upon the dead Doberman; the scent of the fresh blood repelled it.
AltmUller saw the dog in the grass. He swung the light first to the left,
then to the right, the beam piercing the space above David's head. AltmMer
made his decision instinctively - or so it seemed to Spaulding. He whipped
the reins of the horse to his right, toward David. He walked the horse; he
did not run it.
Then David saw why. AltmiJJler was following the stains of the Doberman's
blood in the grass.
David crawled as fast as he could in front of the spill of Altmiffler's
slow-moving beam. Once in relative darkness, he turned abruptly to his
right and ran close to the ground,back toward the center of the field. He
waited until horse and rider were between him and the bordering
post-and-rail, then inched his way toward the Nazi. He was tempted to take
a clean shot with the Lliger, but he knew that had to be the last
extremity. He had several miles to go over unfamiliar terrain, with a dark
forest that others knew better. The loud report of heavy-caliber pistol
shot would force men out of the pandemonium a quarter of a mile away,
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Nevertheless, it might be necessary.
He was within ten feet now, the Lager in his left hand, his right free. .
. . A little closer, just a bit closer. Altmaller's flashlight slowed to a
near stop. He had approached the point where he, David, had lain in the
grass immobile.
Then Spaulding felt the slight breeze from behind and, knew - in a terrible
instant of recognition - that it was the moment to move.
The horse's head yanked up, the wide eyes bulged. The scent of David's
blood-drenched clothing had reached its nostrils.
Spaulding sprang out of the grass, his right hand aimed at Altmiiller's
wrist. He clasped his fingers over the barrel of the gun - it was a Colt!
a U.S. Army issue Colt .45! - and forced his thumb into the trigger
housing. Altmtiller whipped around in shock, stunned by the totally
unexpected attack. He pulled his arms back and lashed out with his feet.
The horse reared high on its hind legs; Spaulding held on, forcing
Altmiffler's hand down, down. He yanked with every ounce of strength he had
and literally ripped Altmdller off the horse into the grass. He slammed the
Nazi's wrist into the ground again and again, until flesh hit rock and the
Colt sprang loose. As it did so, he crashed his Lfiger into Altmiffler's
face.
The German fought back. He clawed at Spaulding's eyes with his free left
hand, kicked furiously with his knees and feet at David's testicles and
legs and rocked violently, his shoulders and head pinned by Spaulding's
body. He screamed.
'You! You and ... Rhinemann! Betrayal!'
The Nazi saw the blood beneath David's shoulder and tore at the wound,
ripping the already tom flesh until Spaulding thought he could not endure
the pain.
AltmOller heaved his shoulder up into David's stomach,'and yanked at
David's bleeding arm, sending him sprawling off to the side. The Nazi
leaped up on his feet, then threw himself back down on the grass where the
Colt .45 had been pried loose. He worked his hands furiously over the
ground.
He found the weapon.
Spaulding pulled the hunting knife from the back of his belt and sprang
across the short distance that separated him from Altmiffler. The Colt's
barrel was coming into level position, the small black opening in front of
his eyes. -
As the blade entered the flesh, the ear-shattering fire of the
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heavy revolver exploded at the side of David's face, burning his skin, but
missing its mark.
Spaulding tore the knife downward into Altmimer's chest and left it there.
The absolute enemy was dead.
David knew there was no instant to lose, or he was lost. There would be
other men, other horses ... many dogs.
He raced to the bordering pasture fence, over it and into the darkness of
the woods. He ran blindly, trying desperately to swing partially to his
left. North.
North by northeast.
Escape!
He fell over rocks and fallen branches, then at last penetrated deepening
foliage' lashing his arms for a path, any kind of path. His left shoulder
Z numb, both a danger and a blessing.
There was no gunfire in the distance now; only darkness and the hum of the
night forest and the wild, rhythmic pounding of his chest. The fighting by
the stables had stopped. Rhinemann's men were free to come after him now.
He had lost blood; how much and how severely he could not tell. Except
that,his eyes were growing tired, as his body was tired. The branches
became heavy, coarse tentacles; the inclines, steep mountains. The slopes
were enormous ravines that had to be crossed without ropes. His legs
buckled and he had to force them taut again.
The fencel There was the fence!
At the bottom of a small hill, between the trees.
He began running, stumbling, clawing at the ground, pushing forward to the
base of the hill.
He was there. It was there.
The fence.
Yet he could not touch it. But, perhaps....
He picked up a dry stick from the ground and lobbed it into the wire.
Sparks and crackling static. To touch the fence meant death.
He,looked up at the trees. The sweat from his scalp and forehead stung his
eyes, blurring his already blurred vision. There had to be a tree.
A tree. The right tree.
