Jack Higgins - Brought in Dead

Craig crouched beside him. He had lost his red beret and his face was streaked with black mud and slime. “All right?”

Miller coughed and brought up a little marsh water.

“What about you?”

“Lost the shotgun, I’m afraid. If you think you can keep on the move, we’ve a chance of circling round to the houseboat. There are a couple of sporting rifles and an extra shotgun there.”

Miller nodded, getting to his feet, and they moved forward again. A couple of minutes later the reeds started to thin and a dyke lifted out of the mist. They scrambled up out of the water and Craig started to run at a jogtrot, Miller stumbling after him.

The pain in his arm was much worse now and there was a stitch in his side. He stumbled into a thorn tree at the top of a grassy knoll above a small, scum-covered pool and managed to cry out.

“No use, Duncan. I can’t go on.”

Craig didn’t even attempt to argue. “Get out of sight and wait,” he said crisply. “I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

There was a clump of bushes just below the path and Miller rolled underneath. He pillowed his cheek against the wet earth, struggling for breath, and was suddenly aware of footsteps approaching from the direction in which they had come. A moment later, Ben Carver came into view.

He paused, his feet no more than a yard away from Miller’s head, the Smith & Wesson held in his left hand, and Miller didn’t hesitate. He grabbed for the ankles with all his force. Carver fell on top of him, the Smith & Wesson flying out of his hand into the pool below.

Miller cried out in agony as the pain in his arm seemed to spread throughout his entire body and he reached for Carver’s throat with his right hand. Together, they burst out of the bushes and rolled down the slope.

For the briefest of moments Miller was on top as they reached the bottom and he used it well. His right hand rose and fell, the edge catching Carver full across the throat. He screamed and turned over, tearing at his collar.

Miller tried to get to his feet and Max Vernon said, “Hold it right there — where’s Craig?”

He was standing half-way down the slope, the Luger ready, his face pale. “Right here, Vernon!” Craig called.

He came down the slope like a rugby forward, head down, catching Vernon round the waist. The Luger exploded once and then they were locked together and falling backwards.

The waters of the pool closed over them and they rose separately. Vernon seemed bewildered, his face black with mud and Craig surged forward and hit him again and again, solid, heavy punches that drove him into the centre of the pool.

Vernon lost his balance and went under the surface. As he got to his feet, he screamed suddenly. “My legs — I can’t move my legs! I’m sinking!”

Craig floundered back towards the edge of the pool, the mud releasing him reluctantly with great sucking noises. When he reached firm ground he turned, a slightly dazed expression on his face and wiped the back of a hand wearily across his eyes.

Vernon was going fast, the quagmire under the surface of the water drawing him down. “For God’s sake, help me, Craig! Help me!”

Miller pushed himself to his feet and staggered forward clutching his arm, blood oozing between his fingers. Vernon was already chest-deep and he went to pieces completely, babbling hysterically, arms thrashing the water.

Miller started forward and Craig pulled him back. “And I thought it was going to be so easy,” he said bitterly.

He unzipped his combat jacket, taking it off as he waded into the pool. He held it by the end of one sleeve and reached out to Vernon.

“Hold on tight if you want to live.”

Vernon grabbed for the other sleeve with both hands like a drowning man and Craig started backwards. He was already beginning to sink himself and for a moment, nothing seemed to be happening. Miller moved to help him, extending his one good arm, and Craig grabbed at his hand. A moment later, Vernon came out of the slime with a rush.

He crawled from the water and lay face down at the side of the pool, his whole body racked by sobbing. Miller and Craig moved back to the bottom of the slope and slumped down.

“So you were right and I was wrong?” Craig sighed wearily. “I should have known I couldn’t go through with it.”

“All part of the service,” Miller said.

Craig turned with a wry grin. “It’s been fun, hasn’t it? We must do it again sometime.”

As they started to laugh, a police whistle sounded somewhere in the distance and scores of brent geese rose in a protesting cloud and flew out to sea.