“I have no intention of ending up in one.”
“Then listen for five minutes. What happened last night wasn’t an accident or coincidence. Someone told the police where and when the boat was picking us up. And that someone will have told them that two Englishwomen were helping us, and given your names.”
For a minute I believed him and my heart began to beat painfully.
“You can’t know that!”
He shrugged. “You will soon find out whether I am right or not, but I wouldn’t take the chance. The minimum you would get for helping a known member of ETA would be five years. For a member of ETA who had tried to smuggle weapons into the province, ten to fifteen at a guess.”
I swallowed. “All the more reason why I should find out what has happened to Miss Daventry.”
“I agree. That is one of the reasons I am going to Lindaraja.”
He might just as well have said Timbuctoo. I said with barely concealed patience. “You can’t go anywhere yet. After last night the roadblocks will be up again and they will be searching the countryside twice as hard.”
“Lindaraja isn’t a place. It’s a hacienda. The police will have already searched it thoroughly and no doubt will have put a road block at its entrance. But we are not going in at the entrance. We are going in at the back door.”
“We’re not going anywhere. You can go where you like by yourself. I don’t believe a word you say, you’re just trying to frighten me. I am going to Miguelou. Now. This very minute.”
“No you are not, Alison.”
It was the first time he had used my name and it threw me off balance. I stared at him suspiciously.
“If you return to Miguelou the police will question you.”
“I’m not sure that they will,” I said with more confidence than I felt. “And if they did I wouldn’t tell them where you are.”
“Don’t be a fool,” he said exasperatedly, standing in front of me, blocking my exit to the door.
I said furiously. “A fool. How dare you say that! If I hadn’t been such a fool you’re wretched shoulder would be gangrenous by now and you would be hungry and thirsty. You nearly drowned me and nearly killed me with exhaustion. Do you think I like tramping over half of Spain in the middle of the night and with no shoes and hardly any clothes? I could have gone straight to Miguelou and slept in my bed all night. But I didn’t. I stayed with you, and now you have the nerve to call me a fool. Well this is where I stop. From now on you can fend for yourself. I couldn’t care less what you do. And,” I said as a parting shot, looking pointedly at the too short trousers. “ You look utterly ridiculous!”
The amber eyes gleamed dangerously and as he reached out for me I ducked down, hitting him with all my force across the shins. He staggered back against the wall, struggling to regain his balance, I dived beneath his outstretched arm, shooting out of the door into the sunlight, running over the slippery grass my heart hammering wildly. I sprinted across the track and into the thick cover of the trees, slipping and sliding into the bushy scrub, jumping precariously over gnarled tree roots and giant fungi. There was no sound of pounding feet following me and when I was safely deep in the pines I threw my arm around the rough bark of a tree, gasping painful breaths of air, grateful for the dappled shade. I was so intent on listening for sounds from the direction of the cottage that I heard the other sounds too late.
A chaffinch twittered and darted from a nearby tree and there was the sound of a branch being thrust to one side and the rustling of leaves as someone unseen moved through the trees and bushes towards me. There was no time to think. I swerved off in the other direction, twigs and saplings scratching my legs and pulling at my hair. A breeze ruffled the tops of the trees above me as I weaved between the pines, the ground shelving steeply.
It was so steep that when I saw him I could not stop. It was too late to turn and flee. My own momentum hurled me down a bank of earth and stones, falling and slithering amidst a cascade of leaves, hurtling directly into the arms of a rifle slung policeman.
Chapter Seven
He grasped me round the wrist, shouting for help as I fought like a madwoman. With all my strength I wrestled against the iron arms that now held me. I managed to get one hand free, twisting round to claw at his face … to get at his eyes, but it was too late. He moved his head out of my reach and then other hands gripped hold of me, and there was no hope of escape. It was the third time in twenty-four hours that I had been viciously manhandled and I was beginning to become something of an expert at inflicting damage myself. My nails ripped at his flesh, tearing the skin from the back of his hand as they pulled me away from him, twisting my arms behind me.