He couldn't be sure. The darkness played tricks on the leaves, the limbs.
There were shadows in the moonlight where
421
substance should be.
There were no limbs I No limbs hanging over the fence whose touch meant
oblivion. Rhinernann had severed - on both sides -whatever growths
approached the high, linked steel wires I
He ran as best he could to his left -north. The liver was Perhaps a mile
away. Perhaps.
Perhaps the water.
But the river, if he could reach it down the steep inclines barred to
horses, would slow him up, would rob him of the time he needed desperately.
And Rhinemann would have patrols on the river banks.
Then he saw it.
Perhaps.
A sheared limb several feet above the taut wires, coming to within a few
feet of the fence I It was thick, widening into suddenly greater thickness
as it joined the trunk. A laborer had taken the means of least resistance
and had angled his chain saw just before the final thickness. He would not
be criticized; the limb was too high, too far away, for all practical
purposes.
But Spaulding knew it was his last chance. The only one left. And that fact
was made indelibly clear to him with the distant sounds of men and dogs.
They were coming after him now.
He removed one of the Ulgers from his belt and threw it over the fence. One
bulging impediment in his belt was enough.
He jumped twice before gripping a gnarled stub; his left arm aching, no
longer numb, no longer a blessing. He scraped his legs up the wide trunk
until his right han
d grasped a higher branch. He struggled against the
sharp bolts of pain in his shoulder and stomach and pulled himself up.
The sawed-off limb was just above.
He dug the sides of his shoes into the bark, jabbing them repeatedly to
make tiny ridges. He strained his neck, pushing his chin into the calloused
wood, and whipped both arms over his head, forcing his left elbow over the
limb, pulling maniacally with his right hand. He hugged the amputated limb,
peddling his feet against the tree until the momentum allowed him the force
to throw his right leg over it. He pressed his arms downward and thrust
himself into a sitting position, his back against the trunk.
He had managed it. Part of it.
He took several deep breaths and tried to focus his sweatfilled, stinging
eyes. He looked down at the electrified barbed
422
wire on top of the fence. It was less than four feet below him but nearly
three feet in front. From the crest of the ground, about eight. If he was
going to clear the wire, he had to twist and jack his body into a lateral
vault. And should he be able to do that, he was not at all sure his body
could take the punishment of the fall.
But he could hear the dogs and the men clearly now. They had entered the
woods beyond the fields. He turned his head and saw dim shafts of light
piercing the dense foliage.
The other punishment was death.
There was no point in thinking further. Thoughts were out of place now.
Only motion counted.
He reached above with both hands, refusing to acknowledge the silent
screams from his shoulder, grabbed at the thin branches, pulled up his legs
until his feet touched the top of the thick limb and lunged, hurling
himself straight out, above the taut wires until he could see their blurred
image. At that splitinstant, he'twisted his body violently to the right and
down, jackknifing his legs under him.
it was a strange, fleeting sensation: disparate feelings of final
desperation and, in a very real sense, clinical objectivity. He had done
all he could do. There wasn't any more.
He hit the earth, absorbing the shock with his right shoulder, rolling
forward, his knees tucked under him - rolling, rolling, not permitting the
roll to stop; distributing the impact throughout his body.
He was propelled over a tangle of sharp roots and collided with the base of
a tree. He grabbed his stomach; the surge of pain told him the wound was
open now. He would have to hold it, clutch it . . . blot it. The cloth of
the turtleneck sweater was
-drenched with sweat and blood - his own and the Doberman's and torn in shreds
from the scores of falls and stumbles.
But he had made it.
Or nearly.
He was out of the compound. He was free from Habichtsnest.
He looked around and saw the second Miger on the ground in the
moonlight.... The one in his belt would be enough. If it wasn't, a second
wouldn't help him; he let it stay there.
The highway was no more than half a mile away now. He crawled into the
underbrush to catch his spent breath, to temporarily restore what little
strength he had left. He would need it
423
for the remainder of his journey.
The dogs were louder now; the shouts of the patrols could be heard no more
than several hundred yards away. And suddenly the panic returned. What in
God's name had he been thinking ofl? What was he doingl?
What was he doing?
He was lying in the underbrush assuming - assuming he was firee I
But was he?
There were men with guns and savage - viciously savage -animals within the
sound of his voice and the sight of his running body.
Then suddenly he heard the words, the commands, shouted -screamed in
anticipation. In rage.
'Freilassen I Die Hunde freilassen!'
The dogs were being releasedl The handlers thought their quarry was
cornered! The dogs were unleashed to tear the quarry apart I
He saw the beams of light come over the small hill before he saw the
animals. Then the dogs were silhouetted as they streaked over the ridge and
down the incline. Five, eight, a dozen racing, monstrous forms stampeding
toward the hated object of their nostrils; growing nearer, panicked into
wanting, needing the wild conclusion of teeth into flesh.
