had been no sight or sound of one when they made their crossing, and Rex had reported that the nearest sentries were stationed a good half-mile apart. Nevertheless, Simon kept his eyes away from the hangars and towards the fence, clasping his automatic firmly, and watching with strained eyes for any movement in the darkness.

  Two whistles, low but clear, came out of the night All three silently left the narrow trench and wriggled forward across the open. The hangars loomed up before them, seeming preposterously tall from their position on the ground. Within a few yards of their goal De Richleau stood up, he helped Simon to his feet, and with Marie Lou on the other side, supported the wounded man round to the front.

  The sliding door of the hangar stood a little open; they squeezed through. The only light was the reflection from Rex’s torch—he was already busy in the cockpit examining the controls. No trace of a sentry was to be seen.

  In the uncertain light the ’plane seemed a strange monster; Rex leaned out. “There’s a step-ladder by her tail. Get Simon in the back.” De Richleau found the ladder and propped it against the side.

  “Go on,” said Simon. “I can manage now, don’t worry about me.” He hauled himself up by his hands and one sound leg; fortunately, his wound had not reopened owing to the care they had taken in getting him so far. The Duke disappeared to find the petrol pump, and Marie Lou to keep watch outside.

  The pump was only a few yards away, and De Richleau struggled manfully with the heavy wirebound rubber hose. At last he got the nozzle to within a few feet of the ’plane—Rex climbed down and gave an extra heave—a moment later petrol was pouring into the empty tank.

  “Do you think you can handle her?” De Richleau asked.

  “Sure,” came back the cheerful answer. “The helicopter’s no essential part of the construction. I was scared it might be; we couldn’t have sailed up through the roof! But it’s all O.K. I reckon we can taxi out and take off in the open like any other ’plane.”

  “Where is the sentry?”

  Rex jerked his head towards the back of the hangar. “Tucked up in a corner there, poor bum. I guess he never knew what hit him. Come on—now the reserve tank, then we’ll get right out of here.”

  They heaved again on the weighty hose; when the tank was full they threw it on the ground, and turned their attention to the hangar doors—great sheets of corrugated iron and steel on rollers.

  Marie Lou was outside, a small silent shadow— standing motionless and intent, her eyes riveted in the direction of the wireless music—the singing had stopped.

  Rex and De Richleau put their shoulders to the sliding doors. Luckily the runners were well oiled; before long th
ey had the hangar wide open. They could see the ’plane better now, it was a big double-engined monoplane, the engines fixed centrally a few feet above the wide metal wings, with propellers fore and aft. Immediately beneath, in the body, was a small cabin, with open seats for the two pilots side by side in front. Before each was fixed a wicked-looking machine-gun. At the back of the cabin were twin seats for observers, each equally well armed. The roof of the cabin bulged up in a wide funnel to the engine so that a mechanic inside could attend to them in flight. A tall shaft rose from the centre of the engines bearing the wings of the helicopter.

  The Duke touched Marie Lou on the arm. “Quick, up into the back with Simon.”

  He began to haul the nozzle of the petrol hose from under the ’plane. Rex had already clambered up into the pilot’s seat. “Don’t waste time monkeying with that,” came his sharp whisper.

  “One moment, my son,” De Richleau persisted, dragging the hose outside the hangar.

  “The ladder! What shall I do with it?” came Marie Lou’s voice.

  “Shove it clear of the ’plane,” Rex called back softly.

  From her seat beside Simon she gave the ladder a push. There was a loud clang as it struck the corrugated-iron side of the hangar. It shattered the silence like a blow on a giant gong.

  “That’s torn it,” said Rex, angrily. “For God’s sake come on.” De Richleau clambered hastily up beside him.

  With straining ears they listened for the sound of running feet. It did not seem possible that such a sound should pass unnoticed, but nothing stirred.

  “All set?” cried Rex, loudly. There was an answering cry from Simon and the girl in the back. “Praises be she’s the latest thing in ’planes with an electric starter,” he added to the Duke, but the latter part of his sentence was lost in the roar of the engine. In the corrugated-iron hangar the noise reverberated like thunder—the ’plane remained quite stationary.

  “Can’t you start her?” yelled the Duke, apprehensively, in Rex’s ear.

  “Sit tight!” Rex bawled back.

  The roar of the engine drowned every other noise, but in the distance, on the right, squares of light showed where the hut doors were being thrown open, and against the light little figures could be seen hurrying forward.

  Suddenly the dark shape of a man loomed up right in front of the hangar; he shouted something—but what, they could not hear. He did not carry a rifle, and in the faint glow his face expressed surprise.

  De Richleau levelled his automatic—another second and he would have pulled the trigger. With a gasp he lowered his pistol and stooping, yelled through the cabin to Simon: “Don’t shoot! For God’s sake don’t shoot!”

  “Time to go home,” said Rex to himself, as he smiled in the darkness. He had not wasted the last few moments. Better to take the risk of a few shots as they left the ground, than chance a dead cold engine conking out fifty yards from the shed.

  Slowly the big ’plane slid forward—the man ducked hurriedly under the right-hand wing—in a moment they were in the open and gathering speed.

  As the ’plane left the shed the din of the engines lessened. A whole crowd of men surged out of the darkness, shouting and gesticulating. Somehow, to the occupants of the ’plane, they looked stupid and helpless—waving their arms and opening their mouths when not a word they said could be heard. One fell over backwards as he jumped aside to avoid the onrush of the metal wing. The speed increased—the cool night air rushed past—the ’plane began to bump gently in great leaps along the level ground; almost in an instant the running men were left behind, swallowed up in the shadows.