His shouts had brought more men and I was surrounded by black shiny boots and perspiring faces.
“Well done, Martinez,” an exultant officer said, gazing at me, his hands on his hips. “ Villada will be no trouble now.”
“What the hell do you think you are doing?” I shouted as they began to climb the bank down which I had fallen, dragging me along in their midst.
“You’ll soon see!” the officer said looking pleased with himself. “Martinez, you keep tight hold of her.… Amiano and Arias cover from behind. Fidel, you come with me.”
Fidel, a thick moustache covering his top lip, grinned. “ Why does Martinez get all the best jobs?”
“Because he’s not as lecherous as you … we can’t spend all day searching the woods for you and any skirt that comes along.” He pushed the sweating Fidel in front of him. “Come on, another two hours and we’ll be back in Bilbao … who knows, after this afternoon you might make officer yourself.”
“Fat chance,” Amiano said in an undertone from behind me. “ If there’s any glory to be won he will be keeping it to himself.”
“Let go of me!” I demanded again. “ This is ridiculous.…”
I was cut short as Martinez gave my arm an extra twist and I cried out in pain. There was no chance to bluff it out, to play the innocent tourist. The officer said gloatingly. “What a nice surprise for your boy-friend.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I said angrily. “Let me go at once, you’re making a mistake.…”
He laughed, stroking his chin with his thumb. “You are the one who makes a mistake, a very big mistake.”
They were dragging me between the trees, towards the open hillside and the cottage, their hands resting menacingly on the guns at their hips.
“Let me go!” I demanded again, my voice hoarse with fear. But it was no use and I knew it. The trees were thinning, the hot rays of the sun striking in brilliant shafts through the leaves. The last low lying branch was pushed to one side and the cottage lay in full view, cupped in its hollow, small and lonely beneath the massive purple sweep of the mountain. The men fell silent, gazing at it speculatively.
“Is he armed?” the officer demanded at last.
“No,” I said. “And he is hurt. There is no need for those.” I nodded my head in the direction of the guns. He grinned down at me, saying to Martinez, “ It’s going to be easy. Keep tight hold of her and keep her quiet.”
My arm was pulled another painful degree higher and then they began to move stealthily out into the open. I knew what they were going to do, and I knew that I was powerless to stop them. I tried to think clearly, to free myself from fears grasp. I stumbled over a tussock of grass and Martinez swore, jerking me upright.
The cottage was only yards away now, its blue painted shutters shining in the sun, quiet and still, to all appearances bereft of life. A tiny surge of hope flickered through me. Perhaps Jose, rushing out of the cottage in pursuit of me, had seen the police, perhaps that was why he had not chased me, perhaps now he was safely hidden, watching from a distance. Amiano and Arias dropped flat down amongst the grass, their guns raised and pointing steadily.
“Jose Villada!” the officer called out, his voice ringing over the desolate hillside. “You are surrounded. Come out slowly with your hands raised.”
&
nbsp; I saw the imperceptible tightening of the fingers on the triggers: “They’re going to shoot!” I yelled, before Martinez slapped his hand across my mouth, his nails clawing into my cheek.
“You God-damned bitch!” he said furiously, twisting his other hand through my hair, tugging my head backwards. “ You God-damned stupid bitch!”
I was choking, pain knifing through me as he and Fidel dragged me nearer to the cottage till we halted, flanked by Amiano and Arias, half hidden by the waving grass, their fingers unflinching on the triggers.
“Don’t come out, Jose!” I shouted frantically. “Don’t come out!”
This time Martinez made no attempt to silence me, and the officer leaned his back against the mossy bole of the pear tree, a hint of a smile about his thin lips. “ We know you are in there, Villada. There is no escape this time. Come out with your hands high!”
There was no reply. I strained my ears to hear any sound from the cottage but there was none.
“He’s not there,” I said with sudden hope. “ He saw you coming and you are wasting your time. He’s not there!”