David was mesmerized - and sickened - by the terrible sight that followed.
The whole area lit up like a flashing diadem; crackling, hissing sounds of
electricity filled the air. Dog after dog crashed into the high wire fence.
Short fur caught fire; horrible, prolonged, screeching yelps of animal
deaths shattered the night.
In alarm or terror or both, shots were fired from the ridge. Men ran in all
directions - some to the dogs and the fence, some to the flanks, most away
in retreat.
David crawled out of the brush and started running into the forest.
He was free I
The prison that was Habichtsnest confined his pursuers ... but he was free
I
He held his stomach and ran into the darkness.
The highway was bordered by sand and loose gravel. He
424
stumbled out of the woods and fell on the sharp, tiny stones. His vision
blurred; nothing stayed level; his throat was dry, his mouth rancid with the
vomit of fear. He realized that he could not get up. He could not stand.
He saw an automobile far in the distance, to his right. West. It was
traveling at high speed; the headlights kept flashing. Off
. on, off ... on. On, on, on ... off, off, off, interspersed.
It was a signal!
But he could not stand! He could not rise I
And then he heard his name. Shouted in unison through open windows, by
several voices. In unison I As a chant might be sung I
'. . . Spaulding, Spaulding, Spaulding. . . .'
The car was about to pass him! He could not get up!
He reached into his belt and yanked out the Miger.
He fired it twice, barely possessing the strength to pull the trigger.
With the second shot ... all was blackness.
He felt the gentle fingers around his wound, felt the vibrations of the
moving automobile.
He opened his eyes.
Asher Feld was looking down at him; his head was in Feld's lap. The Jew
smiled.
'Everything will be answered. Let the doctor sew you up. We must patch you
together quickly.'
David raised his head as Feld held his neck. A second man, a young man, was
also in the back seat, bending over his stomach; Spaulding's legs were
stretched over the young man's knees. The man held gauze and pincers in his
hands.
'There will be only minor pain,' he said in that same bastardized British
accent David had heard so often. 'I think you've had enough of that. You're
localized.'
'I'm whatT
'Simple Novocain,' replied the doctor. 'I'll retie the stitches here; your
arm is filled with an antibiotic - refined in a Jerusalem laboratory,
incidentally.' The young man smiled.
'What? Where.. .'
'There isn't time,' interrupted Feld quietly, urgently. '
We're on our way
to Mendarro. The plane is waiting. There'll be no interference.'
'You gqt the designs?'
425
'Chained to the staircase, Lisbon. We did not expect such accommodation. We
thought probably the balcony, perhaps an upper floor. Our invasion was
swift, thanks be to God. Rhinemann's troops came swiftly. Not swiftly
enough.... Good work, that staircase. How did you manage iff
David smiled through the 'minor pain.' It was difficult to talk. 'Because
... no one wanted the blueprints out of his sight. Isn't that funnyT
'I'm glad you think so. You'll need that quality.'
'What?... Jean?'Spaulding started to rise from the awkward position. Feld
restrained his shoulders, the doctor his midsection.
'No, colonel. There are no concerns for Mrs.Cameron or the physicist. They
will, no doubt, be flown out of Buenos Aires in the morning.... And the
coastal blackout will be terminated within minutes. The radar screens will
pick up the trawler. . . .'
David held up his hand, stopping the Jew. He took several breaths in order
to speak. 'Reach FMF. Tell them the rendezvous is scheduled for
approximately ... four hours ... from the time the trawler left Ocho Calle.
Estimate the maximum speed of the trawler ... semicircle the diameter ...
follow that line.'
'Well done,' said Asher Feld. 'We'll get word to them.'
The young doctor had finished. He leaned over and spoke pleasantly.
'All things considered, these patches are as good as you'd get at Bethesda.
Better than the job someone did on your right shoulder; that was awful. You
can sit up. Easy, now.'
David had forgotten. The British medic in the Azores -centuries ago - had
taken a lot of criticism from his professional brothers. Misdirected; his
orders had been to get the American officer out of LaJes Field within the
hour.
Spaulding inched his way stiffly into a sitting position, aided gently by
the two Haganah men.
'Rhinemann is dead,' he said simply. 'Rhinemann the pig is gone. There'll
be no more negotiations. Tell your people.'
'Thank you.' said Asher Feld.
They drove in silence for several minutes. The searchlights of the small
airfield could be seen now; they were shafting their beams into the night
sky.
Feld spoke. 'The designs are in the aircraft. Our men are standing
Robert Ludlum - Rhineman Exchange.txt Page 52
