Алистер Маклин - Partisans

Petersen kept looking ahead. He could have become suddenly thoughtful but it was impossible to tell. Petersen’s expression did what he told it to do. He said: ‘That mountain inn yesterday. Lunchtime. Remember what George said?’

‘Remember – how could I? He says so much – all the time. Said about what?’

‘Our allies.’

‘Vaguely.’

‘Vaguely.’ He clucked his tongue in disapproval. ‘This augurs ill. A radio operator – any operative – should remember everything that is said. Our alliance is simply a temporary measure of convenience and expediency. We are fighting with the Italians – George said “Germans” but it’s the same thing – not for them. We are fighting for ourselves. When they have served their purpose it will be time for them to be gone. In the meantime, a conflict of interests has arisen between the Italians and the Germans on the one hand and us on the other. Our interests come first. Pity about the trucks but the loss of one or two isn’t going to win or lose the war.’

There was a short silence then Lorraine said: ‘Who is going to win this dreadful war, Major Petersen?’

‘We are. I’d rather you’d just call me Peter. As long as you’re other wise civil, that is.’

The two girls exchanged glances. If Petersen saw the exchange he gave no signs.

In Čapljina, in the deepening dusk, they were halted at an army roadblock. A young officer approached, shone his torch at a piece of paper in his hand, switched it to the truck’s plates, then played it across the windscreen. Petersen leaned out of the window.

‘Don’t shine that damned light in our eyes!’ he shouted angrily. The light beam dipped immediately.

‘Sorry, sir. Routine check. Wrong truck.’ He stepped back, saluted and waved them on. Petersen drove off.

‘I didn’t like that,’ Sarina said. ‘What happens when your luck runs out? And why did he let us through so easily?’

‘A young man with taste, sensibility and discretion,’ Petersen said. ‘Who is he, he said to himself, to interfere with an army officer carrying on a torrid affair with two beautiful young ladies. The hunt, however, is on. The paper he held had the number of the old truck. Then he checked driver and passengers, a most unusual thing. He had been warned to look out for three desperadoes. Anyone can see that I’m perfectly respectable and neither of you could be confused with a fat and thin desperado.’

‘But they must know we’re with you.’

‘No “must” about it. They will, soon enough, but not yet. The only two people who knew that you were aboard the ship were the two who are still tied up in the hut back there.’

‘Somebody may have asked questions at the Colombo .’

‘Possibly. I doubt it. Even if they had, no member of the crew would divulge anything without Carlos’ okay. He has that kind of relationship with them.’

Sarina said doubtfully: ‘Carlos might tell them.’

‘Carlos wouldn’t volunteer anything. He might have a struggle with his conscience but it would be a brief one and duty would lose out: he’s not going to sell his old girlfriend down the river, especially, as is like enough, there would be shooting.’

Lorraine leaned forward and looked at him. ‘Who’s supposed to be the girlfriend? Me?’

‘A flight of fancy. You know how I ramble on.’

Twice more they were stopped at roadblocks, both times without incident. Some minutes after the last check, Petersen pulled into a lay-by.

‘I’d like you to get in the back, now, please. It’s colder there but my fisherman friend did give me some blankets.’

Sarina said: ‘Why?’

‘Because from now on you might be recognized. I don’t think it likely but let’s cater for the unlikely. Your descriptions will be out any minute now.’

‘How can they be out until Major Massamo–’ She broke off and looked at her watch. ‘You said you’d phone the army post at Čapljina in an hour. That was an hour and twenty minutes ago. Those men will freeze. Why did you lie–’

‘If you can’t think, and you obviously can’t, at least shut up. Just a little, white, necessary lie. What would have happened if I phoned now or had done in the past twenty minutes?’

‘They’d have sent out a rescue party.’

‘That all?’

‘What else?’

‘Heaven help Yugoslavia. They’d have traced the call and know roughly where I am. The call was sent on the hour by my friend. From Gruda, on the Čapljina – Imotski road away to the northwest of here. What more natural than we should be making for Imotski – an Italian division is headquartered there. So they’ll concentrate their search on the Imotski area. There’s an awful lot of places – buildings, store-houses, trucks – where a person can hide in a divisional headquarters, and as the Italians like the Germans about as much as they like the Yugoslavs – and the order for my detention comes from the German HQ in Rome – I don’t suppose they’ll conduct the search with any great enthusiasm. They may have doubleguessed – I don’t think they’d even bother trying – but go in the back anyway.’

Petersen descended, saw them safely hoisted aboard the rear of the track, returned to the cab and drove off.

He passed two more roadblocks – in both cases he was waved on without stopping – before arriving at the town of Mostar. He drove into the middle of the town, crossed the river, turned right by the Hotel Bristol and two minutes later pulled up and stopped the engine. He went round to the back of the track.

‘Please remain inside,’ he said. ‘I should be back in fifteen minutes.’

Giacomo said: ‘Are we permitted to know where we are?’

‘Certainly. In a public car park in Mostar.’

‘Isn’t that rather a public place?’ It was, inevitably, Sarina.

‘The more public the better. If you really want to hide, there’s no place like hiding in the open.’

George said: ‘You won’t forget to tell Josip that I’ve had nothing to eat or drink for days?’

‘I don’t have to tell him. He’s always known that.’

When Petersen returned it was in a small fourteen-seater Fiat bus which had seen its heyday in the middle twenties. The driver was a small, lean man with a swarthy complexion, a ferocious black moustache, glittering eyes and a seemingly boundless source of energy.

‘This is Josip,’ Petersen said. Josip greeted George and Alex with great enthusiasm, they were obviously acquaintances of old standing. Petersen didn’t bother to introduce him to the others. ‘Get your stuff into the bus. We’re using the bus because Josip doesn’t care too much to have an Italian army lorry parked outside the front door of his hotel.’

‘Hotel?’ Sarina said. ‘We’re going to stay in a hotel ?’

‘When you travel with us,’ George said expansively, ‘you may expect nothing but the best.’

The hotel, when they arrived there, didn’t look like the best. The approach to it could not have been more uninviting. Josip parked the bus in a garage and led the way along a narrow winding lane that was not even wide enough to accommodate a car, fetching up at a heavy wooden door.

‘Back entrance,’ Petersen said. ‘Josip runs a perfectly respectable hotel but he doesn’t care to attract too much attention by bringing so many people in at once.’

They passed through a short passage into the reception area, small but bright and clean.

‘Now then.’ Josip rubbed his hands briskly, he was that kind of man. ‘If you’ll just bring your luggage, I’ll show you to your rooms. Wash and brush up, then dinner.’ He spread his hands. ‘No Ritz, but at least you won’t go to bed hungry.’