Десмонд Бэгли - High Citadel

‘You must understand that I’m merely a theoretician where this is concerned,’ explained Armstrong. ‘I’m no mechanic or engineer. But I described what I want to Willis and he thinks we can make it.’

‘Armstrong and I were rooting round up at the camp,’ said Willis. ‘One of the huts had been a workshop and there was a lot of junk lying about — you know, the usual bits and pieces that you find in a metal-working shop. I reckon they didn’t think it worthwhile carting the stuff away when they abandoned the place. There are some flat springs and odd bits of metal rod; and there’s some of that concrete reinforcing steel that we can cut up to make arrows.’

‘Bolts,’ Armstrong corrected mildly. ‘Or quarrels, if you prefer. I thought first of making a prodd, you know; that’s a type of crossbow which fires bullets, but Willis has convinced me that we can manufacture bolts more easily.’

‘What about tools?’ asked O’Hara. ‘Have you anything that will cut metal?’

‘There are some old hacksaw blades,’ Willis said. ‘And I saw a couple of worn-out files. And there’s a hand-powered grindstone that looks as though it came out of the Ark. I’ll make out; I’m good with my hands and I can adapt Armstrong’s designs with the material available.’

O’Hara looked at Forester, who said slowly, ‘A weapon accurate to a hundred yards built out of junk seems too good to be true. Are you certain about this, Doctor Armstrong?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Armstrong cheerfully. ‘The crossbow has killed thousands of men in its time — I see no reason why it shouldn’t kill a few more. And Willis seems to think he can make it.’ He smiled. ‘I’ve drawn the blueprints there.’ He pointed to a few lines scratched in the dust.

‘If we’re going to do this, we’d better do it quickly,’ said O’Hara.

‘Right.’ Forester looked up at the sun. ‘You’ve got time to make it up to the camp by nightfall. It’s uphill, but you’ll be travelling light. You go too, Peabody; Willis can use another pair of hands.’

Peabody nodded quickly. He had no taste for staying too near the bridge.

‘One moment,’ said Aguillar, speaking for the first time. ‘The bridge is made of rope and wood — very combustible materials. Have you considered the use of fire? Señor O’Hara gave me the idea when he spoke of petrol tanks.’

‘Um,’ said O’Hara. ‘But how to get the fire to the bridge?’

‘Everyone think of that,’ said Forester. ‘Now let’s get things moving.’

Armstrong, Willis and Peabody left immediately on the long trudge up to the camp. Forester said, ‘I didn’t know what to make of Willis — he’s not very forthcoming — but I’ve got him tagged now. He’s the practical type; give him something to do and he’ll get it done, come hell or high water. He’ll do.’

Aguillar smiled. ‘Armstrong is surprising, too.’

‘My God!’ said Forester. ‘Crossbows in this day and age!’

O’Hara said, ‘We’ve got to think about making camp. There’s no water here, and besides, our main force is too close to the enemy. There’s a pond about half a mile back — I think that’s a good spot.’

‘Benedetta, you see to that,’ Aguillar commanded. ‘Miss Ponsky will help you.’ He watched the two women go, then turned with a grave face. ‘There is something we must discuss, together with Miguel. Let us go over there.’

Rohde was happy. ‘They have not put a plank in the bridge yet. They ran again like the rabbits they are.’

Aguillar told him what was happening and he said uncertainly, ‘A crossbow?’

‘I think it’s crazy, too,’ said Forester. ‘But Armstrong reckons it’ll work.’

‘Armstrong is a good man,’ said Aguillar. ‘He is thinking of immediate necessities — but I think of the future. Suppose we hold off these men; suppose we destroy the bridge — what then?’

‘We’re not really any better off,’ said O’Hara reflectively. ‘They’ve got us pinned down anyway.’

‘Exactly,’ said Aguillar. ‘True, we have plenty of food, but that means nothing. Time is very valuable to these men, just as it is to me. They gain everything by keeping me inactive.’

‘By keeping you here they’ve removed you from the game,’ agreed Forester. ‘How long do you think it will be before they make their coup d’état ?’

Aguillar shrugged. ‘One month — maybe two. Certainly not longer. We advanced our own preparations because the communists showed signs of moving. It is a race between us with the destiny of Cordillera as the prize — maybe the destiny of the whole of Latin America is at stake. And the time is short.’

‘Your map, Señor O’Hara,’ said Rohde suddenly.

O’Hara took out the chart and spread it on a rock, and Rohde traced the course of the river north and south, shaking his head. ‘This river — this gorge — is a trap, pinning us against the mountains,’ he said.

‘We’ve agreed it’s no use going for the bridge downstream,’ said Forester. ‘It’s a hell of a long way and it’s sure to be guarded.’

‘What’s to stop them crossing that bridge and pushing up on this side of the river to outflank us?’ asked O’Hara.

‘As long as they think they can repair this bridge they won’t do that,’ Aguillar said. ‘Communists are not supermen; they are as lazy as other people and they would not relish crossing eighty kilometres of mountain country — that would take at least four days. I think they will be content to stop the bolt hole.’

Rohde’s fingers swept across the map to the west. ‘That leaves the mountains.’

Forester turned and looked at the mountain wall, at the icy peaks. ‘I don’t like the sound of that. I don’t think Señor Aguillar could make it.’

‘I know,’ said Rohde. ‘He must stay here. But someone must cross the mountains for help.’

‘Let’s see if it’s practicable,’ said O’Hara. ‘I was going to fly through the Puerto de las Aguilas. That means that anyone going back would have to go twenty miles north before striking west through the pass. And he’d have to go pretty high to get round this bloody gorge. The pass isn’t so bad — it’s only about fourteen thousand feet.’

‘A total of about thirty miles before he got into the Santos Valley,’ said Forester. ‘That’s on straight line courses. It would probably be fifty over the ground.’

There is another way,’ said Rohde quietly. He pointed to the mountains. ‘This range is high, but not very wide. On the other side lies the Santos Valley. If you draw a line on the map from here to Altemiros in the Santos Valley you will find that it is not more than twenty-five kilometres.’

O’Hara bent over the map and measured the distance. ‘You’re right; about fifteen miles — but it’s all peaks.’

‘There is a pass about two miles north-west of the mine,’ said Rohde. ‘It has no name because no one is so foolish as to use it. It is about five thousand eight hundred metres.’

Forester rapidly translated. ‘Wow! Nineteen thousand feet.’

‘What about lack of oxygen?’ asked O’Hara. ‘We’ve had enough trouble with that already. Could a man go over that pass without oxygen?’

‘I have done so,’ said Rohde. ‘Under more favourable conditions. It is a matter of acclimatization. Mountaineers know this; they stay for days at one level and then move up the mountain to another camp and stay a few days there also before moving to a higher level. It is to attune their bodies to the changing conditions.’ He looked up at the mountains. ‘If I went up to the camp tomorrow and spent a day there then went to the mine and stayed a day there — I think I could cross that pass.’