Jack Higgins - The Keys Of Hell

“How much juice you got in that thing? Enough to get us to the coast?”

“I think so. Most of the way, at least.”

“We still need a compass to get back to the Buona Esperanza ,” Orsini said. “At least if we’re going to go now in the dark.”

“We can’t afford to wait till dawn,” Chavasse said. “That’s when Kapo will send Francesca in the dinghy. If we’re going to beat them to it, we must go now.”

“Father Shedu will have a compass,” Liri said. “Wait here. I’ll go and get him.”

She mounted the steps and the door closed behind her. Orsini slumped down beside Chavasse. “What a girl. Most would have had hysterics by now.”

“She’ll have to come with us,” Chavasse said. “She can’t stay here.”

“What about an entry permit? I know what it’s like for the stateless refugees.”

“Don’t worry about that. I know the right people at the Ministry in Rome. I’ll see she gets treated like royalty. We’ll even find her a job. She’s earned it.”

“Maybe she won’t need a job.”

Chavasse glanced at him curiously. “You make up your mind in a hurry, don’t you?”

Orsini shrugged. “You either know straightaway, or it’s no good. Of course, I’ve got twenty years on her.”

“I wouldn’t let that worry you,” Chavasse said. “She knows a man when she sees one.”

He sat there, his left arm aching like hell, his strength slowly ebbing, and after a while the door clicked open and Father Shedu came down the steps with Liri.

“So miracles can still happen,” he said as he moved forward.

“My friend Guilio Orsini, Father,” Chavasse said. “I’m glad you kept out of it back there. They still haven’t got the slightest idea how we got inside.”

The priest poured brandy into a couple of tin mugs and handed a small basket to Liri. “Not much, I’m afraid. Bread and cheese and some dried meat. The rich, full life is long in coming for the People’s Republic.”

“We’ll eat it on the way,” Chavasse said. He drank some of the brandy and coughed as it burned its way down his throat.

“Liri has told me what happened in there,” the priest said. “It pains me to know this woman deceived you.”

“And she’ll go on playing the same game unless we can manage to stop her,” Chavasse said. “Liri thought you might have a compass?”

The priest held one forward, pressing a small spring so that the lid flew open. Chavasse examined it, noting the inscription “W.D. 1941” and the official broad arrow.

“British Army issue?”

“A souvenir from another life. Take it with my blessing.” He turned to Liri and placed a hand on her shoulder. “And what happens to you, Liri?”

“She goes with us, Father,” Orsini said gruffly. “I’ll look after her.”

The priest gazed at him searchingly and then smiled. “God moves in His own strange ways. Now go, all of you, while there is still time.”

They dropped into the boat and Liri took the tiller. The roaring of the engine seemed to fill the cavern when it broke into life and the boat turned away quickly.

As they moved through the dark entrance, Chavasse glanced back and saw the Franciscan still standing there watching them. A moment later, they swung into the main current and turned downstream through the darkness.

THE RIVER WAS ANGRY, SWOLLEN BY the rains flowing down from the mountains of the north, and it rushed toward the sea with more than usual force.

The frail punt skipped water constantly and Chavasse and Orsini took turns at bailing with an old tin basin. They ate the food the priest had provided and finished the bottle of brandy.

Chavasse sat in the prow, his collar turned up against the spray, and longed for a cigarette. He wondered what Kapo would do? Probably tie up farther downriver till dawn. Then he would send Francesca in with the dinghy and Carlo would swallow every damned thing she said.

Perhaps half an hour later, the engine faltered and died abruptly. As the punt started to drift broadside on in the strong current, Liri called, “There are paddles under the seat. Keep her head round.”

Chavasse fumbled in the darkness and found two crude paddles. He leaned over the side and dug one deep into the water, using all his strength, and gradually the punt turned into the current.

Orsini scrambled to the stern and, after a struggle, managed to get the engine housing off. He started to try to trace the fault by touch alone and after a while his sensitive fingers encountered a broken lead to one of the plugs. The wire was old and brittle and crumbled between his fingers, but he eventually managed to link it together and tried the starter. The engine turned over twice, faltered, then rumbled into life, and Chavasse rested on the thwart in relief as the punt surged forward.

“Any chance of that happening again?” he called softly.

“I wouldn’t be surprised. This must be the one they used on the Ark.”

Orsini stayed at the tiller, nursing the engine along, and Liri moved into the center and started to bail. It was still quite dark and visibility was almost nil. Only the surge of white water against the bank gave them any kind of bearing.

The bulk of a large island loomed out of the night and Liri called urgently as Orsini swung the tiller, taking them away toward the center of the river.

As the current caught them, there was a sudden challenge from the left and Chavasse glanced over his shoulder and saw the motor boat anchored in the lee of the island, a light in her wheelhouse.

He was aware of people moving along the deck, of confused voices and then a powerful spot mounted on top of the wheelhouse was switched on, the beam splaying out across the dark water. It followed them relentlessly, trapping them in its dazzling beam like flies in a web.

There was an incredulous cry of dismay and Francesca’s voice sounded on the cold air like a bugle. “Kapo! Kapo! Come quickly!”

Chavasse leaned over the side, digging the paddle into the water feverishly as Orsini gave the old motor everything it had. They dipped into the millrace as the current flowed past the final curved point of the island and coasted into darkness again.

A few moments later, the engine of the motor boat rumbled into life and Liri scrambled back into the stern. “I’ll take over now,” she said. “There’s a creek about a quarter of a mile below. If we can reach that, we’re safe. It’s too narrow for the motor boat to enter. They’ll have to stay in the main channel.”

Orsini moved down beside Chavasse, picked up the other paddle and drove it into the water with all his great strength. They were passing through a narrower section of the river now and the flood waters rushed with a mighty roar, drowning the sound of the motor boat’s engine. Chavasse stabbed the crude paddle into the water again and again, exerting everything of mind and will in a supreme effort, pushing the tiredness, the fatigue, of the past twenty-four hours away from him.

They swung in close to the land as the river broadened, and quite suddenly, as the roaring of the flood waters subsided, the engine of the motor boat sounded close behind.

He glanced over his shoulder, saw the lighted wheelhouse, the searchlight stabbing out toward them. There was the harsh deadly staccato of a submachine gun and then the punt swerved into the lee of a small island and started to turn.

Reeds swam out of the darkness and as the beam of the searchlight fell across them, the opening of the creek sprang out of the night. The punt surged toward it, slowed as it slid across a submerged mud bank and then they were through. The machine gun rattled again ineffectually as the reeds closed about them.