Don Pendleton - Twisted Path

As he walked, nagging doubts began to come to mind.

Maybe the whole lower level was only air ducts or for flood control. Maybe it was a punishment, a sadistic torture chamber for enemies who were thrown down here to starve to death. What if there really was no way out?

Bolan slumped to the floor, exhausted. He took a short swallow of water, shook the bag and discovered it was almost empty.

The warrior fought a desperate struggle with a black depression that threatened to creep over him, sap his spirit and immobilise him where he lay.

It wasn't purely muscle that powered the big man on. It was his indomitable spirit that drove him, and if that cracked, he knew he was as good as dead.

Once he had wrestled down the black waves lapping at his soul, he sat back to take stock of his situation.

Somewhere in the far distance, just at the edge of perception, Bolan heard the first natural sound that he had detected since he had entered the tunnels the tinkling noise of running water.

Libertad was ushered in to see the Revolutionary Council after a short wait.

Stone was pushed in behind him. Nine impassive men sat quietly around an ordinary kitchen table, dressed no differently than he was.

"What is this news of treason that you bring us?" demanded one whom Libertad knew as the council chairman, a middle-aged man with a beak nose who reminded Libertad of a predatory bird.

"First, comrades, before I discuss our confidential business, what do you wish done with this American? He was a companion to the arms dealer, Blanski, and I did not wish to kill him without your permission."

Stone, trapped between two guards, blanched as he realized that he might not leave the room alive.

"Is the Yankee devil of any value?" one of the councilmen asked in a bored voice, not in the least interested in whether Stone lived or died.

"I think he may be of use, since he is familiar with many herbs and their medicinal properties. He sometimes treated our people in prison. I think he should be kept alive for a while to judge his usefulness."

A councillor who gave a strong impression of authority glanced from one face to another around the table. "Make it so, then. Just let him be guarded well. If he escapes, Libertad... Let me just say that it will be held against you." The terrorist knew all too well what that meant a bullet in the brain.

Stone was removed, finally daring to breathe again.

"Now, tell us about these serious charges you have brought against some unknown party. But remember, causing internal strife among our brotherhood is a serious crime and will be punished. So speak, but know that we will judge you, as well as your words."

Libertad told the story of the underground ambush, feeling carefully for the right words, conscious of the cold eyes fixed on him. He relayed how the other prisoner had escaped and had apparently been lost in the pit.

"Did you find the body?" one of the listeners interrupted.

"No, we did not. Our lights could not illuminate the bottom of the shaft, and we had no rope to climb down."

"This is worrisome," the questioner said to the other councillors. "What if he is alive and roaming through our complex? He might escape and take word of our base to the government troops."

"Relax," said the chairman. "You know that no one who has fallen into the pits has ever been seen alive again. Continue, Libertad."

Libertad finished quickly, emphasising that the death of his men had been the result of treachery, possibly of a spy.

"Strong words, Libertad, and a very dramatic story. But how do we know that any of this is true? Maybe this lost American killed your men and escaped, and to cover your incompetence from our just wrath you have concocted this fable. Where is your proof?"

Libertad licked his lips, relieved that he had prepared for this eventuality. He gestured to one of his men.

The man reached into his sack and withdrew a crudeb severed head by the hair. He placed it on the table, where the protruding tongue appeared to mock the solemn council.

"This is one of the two gunmen I told you about."

The councillors contemplated the grisly trophy in silence, as though a head on the table were a daily occurrence.

"I believe I recognize this man," one commented. "It is Federico."

"But why would he do such a thing? He was a loyal soldier, if not very smart."

"Loyal to whom?" the chairman rumbled, his hawk eyes blazing. "There is only one person who might have swayed him from the true path of the movement. A childhood friend who held great influence over him and his friend Paulo. Summon Antonia!" He shouted this last command at a guard, who then disappeared. The chairman gestured to Libertad to hide the head.

Libertad held the evidence behind his back, as they waited for the woman to be brought.

Antonia was not particularly concerned to be brought before the council. She had been working on several projects since her recent arrival, and it was natural that the council would wish a report.

Federico and Paulo were not likely to return for several hours, so this meeting couldn't be about their activities. She certainly hoped not.

When she entered the council chamber there were three men in the room whom she didn't recognize.

Each looked dirty and dusty, as though recently arrived from a long journey. She didn't find their presence comforting.

"Antonia, when did you last see Federico? He appears to be missing." The chairman began without preamble, watching her face for a reaction to the name.

"I have not seen him since yesterday, comrade. I have no idea where he might be." Antonia believed that her voice had remained level, although she had been disconcerted at the mention of the name. She knew that she was fighting for her life now, and the least mistake would cost her dearly.

The chairman paused for a few seconds, lengthening the silence between them. When he was sure that she had no more to say, he resumed. "In that case, I don't suppose that you can explain how Federico has come to be at this meeting." He looked at Libertad, who immediately drew the bloodstreaked head from behind his back. The dead eyes stared accusingly at the beautiful Spanish woman.

Antonia's hands flew to her eyes to hide the grisly sight. From the look of the painful grimace etched into his face she had sent her childhood playmate to a horrible death.

Looking between her fingers, she searched the faces of the others. From their grim expressions, she was convinced that they knew who was responsible for the attack that had killed Federico.

She had to escape. Now.

Antonia bolted for the door, but was intercepted by two guards. In a desperate move she wrenched an arm free and pulled a knife from one man. She slashed him across the midriff, and he collapsed shrieking, his guts leaking from the wound.

She drove the knife toward the second man's throat, but he reacted faster than his dying companion, catching Antonia's wrist in a powerful grip and backhanding her across the temple.

The red-haired woman collapsed like an ivory doll thrown to the floor by an angry child.

The chairman gazed angrily at the fallen woman. "Take her to the interrogation room. Make sure that she tells everything she knows." Stupid woman, he thought to himself as Antonia was carried from the room. She should have used the knife on herself while she could.

Soon she would be begging for a chance to cut her own throat.

Bolan hiked along with renewed energy, knowing that his immediate problem, a water supply, was almost solved.

He searched for another hour, guiding himself by his acute sense of hearing. Occasionally he had to retrace his steps when the soft gurgling sound grew fainter, before he found his way to the small stream that had beckoned him.