The officer raised an eyebrow lazily. “ Really? You must think we are very stupid.” He nodded to Martinez and his grip tightened. As if he had all the time in the world the officer eased himself away from the tree trunk and wandered casually over to us. Then, still casually, he slipped his gun from his holster and pointed it at my head.
I am not the stuff heroines are made of, or martyrs. I licked my lips, clenching my hands into clammy knots, hanging on to the last edge of sanity.
“Villada,” he called out pleasantly. “If you do not come out within the next three minutes, your girlfriend will die.”
I heard, faintly, the whisper of wings as a bird settled on the crimson roof, and the slight rustle of leaves as the breeze sighed through the pear tree, but there was no sound from within the cottage.
“You are making a mistake.” I said again, my voice little more than a croak. “I am not Jose Villada’s girl-friend. He couldn’t care less whether you shoot me or not!”
The officer considered this for a second and then smiled indulgently. “I think not,” he said, and then shouted: “Two minutes left, Villada!”
Choking sobs were rising in my throat, chasing the last shreds of reason away. It seemed too preposterous, too unbelievable. I was on the verge of losing my life because of a man I had only known twenty-four hours and who was engaged to another girl!
“Please listen,” I said, my breath coming in harsh gasps. “He isn’t armed … there is no need to shoot…”
Right on cue something flashed past my shoulder with a sharp crack and in the same instant Fidel cried out, grasping his arm where the blood spilt, oozing through his fingers, trickling down in giant droplets onto the grass. For a brief second the wooden shutter had opened, the barrel of his gun gleaming before he had slammed them shut again, bullets whistling into the splintering wood.
The officer’s face was mottled with rage as he said viciously: “You will be sorry for that, Villada. Sixty seconds and then I shoot her!”
He began counting and I remember thinking that no-one would understand. Not ever.
“Forty-one … forty-two …” the officer continued.
A butterfly with jewelled wings fluttered delicately out of the shade, dancing gossamer light towards me.
“Forty-five… forty-six.…”
The cottage door moved slightly. I blinked my eyes, terrified that I might have been wrong. It swung wide and Jose stepped out into the burning sunlight.
“Let the girl go,” he said tersely, dark eyes glittering. “She is a tourist, she isn’t involved at all.” He was unarmed, his hands high above his head. For a long, long moment no-one moved, and then the officer moved the barrel of the gun away from my head, swinging it in a graceful arc till it pointed at Jose, his index finger tightening on the trigger.
With a strength I didn’t know I possessed I wrenched my hand free, swinging savagely at his legs, bringing him crashing to the ground, unbalancing Martinez, the report of his gun rended the air, whistling wildly over Jose’s head before it fell from his grasp, thudding into the long grass within my reach. I dived for it, scooping it up in both hands, pointing it straight at him as he sprang to his feet, eyes blazing with rage.
“Tell them not to come near me or I’ll shoot you!” I sobbed, terrified out of my life as Martinez made a move towards me. He halted tensely, ready to pounce.
“Not yet …” the officer hissed between his teeth.
Slowly I backed away, edging inch by inch to the open door, my eyes never leaving his, the gun in my hand never wavering, pointing lethally at his chest. He swore harshly, his empty hands clenching and unclenching, livid with rage as I backed away, Amiano and Arias watchful, their hands on their guns, waiting only for a word. I saw him lick his lips, tortured by indecision.
“I mean it,” I said. “ The slightest move from any of them.…” I stepped into the shadow of the cottage, my skirt brushing against Jose.
“Get inside,” he said, as I backed into him. “ Now!”
A bullet smashed into the stone inches above my head as Jose sent me stumbling into the dark of the cottage, slamming the door behind him. I dropped the gun, clattering, to the floor.
“It’s no time to get cold feet,” he said cheerfully, ramming another magazine into his gun. “Those bastards aren’t going to take us carefully to Bilbao for a nice little trial. They are going to shoot. Shot trying to evade arrest, or English tourist accidentally shot in riot, take your pick.”
