Алистер Маклин - Partisans

‘They’re not,’ Petersen said. ‘I guarantee it. If you find a weapon on their persons or in their bags you can shoot me.’

Crni looked at him almost quizzically, reached under his canvas jacket and produced a piece of paper from his tunic. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Petersen.’

‘Ah! Major Peter Petersen. At the very top of the list. One can see they’re not carrying a weapon on their persons. But their bags?’

‘I’ve searched them.’

The two girls momentarily stopped being apprehensive and exchanged indignant glances. Crni smiled slightly.

‘You should have told them. I believe you. If any man here is carrying a gun on his person and conceals the fact, then if I find it I’ll shoot him. Through the heart.’ Crni’s matter-of-fact tone carried an unpleasant degree of conviction.

‘There’s no need to go around making all those ludicrous threats,’ George said complainingly. ‘If it’s cooperation you want, I’m your man.’ He produced an automatic from the depths of his clothing and nudged Alex in the ribs. ‘Don’t be foolish. I don’t think this fellow Crni has any sense of humour.’ Alex scowled and threw a similar automatic on the table.

‘Thank you.’ Crni consulted his list. ‘You, of course, have to be the learned Professor, number two on our list.’ He looked up at Alex. ‘And you must be number three. It says here “Alex brackets assassin”. Not much of a character reference. We’ll bear that in mind.’ He turned to one of his men. ‘Edvard. Those coats hanging there. Search them.’

‘No need,’ Petersen said. ‘Just the one on the left. That’s mine. Right-hand pocket.’

‘You are cooperative,’ Crni said.

‘I’m a professional, too.’

‘I know that. I know quite a lot about you. Rather, I’ve been told quite a lot.’ He looked at the gun Edvard had brought him. ‘I didn’t know they issued silenced Lugers to the Royal Yugoslav Army.’

‘They don’t. A friend gave it to me.’

‘Of course. I have five other names on this list.’ He looked at Harrison. ‘You must be Captain James Harrison.’

‘Why must I?’

‘There are two officers in Yugoslavia who wear monocles? And you must be Giacomo. Just the one name. Giacomo.’

‘Same question.’

‘Description.’

Giacomo smiled. ‘Flattering?’

‘No. Just accurate.’ He looked at Michael. ‘And you, by elimination, must be Michael von Karajan. Two ladies.’ He looked at Lorraine. ‘You’re Lorraine Chamberlain.’

‘Yes.’ She smiled wanly. ‘You have my description, too?’

‘Sarina von Karajan bears a remarkable resemblance to her twin brother,’ Crni said patiently. ‘You eight are coming with me.’

George said: ‘May I ask a question?’

‘No.’

‘I think that’s downright uncivil,’ George said plaintively. ‘And unfair. What if I wanted to go to the toilet?’

‘I take it you are the resident comedian,’ Crni said coldly. ‘I hope your sense of humour bears with you in the days to come. Major, I’m going to hold you personally responsible for the conduct of your group.’

Petersen smiled. ‘If anyone tries to run away, you’ll shoot me?’

‘I wouldn’t have put it as crudely as that, Major.’

‘Major this, Major that. Major Crni? Captain Crni?’

‘Captain,’ he said briefly. ‘I prefer Crni. Do I have to be an officer?’

‘They don’t send a mess-boy to bring in apparently notorious criminals.’

‘Nobody’s said you’re a criminal. Not yet.’ He looked at the two Četnik officers. ‘Your names?’

‘Metrović. This is Major Ranković.’

‘I’ve heard of you.’ He turned to Petersen. ‘You eight will be taking your baggage with you.’

‘That’s nice,’ George said.

‘What is?’

‘Well,’ George said reasonably, ‘if we’re taking our baggage with us it’s hardly likely that you’re going to shoot us out of hand.’

‘To be a comedian is bad enough. To be a buffoon, insufferable.’ He turned back to Petersen. ‘How many of the eight have their baggage here? Men and women, I mean?’

‘Five. Three of us have our baggage in a hut about fifty yards away – myself and those two gentlemen here.’

‘Slavko. Sava.’ This to two of his men. ‘This man Alex will show you where the hut is. Bring the baggage back. Search it very carefully first. And be just as careful in watching this man. He has an appalling record.’ For a fleeting moment the expression on Alex’s face made Crni’s statement more than credible. ‘Hurry nothing, watch everything.’ He looked at his watch. ‘We have forty minutes left.’

In less than half that time all the luggage had been packed and collected. George said: ‘I know I’m not allowed to ask a question so may I make a statement? Oh, that’s a question, too. I want to make a statement.’

‘What?’

‘I’m thirsty.’

‘I see no harm.’

‘Thank you.’ George had opened a bottle and downed a glass of wine in what appeared near-impossible time.

‘Try that other bottle,’ Crni suggested. George blinked, frowned, but willingly did what he was told. ‘Seems satisfactory. My men could do with a specific against the cold.’

‘Seems satisfactory?’ George stared at him. ‘You suggest that I could have doctored some bottles, poisoned bottles, against just such an impossible eventuality? Me? A faculty dean? A learned academic? A – a–’

‘Some academics are more learned than others. You’d have done the same.’ Three of his men took a glass: the other two held their unwavering guns. There was a discouraging certainty about everything Crni said and did: he seemed to take the minutest precautions against anything untoward, including, as George had said, the impossible eventuality.

Metrović said: ‘What happens to Major Ranković and myself?’

‘You remain behind.’

‘Dead?’

‘Alive. Bound and gagged but alive. We are not Četniks. We do not murder helpless soldiers, far less helpless civilians.’

‘Nor do we.’

‘Of course not. Those thousands of Muslims who perished in south Serbia died by their own hands. Cowards, were they not?’

Metrović made no reply.

‘And how many more thousand Serbians – men, women and children – were massacred in Croatia, with the most bestial atrocities ever recorded in the Balkans, just because of their religion?’

‘We had no hand in that. The Ustaša are no soldiers, just undisciplined terrorists.’

‘The Ustaša are your allies. Just as the Germans are your allies. Remember Kragujevac, Major, where the Partisans killed ten Germans and the Germans rounded up and shot five thousand Yugoslav citizens? Marched the children out of schools and shot them in droves until even the execution squads were sickened and mutinied? Your allies. Remember the retreat from Užice where the German tanks rolled backwards and forwards over the fields until all the wounded Partisans lying there had been crushed to death? Your allies. The guilt of your murderous friends is your guilt too. Much as we would like to treat you in the same fashion we will not. I have my orders and, besides, you are at least technically our allies.’ Crni’s voice was heavy with contempt.

Metrović said: ‘You are Partisans.’

‘God forbid!’ The revulsion in Crni’s face was momentary but unmistakable. ‘Do we look like guerrilla rabble? We are paratroopers of the Murge division.’ The Murge was the best Italian division then operating in south-east Europe. ‘Your allies, as I said.’ Crni gestured towards the eight prisoners. ‘You harbour a nest of vipers. You can’t recognize them as such, far less know what to do with them. We can do both.’