Алистер Маклин - Air Force One is Down

They wheeled the Honda back up to the road, and concealed it and themselves behind a clump of trees. Presently the sound of an approaching vehicle caught their ears. Sabrina mounted the Honda, with Mac holding it upright, and started the engine.

The jeep, its swaying load tied down with ropes, passed them. Sabrina counted to ten, opened the throttle, and roared out on to the road. She had McCafferty’s communicator in her belt, and banked on Bert Cooligan staying on high ground to receive her message when she had located Smith’s new hideout. She had not, though, been able to find a crash-helmet.

McCafferty rejoined Cooligan up the mountain and gave him the details of the plan. They decided that when the coast was clear, Bert should return to the castle and await Sabrina’s contact from there. He armed the agent with the dead sentry’s rifle.

‘Has Sabrina got a gun, too?’ Cooligan asked, his voice worried.

Mac hesitated, then nodded.

‘The Arab, Achmed, tried to rape her. I managed to stop him, but I had to kill him. She’s got his machine-pistol. In any case, I’ve more guns back in the valley for when I pick up Philpott. We’ll be a regular little army, huh?’

Cooligan grinned and wished McCafferty luck as he left to take the jeep down the hill into the village. The Secret Service agent squatted on his haunches holding the rifle, butt first, on the ground before him, and saw the still-tenanted castle bathed in the amber glow of the late afternoon sun. He settled down to wait.

The track straggled off the mountain to the town of Knin, where four major roads converged. Sabrina kept the guards’ jeep in clear sight until the terrain flattened out on the coastal plain of Hrvatska. She thought the jeep might be bound for the resort of Sibenik, but from Knin it diverted on to a minor road heading for Benkovac and the coast, and then threaded through a maze of tracks until it reached a spot which she judged must be twenty to twenty-five kilometres from the castle, and about ten inland. What was more, she was back in hill country again, though it was no match for the Dinaric Alps.

She had now to exercise greater care, for they had the road more or less to themselves. Luckily it was as winding as the castle track had been, so she was able to lurk out of sight around bends, and then sprint to catch up with the receding jeep. The sun was only a blazing segment to the west, and Sabrina mentally crossed her fingers that they would find the caves before the light failed.

The jeep started to slow down, so Sabrina eased the Honda off the track into the shelter of a scattering of boulders. The jeep swung right and began climbing the rock-strewn hillside. Sabrina switched her gaze to higher ground, and saw a barred gate fronting a vast concrete abutment set into the flank of the hill. The jeep stopped at the gate, and an armed guerilla materialised to check the visitor. Behind the concrete slab she could just pick out the dark mouth of a cave.

Sabrina propped the Honda against a rock and scaled the hill at an oblique angle to take her above the cave entrance. Leaning out perilously far, she saw that the concrete deck was wide and deep enough to take the minibus and several more vehicles, while still leaving a large unfilled space. She shifted her position, and craned her neck even further to look into the cave itself. A battered signpost, uprooted and reclining forlornly against the entrance wall, bore a skull and crossbones and the German warning, ‘ Achtung! ’ alongside a device that suggested explosives. A wartime ammunition dump? she wondered. It would have made an ideal site. She spotted the points of stalactites hanging from the vaulted roof of the cavern, but could make out nothing beyond that, though the space was well lit by electricity supplied from a generator humming away in the background.

Sabrina grimaced, and pulled back. She needed to know more of the geography of the caves and, if possible, the exact location of the captives.

Carefully, for the sentry was still at his post, she climbed on up the hill until she reached the crest. She could see now that the caves must extend further than she had imagined – and that they were divided by a natural break.

The cavern which formed the entrance to the caves opened out on to a deep gorge over an unseen but audible river. A narrow bridge spanned the gorge, and the pathway at the other side disappeared into the mouth of yet another cave. The suspension-bridge was railed, but appeared none too safe. Sabrina grinned: she was sure she had located the hostages’ hiding-place, for Smith would not neglect such a splendid opportunity to make either escape or rescue as difficult as possible.

She activated her two-way communicator, and within a few seconds was talking earnestly to Bert Cooligan at Castle Windischgraetz …

When the minibus arrived at the caves, Smith himself had unlocked the gate. The hostages were shooed unceremoniously off the bus, Feisal holding tightly to Zeidan’s hand as the crippled sheikh was loaded into his wheelchair. A chatter of engine noise from above announced the arrival of Dunkels in the Kamov helicopter. One of Smith’s guerillas activated the generator and pressed a switch to flood the gloomy cavern with light. The multi-hued limestone formations from ceiling and floor brought a gasp of admiration from Feisal.

Guards shepherded the captives through the cavern, and once more Sheikh Zeidan was hauled from the wheelchair when they reached the flimsy bridge. Dr Hamady took the first nervous step on to the bridge, clutching the rails and allowing himself to be led over with his eyes closed. Zeidan was next, chaired by two sentries and watched anxiously by Feisal in his wake. Dorani and Arbeid followed, with Fairman and Latimer heading the crocodile of Air Force One crew members.

Smith brought up the rear, but before commencing his crossing he ordered Dunkels to establish radio-contact with the castle.

‘Check with Jagger whether they’ve caught Cooligan yet. If they haven’t, get airborne again and give them a hand. At any event, I want the castle personnel here as soon as they’ve left everything safe. Tell Fayeed to get rid of the girl Carver – any way he pleases.’

Dunkels hurried off, and Smith traversed the gorge to join the hostages, who were perched on an outcrop surrounded on three sides by a drop of a hundred feet, and under the watchful eyes of a pair of guards. Steps cut into the side of the cave descended to the ledge, and Smith negotiated them cautiously to stand before his captives.

‘Not quite the Ritz,’ he apologised, ‘but at least you’re under cover.’

Sheikh Dorani regarded him under beetling brows.

‘When do you propose to release us?’ he demanded.

‘As soon as the ransom is in my possession,’ Smith returned affably.

‘And when will that be?’ Zeidan growled.

Smith consulted his watch.

‘By nightfall,’ he said reflectively. ‘Fifty million dollars in diamonds. The largest ransom in history, I believe.’

‘Kidnappers are notorious not for the size of their unlawful gains but the heinous nature of their crimes,’ Zeidan intoned. ‘If you are remembered at all, Smith, it will be as the common criminal you undoubtedly are.’

Smith turned to face the old Arab, who leaned back in his wheelchair as if it were a golden throne, and regarded his captor with abhorrence. Zeidan knew that of all the hostages, he alone possessed the ability to unsettle Smith’s composure; it was a weapon he used sparingly, and always to great effect. Zeidan gambled that in these infrequent outbursts, when his dignity was affronted, Smith was inclined to tell the truth. That was what the sheikh was seeking now to learn.

Smith’s voice was a silky threat.

‘Would you rather I be remembered as a mass murderer, Your Excellency?’