  “We’re off!” cried Simon, to Marie Lou, and for the first time the girl realized that they had left the ground. Another group of hangars rushed past them, twenty feet below—they both looked back. The crack of a rifle came to them faintly from the hangar. It was followed instantly by a great sheet of flame.

  The Duke gave a chuckle of delight—he had come through the small cabin and joined them unnoticed.

  “What—what happened?” gasped Simon.

  “I left the petrol turned on in front of the sheds,” De Richleau smiled, grimly.

  “That’s why you called out to me not to fire?”

  He nodded. “I only just remembered in time myself. If I’d shot that man the flash from my pistol would have blown us up.”

  ‘The hangars—they are on fire,” cried Marie Lou excitedly.

  They were climbing swiftly now. Far below them, and to the rear, they could see the flames leaping upwards, and in the red glare little dots of men scurrying to and fro. The great arena of the camp was plainly discernible, and, encircling it, the darker ring of the illimitable forest.

  A bright shaft of light shot up from one corner of the air-park, followed by another and another from different spots below. “Searchlights,” said the Duke. “They are trying to pick us up. I wonder if they have antiaircraft guns?”

  A blinding glare suddenly struck the rapidly climbing plane, making even the interior of the cabin as bright as day. Without warning the ’plane dropped like a stone into the black darkness below. Marie Lou felt a sudden sinking in the pit of her stomach; the blood drained from her face. De Richleau was pitched backwards off his feet.

  “We’re hit!” gasped Simon.

  The Duke swore softly as he picked himself up off the floor of the cabin. “It’s all right,” he assured them. “Rex is dodging the searchlights.”

  As he spoke the ’plane shot forward again. Far above them the beams were now concentrated on a single spot —the place where they had been only a few minutes before. Then they scattered and moved in grid formation across the sky in the same direction as the ’plane.

  “Wonder if they’ve got sound detectors?” said Simon. “They’ll pick us up if they have.”

  De Richleau shrugged and pointed below. “Rex has tricked them,” he declared. “Look, we are only two hundred feet above the tree tops. Even if they knew our position they couldn’t use their archies—we are below their angle of fire at this distance.”

  “Please?” said Marie Lou, suddenly.

  “What is it?” asked Simon.

  “Go—go away,” she stammered. “I feel ill!”

  “Will you be all right?” De Richleau spoke doubtfully.

  She nodded angrily as he helped Simon into the small cabin. It contained a fixed table with a settee at each side long enough for a man to lie down at full length. At the front, through a mica screen, Rex’s broad back was visible.

  De Richleau insisted that Simon should tuck up on one of the settees and take what rest he could. Feeling that he could be of little use, Simon did not need much pressing. He was terribly tired; it would be weeks before he recovered from his loss of blood.

  Marie Lou joined them, looking pale and miserable. The Duke settled her, unprotesting, on the other settee, covering her warmly. Then he joined Rex in the forward cockpit.

  “How is she going?” he inquired.

  “Fine,” Rex answered. “She’s a daisy—I picked this ’plane because I saw a guy take her out yesterday; couldn’t risk boning one that might have been under repair.”

  They were rising again rapidly, the searchlights had been left behind. “How is our supply of petrol?” asked the Duke.

  “Pretty good. I guess these ’planes are raiders meant to cover long distances—fighting escorts for the big bombers—got to have juice to carry ’em the same distance, but much faster in manoeuvre. They stay behind to keep the enemy ’planes down while the big boys quit for home when they’ve dropped their eggs. We’ll be good for a thousand miles, anyhow—after that, may the Lord provide.”

  “Sixteen hundred miles to the frontier,” the Duke bawled. “If the petrol lasts, do you think you can do it?”

  “Be no ordinary performance if I do,” Rex grunted. “We’re flying against the world spin, remember; that makes it darn near equivalent to two thousand coming the other way. Still, it wouldn’t be a record if we made
it, and I’ll say this bus is one of the finest things I’ve ever been in—I take my hat off to the Bolshie who designed it. What was the bonfire after we left?”

  De Richleau explained about the petrol.

  “Say,” Rex grinned, “that was a great idea. Talk about singeing the King of Spain’s beard! That fella Drake had nothing on you. Mighty dangerous, all the same—a back flash might have sent us all to heaven!”

  Talking was a considerable strain, since to make themselves heard each had to yell in the ear of the other. For a long time they sat silent; the moon came up and lit the landscape of the endless forest stretching unbroken below.

  After a long time, as it seemed, the moon passed behind a great bank of drifting clouds; a sprinkling of lights became visible directly in their course.

  “Sverdlovsk,” called the Duke. “Bear to the left, Rex; we must avoid flying over towns. They will hear our engine, and I expect the wireless at Romanovsk has been busy.”

  Rex banked steeply, leaving the lights away to the north. “How’s time?” he asked.

  “A little after one,” De Richleau replied, glancing at his watch. “We have made splendid going.”

  They were rising all the time now. The moon came out again and they could see that the ground ran sharply up in spurs and curves; the forest grew thinner, and for the next hour they were passing over the Urals. A gorgeous panorama was spread out below them. A world of white, made the more brilliant by the dark shadows of beetling crags with great rents and gashes in the glistening rock, seemingly fathomless pits of impenetrable blackness against the dazzling whiteness of the snow. A cold, hard, black and silver world, having something of unreality about it—the utter silence suggested death and desolation. Seen thus, the Urals might well have been the veritable mountains of the moon—a place where man had never been, could never go, where only evil lurked in the baleful, unrelenting light.

  When they sank again to the foothills and forests on the other side De Richleau said: “I think I shall try to sleep for a little now. Wake me at once if you need me.”