John Robb - I Shall Avenge!

When he noticed him, Zatov smiled. And, like all N.C.O.s, he could not resist an attempt at wit.

“Ah,” he said weightily. “Are we about to receive some more American aid?”

Those who understood laughed immediately. Those who did not follow the international implication also joined the chorus—but after a little delay.

Rex had been long enough in the Legion to know that men like Zatov must be allowed such privileges. He managed a grin.

Then he said: “I guess we’d all like to know just what’s goin’ to be done about it. That is—if Annice Tovak wasn’t bluffing?”

“Bluffing, you call it. It was no bluff, legionnaire.”

“Then what are we goin’ to do?”

Zatov shrugged his huge shoulders.

“I am not in the confidence of the capitaine .”

Pete, who had been standing near Rex, pushed slightly forward. He said in his deceptively indifferent voice: “He hasn’t very long to decide, has he? And he hasn’t much choice. Either we stay—and the civilians are killed. Or we go.”

“Go! Do you think we’re marching out of Sadazi because a hank-haired bitch says so?”

“Then the civilians will die?”

Zatov glared at Pete. And Pete stared pleasantly back. Then, to an accompanying rumble of Slavonic curses, Zatov strode out of the room.

There was an immediate babble of multi-tongued conversation. But neither Rex nor Pete took part in it.

Rex was looking thoughtful as he dragged a small piece of wadding through his rifle. He was showing signs of considerable excitement by the time he had replaced the bolt. A moment later he was tapping Pete on the shoulder. There was never much of an interval between conceiving an idea and acting upon it, where Rex was concerned.

“I’m goin’ to ask for an interview with Monclaire,” he said in a fast whisper.

Pete regarded him with composed curiosity.

“Really? But I should hardly think the captain will be in a mood for social discussions with other ranks at this moment. I don’t know what’s on your mind, but you’d better let it wait, old man.”

“It won’t be a social discussion. It’ll be about those folks the Touaregs are holding.”

“Ah—I gather you have some ingenious formula for their release?”

At one time, Pete’s cynicism had hurt and annoyed Rex. Now he had learned—as many other Americans had learned of Englishmen—that it was merely protective pose to conceal emotion. Pete belonged to that Saxon school which regarded any display of personal feeling as being slightly reprehensible.

So Rex ignored the remark. He added: “I’ve been figuring things out. It seems to me that one man might be able to reach the prisoners without being seen. It wouldn’t be like a whole patrol marching out of the barracks.”

“Possibly. And I suppose you see yourself as being the one man. It’s most noble of you, old fellow. My congratulations. But what would you do if you did get to the prisoners? Are you proposing to overcome several hundred Touareg thugs single handed and guide the grateful captives to freedom and safety?”

“No, I ain’t.”

“Then what?”

“It’s this way—I’m thinkin’ that those folks are most likely to be locked below ground in one of the cellars. And the guards will be outside the door. Get me?”

Pete nodded.

“I suppose so. A cellar is the logical place, and the guards are not likely to be in with them.”

“Then don’t you see? Suppose I could get between the guards and the prisoners! If I was well enough armed, I might be able to hold the Touaregs off while a couple of companies rush the hotel…”

He was going to say more, but he broke off because Pete was laughing quietly.

Pete said: “That, if I may say so, is a typical American conception of tactics. You base your plans upon a wild improbability, then trust to courage and a kindly fate to see you through.”

“Okay, okay. Kill yourself laughing, if you want to. But I guess it’s better than doing just nothing. And I guess Monclaire might see it the same way. I’m still going to apply for that interview, and I’m doing it right now.”

Rex began to button his tunic. Then, as he was fastening his ceinture , Pete said: “It’s just possible that Monclaire may allow you to attempt something of the sort—but it will only be because he’s desperate. If that happens, I cannot possibly permit you to operate alone and unaided. You will require the military experience of the English. Therefore, both of us will request an interview.”

Monclaire listened carefully. He had agreed to see the two legionnaires only because he knew that such applications were seldom made without good reason. And only thoroughly slack officers made difficulties about seeing their men.

It was vastly annoying, of course, to have to deal with such routine matters at this time of absolute crisis. At a time when he felt that his brain must burst in its efforts to find a solution…

But it was typical of the man that from the very beginning he gave them his whole attention.

And he felt a strange sense of relief when, after the American’s first few words, he realised that he was not being asked to consider some triviality. They were actually concerned to help him. And however fantastic their notions may be, it was good to know that his burden was shared among even the most humble members of the garrison.

At first, he decided that the plan was indeed fantastic. He dismissed it mentally. But, so as to give the appearance of utter fairness, he asked questions.

It was the answers that forced him reluctantly to reconsider.

Could two men get out of the barracks unobserved?

Oui . In darkness it would not be impossible.

Could they get into the hotel?

Oui . Again it would be possible, if—as suggested—they wore Arab robes. And might they somehow force themselves between the guards and the prisoners? Might they, if they had sub-machine guns, hold the Touaregs back while a desperate rush was made from the barracks?

. They would hear the shooting in the barracks. And that would be the signal. The time needed to seize the hotel? If losses were ignored—and losses would have to be ignored—it might be done in five minutes. Eight or nine minutes at the most, allowing for resistance in the street.

Monclaire drummed on the desk with his pencil.

It was a wild plan. And its main weakness lay in the fact that its success depended entirely upon only two men. Yet more than two men could not be used. Any greater number would have a proportionately smaller chance of infiltrating.

But, when all else seemed impossible, did not the wild idea sometimes succeed? Certainly. The whole history of the human race showed that…

Suppose he agreed…

Were these two legionnaires best fitted to carrying out their own plan? Or should he give the task to a couple of junior officers?

Monclaire had little difficulty in resolving that problem.

The American he knew to be courageous and quick witted. This very interview proved that. And his previous Legion record proved it, too.

And the Englishman—he had once been an officer in a British regiment. Not that that in itself was an automatic qualification, for there were many ex-officers from many armies in the ranks of the Legion. Zatov was one of them.

But Legionnaire Pete Havers had certain very desirable qualities. He lacked the innate gusto of his American friend. But he had a balancing sense of logic. A capacity for clear judgment. Like most Englishmen, he was steady under fire.

Yes, they would be an ideal pair to attempt such a desperate throw into the wheels of chance…

Monclaire dropped the pencil. He stood up and smiled. It was a wan smile, but then it was his first for many hours.