Алистер Маклин - Partisans

Metrović looked at Petersen. ‘I think I owe you an apology, Peter. Last night I didn’t know whether to believe your assessment or not. It seemed so fantastic. Not any more. You were right.’

‘Much good that’s done me. My forecast, I mean. I was twenty-four hours out.’

‘Tie them up,’ Crni said.

Immediately after leaving the hut, to nobody’s surprise, they were joined by two other soldiers: Crni was not the man to spend almost an hour inside any place without having a guard posted outside. That those were élite troops was beyond question. It was a bitter night, with driving snow, a biting wind and zero visibility but Crni and his men not only put up with the extreme conditions but seemed positively to revel in them.

Metrović had been wrong more than once the previous night. He had said that nobody was going to be moving around the mountains in those impossible weather conditions for days to come: Crni and his men were there to prove him wrong.

Once they were well clear of the camp Crni and his men produced torches. The prisoners were arranged so that they trudged on in single file through the deepening snow – it was already almost knee-high – while four of the guards walked on either side of them. By and by, at a command from Crni, they halted.

Crni said: ‘Here, I’m afraid, we have to tie you up. Your wrists. Behind your backs.’

‘I’m surprised you haven’t done it before,’ Petersen said. ‘I’m even more surprised that you want to do it now. You have in mind to kill us all, perhaps?’

‘Explain yourself.’

‘We are at the head of that track leading down the mountain-side to the valley floor?’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because the wind hasn’t changed since yesterday. You have ponies?’

‘Two only. For the ladies. That was all you required yesterday.’

‘You are very well informed. And the rest of us are to have our hands bound behind our backs just in case we feel tempted to give you or one of your men a brisk shove over the precipice. Mistake, Captain Crni, mistake. Out of character.’

‘Indeed?’

‘Two reasons. The surface of that rock is broken and slippery with either ice or hard-packed snow. If a man slips on that surface how is he, with his hands tied behind his back, going to grab at the ground to stop himself sliding over the edge – and how’s he going to be able to maintain his balance in the first place with his hands tied? To keep your balance you have to be able to stretch both arms wide. You should know that. It’s as good as sending people to their deaths. Second reason is that your men don’t have to be anywhere near the prisoners. Four of them well in advance, four well behind, the prisoners, maybe with a couple of torches, in the middle. What positive action could the prisoners take then except commit suicide by jumping off the precipice? I can assure you that none of them is in the least suicidally inclined.’

‘I am not a mountaineer, Major Petersen. I take your point.’

‘Another request, if I may. Let Giacomo and myself walk alongside the young ladies’ ponies. I’m afraid the young ladies don’t care too much for heights.’

‘I don’t want you!’ Even the prospect of the descent had brought a note of hysteria into Sarina’s voice. ‘I don’t want you!’

‘She doesn’t want you,’ Crni said drily.

‘She doesn’t know what she’s saying. It’s just a personal opinion of mine. She suffers severely from vertigo. What have I to gain by saying so?’

‘Nothing that I can see.’

As they lined up by the cliff-top, Giacomo, leading a pony, brushed by Petersen and said, sotto voce: ‘That, Major, was quite a performance.’ He vanished into the snow with Petersen looking thoughtfully after him.

A steep descent, in treacherous conditions, is always more difficult and dangerous than a steep ascent and so it was to prove in this case. It is also slower and it took them all of forty minutes to reach the valley floor but reach it they did without incident. Sarina spoke for the first time since they had left the plateau.

‘We are down?’

‘Safe and sound as ever was.’

She gave a long quavering sigh. ‘Thank you. You don’t need to hold my horse any more.’

‘Pony. Whatever you say. I was getting quite attached to the old lady.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said quickly. ‘I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just that you’re so – so awful and so kind. No, I’m the person who is awful. You’re the person they’re after.’

‘As is only fitting. My rank.’

‘They’re going to kill you, aren’t they?’

‘Kill me? What a thought. Why should they? A little discreet questioning perhaps.’

‘You said yourself that General Granelli is an evil man.’

‘General Granelli is in Rome. Haven’t you given any thought as to what is going to happen to you?’

‘No, I haven’t.’ Her voice was dull. ‘I don’t think I care what’s going to happen to me.’

‘That,’ said Petersen, ‘is what is known as a conversation stopper.’ They moved on in silence, the still heavily falling snow now at their backs, until Crni called a halt. He had the beam of his torch directed at the Italian army truck Petersen had stolen two days previously.

‘It was thoughtful of you, Major, to leave transport so conveniently at hand.’

‘If we can help our allies – you didn’t arrive by this.’

‘It was thoughtful, but not necessary.’ Crni moved the beam of the torch. Another, even larger Italian truck, was parked close by. ‘All of you, into that truck. Edvard, come with me.’

The eight prisoners were ushered into the larger truck and made to sit on the floor crowded up against the cab. Five soldiers followed them and sat on side benches towards the rear. Five torch beams were directed forwards and in the light of the beams it was possible to see that an equal number of machine-pistol barrels were pointed in the same direction. The engine started up and the truck jolted off. Five minutes later they turned right on to the main Neretva road.

‘Ah!’ Harrison said. ‘Bound for the bright lights of Jablanica, I see.’

‘On this road, where else?’ Petersen said. ‘After that the road divides. We could be going anywhere. I would guess that Jablanica is as far as we go. It’s getting late. Even Crni and his men have to sleep.’

Shortly afterwards the driver stopped both the truck and the engine.

‘I don’t see any bright lights around here,’ Harrison said. ‘What are those devils up to now?’

‘Nothing that concerns us,’ Petersen said. ‘Our driver is just waiting for Crni and his friend Edvard to join him up front.’

‘Why? They have their own transport.’

‘Had. It’s in the Neretva now. That lad who met us yesterday – you remember, Dominic, the driver with the sunglasses – would not have failed to note the make and number of the truck. When and if Ranković are discovered and freed – which may not be for hours yet – the proverbial hue and cry may be raised. “May”, I say. I doubt it. The Colonel is not a man to publicize the security gaps in his forces. But Crni doesn’t strike me as a man to take the slightest chance.’

‘Objection,’ Giacomo said. ‘If your friend Cipriano is the man behind this, he already knows the description of the truck. So what’s the point in destroying the truck?’

‘Giacomo, you sadden me. We don’t know that Cipriano is the man behind this but if he is he wouldn’t want to leave any clue that would point a finger at him in connection with the abduction. Remember that, officially, he and the Colonel are sworn allies, faithful unto death.’

Voices came from up front, a door banged, the engine started again and the truck moved off. ‘That must be the way of it,’ Giacomo said to no-one in particular. ‘Pity about the truck, though.’