A hail of bullets smashed through the wood shutters and Jose flung the gun I had dropped back into my hands. “For God’s sake use it! If they think there’s only one of us shooting they’ll try to rush us.”
“I can’t,” I said wildly, kneeling beside him beneath the window. “God, I can’t shoot at police!”
“Why not?” he asked reasonably. “They’re shooting at you.”
I didn’t answer. There wasn’t time. A huge stone shattered the top half of the shutter, crashing down onto the floor, chips of stone flying like hailstones, followed immediately by the whine of a bullet singing over my head. Sheer terror made my finger curl round the cold metal and squeeze once, twice, the gun kicking back powerfully, jarring my arm and shoulder, knocking me backwards.
“You’ll do better if you open your eyes.”
“Go to hell,” I said. And meant it.
“And that gun only holds nine bullets. You’ve spent two.” He sent a magazine skittering across the floor. “And don’t shoot like that. Hold your wrist with your other hand and keep your arms straight, point the gun at the target and then pull the trigger, and follow through with a natural pull up. That way the kick-back won’t be as hard, and you have more chance of the bullet finding its target.”
“I don’t want it to find a target!”
“And don’t jump ten feet in the air when the cartridges eject, they’re supposed to …” he broke off, springing to his feet, eyes blazing. “ For Christ’s sake, the door,” he shouted as he leapt past me. “ The door!”
He flung himself against it as it crashed open and in that blinding, agonising second, I caught a glimpse of black boots and a bullet ploughed into the stone floored room, ricocheting wildly, before the force of Jose’s body slammed the door shut and he leaned heavily against it, panting, sweat pouring down his face.
“Well done,” he said as I stood trembling, staring with fascinated horror at the smoking gun in my hand. “Did you get him?”
“No.”
“Better luck next time.” Jose said, kneeling beneath the window, levelling his gun once more. He stiffened, then gave a whoop of exhileration, spinning round to me.
“Can you see? Bloody hell, bloody, bloody hell!”
I caught a glimpse of a running figure on the periphery of the woods and then another, stouter figure firing from the shelter of a tree, before it turned, diving deep into the pines. I stared at Jose be
wildered. “ Who are they? What.…”
“It’s Javier and Pedro!” he said exultantly. “ Look!”
Amiano and Arias were racing across the hillside in pursuit.
“That only leaves three,” Jose said lightly. “And two of them are injured.”
“One of them,” I corrected.
“Two. You shot the officer in the foot.”
I felt the blood drain from my face and then he was putting a finger to his lips. “ Keep shooting from the window,” he whispered. “And don’t stop till I tell you. The officer has disappeared, he must be round the back, probably nursing his foot. I’m going to try and get him through the rear window. Just keep the attention focused on the front of the cottage, there’s a good girl.”
“No!” I hissed back. “ I can’t, I.…”
“You don’t have to aim, just keep his attention. There’s only one of them out front. The other one is leaning against the tree uninterested in anything but his wounded arm.”
“Which one is firing at us?”
“The fat one. The one that had hold of you.”
“Good,” I said and closed my eyes and fired.
Jose stepped cautiously into the other room, gun in his hand.
Seconds later there was the sound of struggling and swearing and I swung the gun round frantically, only a hair’s breadth from shooting Jose. His gun was pressed in the back of the flushed and raging officer.
“It wasn’t easy encouraging him back through the window, even with this, he keeps complaining about his foot.”
I stared horrified at the blood seeping out of his boot.
“Keep shooting. His men haven’t even missed him yet!”
The officer let out a stream of oaths, spittle forming at the corner of his mouth as Jose pushed him down onto a wood chair, beginning to lash his wrists behind his back. He blasphemed viciously, his eyes pinpricks of hate and rage.
“One down, two to go,” Jose said with grim satisfaction. “ Do you think we should put him in front of the window as target practice for his men?”
Tapestry of Fear Page 4
