Jack Higgins - Midnight Never Comes

When he reached the rampart beneath the tower, the chink of light still showed clearly from the window above his head and he started to climb the buttress, taking care where he placed his weight on the crumbling surface.

The window was barred and a glass casement had been fitted inside. He crouched down, hanging on to the bars and peered through a narrow gap where the drawn curtain had failed to join.

At first he could see little of interest. Stone walls, the end of a bed and then he changed his angle and excitement surged through him. The man who sat at the table in the centre of the room reading by the light of an oil lamp was Boris Souvorin. There was no doubt about it, Chavasse had been shown too many photographs of the man to be mistaken.

He reached through the bars and tapped on the window. Souvorin sat up at once, a startled expression on his face. Chavasse tapped again and the Russian glanced towards the window. He put down his book and crossed the room slowly.

When he pulled the curtain and found Chavasse peering in at him, he recoiled, fear on his face. Chavasse made an urgent gesture. The Russian hesitated, then he opened the casement.

'Who are you? What do you want?' he said in a whisper.

'My name is Chavasse. I'm a NATO Intelligence agent. You're Boris Souvorin.'

'You're here to help me?' Souvorin gripped the bars tightly. 'Thank God. The past few days have been a waking nightmare. Can you get me out?'

'Not right now. Your host, Max Donner, is down below holding some kind of briefing with a group of men, dressed in the main as soldiers of the Federal Republic of West Germany. Have you any idea what he's up to?'

'None at all.' Souvorin shook his head. 'They brought me here three days ago and I haven't been out of this room since. Where is this place?'

'Moidart-the North-West coast of Scotland. One of the loneliest spots in the British Isles. Has he told you what he intends to do with you?'

'I am to be taken to Russia and soon. He was very certain of that when he spoke to me.'

'Right,' Chavasse said. 'I'll have to go now, but don't worry. I'll be back. They're not going to take you anywhere you don't want to go.'

Souvorin closed the window and as the curtains were pulled across, Chavasse went back down the buttress. He hurried along the battlements, went down the steps and crossed to the gap in the wall.

It was raining quite hard now, falling through the darkness with a violent rush that killed all sound and disregarding caution, he ran through the bushes and splashed along the shore. He found the boat at once, but there was no sign of Asta and then she moved out of the darkness to join him.

'Where in the hell were you?' he demanded savagely.

'Sheltering under a tree from the rain,' she said. 'It's been pretty foul waiting here. I'm soaked to the skin.'

She got into the boat and he pushed it out into deep water and scrambled over the stern. At the same moment the engine of the motor boat coughed into life. Chavasse waited, listening to its sound fade across the loch, then he started to paddle.

Asta leaned forward. 'I was beginning to get worried. When the motor boat turned up, I didn't know what to think. Who was it?'

'Your step-father and Murdoch. They've got a bunch of goons in the basement of the tower dressed as German soldiers.'

'But why?'

'God knows. The only thing I know for certain is that Boris Souvorin, a Russian rocket engineer who's been working for the British Government and who disappeared from his home a week ago, is locked in the room at the top of the tower, awaiting a quick passage to Russia.'

She drew in her breath sharply. 'You're sure of this?'

He nodded. 'I've just been talking to him. Unfortunately his window was barred and I couldn't very well take on the whole crew single-handed.'

'What are you going to do?'

'I'll get back to Ardmurchan Lodge as quickly as possible, but it'll take time to get in touch with my people-set things in motion and so forth.'

'Can I help?'

He hesitated, but it had to be said. 'You could, you could help a lot. You see it's unlikely that we'll be ready to move in on Donner before tomorrow and whatever happens, I don't want him to suspect that there's anything wrong before then.'

'And you'd like me to go back to Glenmore House as if nothing had happened?'

'I hate asking you,' he said. 'But if Donner finds you missing, he's bound to start looking for you. That could upset everything.'

The boat grounded and he went over the side and dragged it up on to the sand. She stepped out and turned to face him. 'I'd better be off then,' she said calmly. 'I think I can get back in without being seen.'

Chavasse unzipped the front of his rubber suit and took out a Smith amp; Wesson.38 magnum. 'Take this. I don't know if you've ever used one, but it might come in handy.'

She reached up to kiss him and then she was gone like a shadow into the curtain of rain. He stood looking after her for a moment and then he dragged the boat off the sandbar and pushed it out of sight under the bushes. He left the aqualung inside so that he had no weight to carry and started to run, following the shore towards the point where the river emptied into the loch.

He found the path and ran along it, brushing through ferns heavy with the rain. Whatever else happened now, speed was essential.

Somewhere thunder rumbled and beyond the mountains, sheet lightning flickered across the sky and then the rain increased into a solid monsoon-like downpour that killed all sound, dashing against his face with icy force.

When he came over the edge of the hollow fifteen minutes later and looked down at the lodge, it lay in darkness except for a thin streak of light showing at the French windows to the terrace at the rear.

He came out of the wood, opened the wicket gate in the wall and hurried across the lawn. The French window stood open slightly, the velvet curtain lifting as the rain drove against it.

He pushed open the window and stepped inside. The lamp on the table was out, but the room was illuminated by the light from the blazing log fire. Flames flickered across the oak-beamed ceiling, casting fantastic shadows that writhed and twisted constantly and the whisky in the glass on the small table beside Colonel Craig in his wing-backed chair, gleamed amber and gold.

Chavasse took a step towards him and stumbled, falling to one knee. George Gunn lay sprawled beside the table, eyes fixed and staring, the head turned so far to one side that it could only mean that his neck was broken.

And Craig was just as dead. The only thing that kept him upright in the chair was the cord which had choked life out of him. It would have needed strength to kill a man like that-real strength.

Chavasse turned, sick at heart, and Donner came in from the hall, a Luger in his hand. They looked at each other for a long moment and Donner laughed harshly, but it was the man at his shoulder who did the talking.

'So we meet again, Mr. Chavasse?' Boris Souvorin said pleasantly. 'Did you have an enjoyable swim?'

The sound of the Land Rover slowing to a halt outside pulled Asta back to reality just as she was dropping off to sleep. She threw back the bedclothes, ran across to the window in time to see her step-father and a stranger, hurry up the steps into the porch. They were followed by Paul Chavasse, Stavrou and Murdoch a pace or two behind.

Asta dropped the curtain, went across to the door and opened it. The landing was in darkness and she tip-toed along to the end and peered over the banisters.

They were standing in a group in the hall below and Chavasse in whipcord slacks and a white polo-necked sweater, seemed completely relaxed, that slight inimitable smile on his face. For a moment she thought everything was all right and then she noticed the revolver Stavrou was holding.