Алистер Маклин - Partisans

Lorraine was absent for at least fifteen minutes. When she returned she was rather pale and although there were no tears on her cheeks it seemed clear that she had been crying. Sarina looked at Petersen, Harrison and Giacomo, shook her head and put her arm round Lorraine’s shoulders.

‘They’re a gallant lot, aren’t they, Lorraine? Chivalrous. Concerned.’ She gave them a withering glance. ‘Maybe they’re just shy. Who’s next?’

‘They didn’t ask to see anyone.’

‘What did they do to you, Lorraine?’

‘Nothing. Do you mean – no, no, they didn’t touch me. It was just some of the questions they asked . . .’ Her voice trailed off. ‘Please, Sarina, I’d rather not talk about it.’

‘Maraschino,’ George said authoritatively. He took her by the arm, seated her and proffered a small glass. She took it, smiled gratefully and said nothing.

Crni came in accompanied by Edvard. He was, for the first time anyone had seen, relaxed and smiling.

‘I have some news for you. I hope you will find it good news.’

‘You’re not even armed,’ George said. ‘How do you know we won’t break every bone in your bodies? Better still, use you as hostage to escape? We are desperate men.’

‘Would you do that, Professor?’

‘No. Some wine?’

‘Thank you, Professor. Good news, at least I think it’s good news, for the von Karajans, Captain Harrison and Giacomo. I am sorry that we have been guilty of a small deception but it was necessary in the circumstances. We are not members of the Murge Division. We are, thank heavens, not even Italians. We are just common-or-garden members of a Partisan reconnaissance group.’

‘Partisans.’ There was no excitement in Sarina’s voice, just incomprehension tinged with disbelief.

Crni smiled. ‘It’s true.’

‘Partisans.’ Harrison shook his head. ’Pon my soul. Partisans. Well, now. I mean. Yes.’ He shook his head then his voice rose an octave. ‘Partisans!’

‘Is it true?’ Sarina had Crni by the arms and was actually shaking him. ‘Is it true?’

‘Of course it’s true.’

She searched his eyes as if searching for the truth, then suddenly put her arm around him and hugged him. She was very still for a moment then released him and stepped back. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t have done that.’

He smiled. ‘There’s no regulation that says that a young recruit, female, may not hug an officer. Not, of course, to make a practice of it.’

‘There’s that, too, of course.’ She smiled uncertainly.

‘There’s something else?’

‘No, not really. We’re terribly glad to see you.’

‘Glad?’ Harrison said. ‘Glad!’ The initial shock absorbed, he was in a state bordering on euphoria. ‘Nothing less than a merciful providence has sent you our way!’

‘It wasn’t a merciful providence, Captain Harrison. It was a radio message. When my commanding officer says “move”, I move. That’s the “something else” you wouldn’t talk about, Miss von Karajan. Your fears are groundless. Military regulations don’t allow me to shoot my boss.’

‘Your boss?’ She looked at him, then Petersen, then back at Crni. ‘I don’t understand.’

Crni sighed. ‘You’re quite right, Peter. You, too Giacomo. No espionage material among this lot. If there were they wouldn’t have to be hit over the head with the obvious. We’re both Partisans. We’re both in intelligence. I am the ranking subordinate officer. He is the deputy chief. I’m sure that makes everything clear.’

‘Perfectly,’ George said. He handed Crni a glass. ‘Your wine, Ivan.’ He turned to Sarina. ‘He doesn’t really like being called Crni. And don’t clench your fists. All right, all right, this is life in a nutshell. Decisions, decisions. Do you kiss him or do you hit him?’ The bantering note left George’s voice. ‘If you’re mad because you’ve been fooled, then you’re a fool. There was no other way. You and your hurt pride. You’ve got your Partisans and he hasn’t to face a firing squad. Don’t you know how to be glad, girl? Or is there no room for emotions like relief and gratitude in the minds of you spoilt young aristocrats?’

‘George!’ She was shocked, less because of the words than the tone she had never heard before. ‘George! I am so selfish?’

‘Never.’ His good humour instantly restored, he squeezed her shoulders. ‘It’s just that I thought it would rather spoil the flavour of the moment if you were to give Peter a black eye.’ He glanced sideways. Harrison, his forehead on his forearms on the table, was softly pounding the table with his fist and muttering to himself. ‘You are not well, Captain Harrison?’

‘My God, my God, my God!’ The pounding with the fist continued.

‘A Šljivovica?’ George said.

Harrison lifted his head. ‘And the awful thing is that I am cursed with total recall. That,’ he added irrelevantly, ‘was why I was so good at passing exams. I can remember every word I said in that stirring speech about patriotism and duty and loyalty and myopic idiocy and – I can’t go on, I can’t.’

‘You mustn’t reproach yourself, Jamie,’ Petersen said ‘Think what it did for our morale.’

‘If there was any justice, any compassion in this world,’ Harrison said, ‘this floor would open up beneath me at this very moment. A British officer, I called myself, thereby meaning there was no other. A highly skilled observer, evaluator, analyzer. Good God! Total recall, I tell you, total recall. It’s hell!’

‘I’m sorry I missed that speech,’ Crni said.

‘Pity,’ Petersen said. ‘Still, you’ve heard about Jamie’s total recall. He can repeat it to you verbatim any time you want.’

‘Spare the vanquished,’ Harrison said. ‘I heard what you said to Sarina, George, but I remain bitter. Fooled, fooled, fooled. And doubly bitter because Peter didn’t trust me. But you trusted Giacomo, didn’t you? He knew.’

‘I told Giacomo nothing,’ Petersen said. ‘He guessed – he’s a soldier.’

‘And I’m not? Well, that’s for sure. How did you guess Giacomo?’

‘I heard what you heard. I heard the Major telling – suggesting rather, to Captain Crni that his intention to rope us up before descending that cliff path was dangerous. Captain Crni is not the man to take an order or suggestion from anyone. So then I knew.’

‘Of course. I missed it. So you didn’t trust any of us, did you Peter?’

‘I didn’t. I had to know where I stood with you all. Lots of odd things have been happening in Rome and ever since we left Rome. I had to know. You’d have done the same.’

‘Me? I wouldn’t have noticed anything odd in the first place. When did you come to the decision that you were free to talk? And why did you decide to talk? My God, when I come to think of it, when have you ever been free to talk? My word, I can’t imagine it, I just can’t. Can you, Sarina? Living the life of a lie, surrounded by enemies, one false move, one unconsidered slip, one careless word and pouf! And he spent almost half his time with us!’

‘Ah! But I spent the other half with our own people. Holiday, you might say.’

‘Oh, God, holiday. I knew – and I haven’t known you long – that you were something different, but this – but this – it passes my comprehension. And you, a man like you, you’re only the deputy chief. I’d love to meet the man you call chief.’

‘I don’t call him “chief.” I call him lots of other things but not that. As for loving to meet him, you don’t have to bother. You’ve already met him. In fact, you’ve described him. Big fat clown, naïve and illiterate, who spends his time floating around in cloud-cuckooland. Or was it the groves of academe? I don’t remember.’