Desmond Bagley - The Tightrope Men

‘I suppose I volunteer — but let’s wake up the others first.’

Ten minutes later it was established beyond doubt that the besiegers were still there. McCready slammed the door. ‘That bastard doesn’t like me; I felt the wind of that one.’

‘I saw him,’ said Denison. ‘The range is a hundred yards — not more. He could have killed you, but he didn’t.’

‘The mist has thickened,’ said Diana. ‘Even in the last ten minutes.’

‘Let’s get everything packed,’ said McCready.

They started to repack their gear, all except Denison who went to the window to stare out over the marsh. Fifteen minutes later McCready joined him. ‘Aren’t you coming?’

‘Visibility down to fifty yards,’ said Denison. ‘I wonder what would happen if someone went outside now.’

‘If Johnny is still in those reeds he wouldn’t see.’

‘What makes you think he’s still in the reeds? If he has any sense he’ll have closed in. So will the others.’

‘Others?’

‘Logic says there are at least four-two to watch back and front, and two to sleep.’

‘I’m not so sure of that,’ said McCready. ‘It’s only theory.’

‘Try climbing out of the back window,’ said Denison drily. He rubbed his jaw. ‘But you’re right in a way; it doesn’t make sense, does it? Not when Schmidt could have put two men right here in the hut with us. He’d have saved two men.’

McCready shook his head. ‘He’s too wise a bird to fall for that. When you have a rifle that’ll kill at a quarter mile you don’t guard at a range of three yards. Guards that close can be talked to and conned into making a false move. We can’t talk to these jokers outside and they talk to us with bullets.’

He tapped on the glass. ‘But Schmidt didn’t reckon on this mist. It’s thickening rapidly and when the visibility gets down to ten yards I think we’ll take a chance.’

‘Then you take it on your own,’ said Denison flatly. ‘If you think I’m going to go stumbling around out there when there are four men armed with automatic rifles you’re crazy. They might not want to kill us by design but they could sure as hell kill us by accident. I don’t go — nor does Lyn. Nor does Harding, if I have any say.’

‘A chance like this and you won’t take it,’ said McCready disgustedly.

‘I’m not in the chance-taking business, and in this case it doesn’t make sense. Tell me; suppose you leave this hut — what would you do?’

‘Head back to Vuotso,’ said McCready. ‘We couldn’t miss it if we skirted the edge of the marsh.’

‘No, you couldn’t,’ agreed Denison. ‘And neither could the Czechs miss you. You’d be doing the obvious. Come over here.’ He walked over to the table and spread out the map, using Harding’s cartridges to hold down the corners. ‘I’m not recommending leaving the hut at all — not the way things are now — but if it’s necessary that’s the way to go.’

McCready looked at the way Denison’s finger pointed. ‘Over the marsh! You’re crazy.’

‘What’s so crazy about it? It’s the unexpected direction. They wouldn’t think of following us across there.’

‘You’re still out of your mind,’ said McCready. ‘I had a good look at that marsh from up on the mountain. You can’t tell where the land begins and the water ends, and where there’s water you don’t know how deep it is. You’d stand a damned good chance of drowning, especially if you couldn’t see ten yards ahead.’

‘Not if you took the punt,’ said Denison. ‘The two girls and one man in the punt — two men alongside pushing. Where the water becomes deep they hang on and are towed while the people in the punt paddle.’ He tapped the map. ‘The marsh is two miles across; even in pitch darkness you could get through in under four hours. Once you’re across you head west and you can’t help but hit the main road north from Rovaniemi.’ He bent over the map. ‘You’d strike it somewhere between Vuotso and Tankapirtti, and the whole journey wouldn’t take you more than seven or eight hours.’

‘Well, I’ll be damned!’ said McCready. ‘You’ve really been working all this out, haven’t you?’

‘Just in case of emergency,’ said Denison. He straightened. ‘The emergency hasn’t happened yet. We’re a bloody sight safer here than we would be out there. If there was a life and death reason for getting out of here I’d be in favour of it, but right now I don’t see it.’

‘You’re a really cool logical bastard,’ said McCready. ‘I wonder what it takes to make you angry. Don’t you feel even annoyed that we’re being made fools of by those Czechs out there?’

‘Not so annoyed as to relish stopping a bullet,’ said Denison with a grin. ‘Tell you what — you were so keen on the democratic process when you were stringing Schmidt along, so I’ll settle for a vote.’

‘Balls!’ said McCready. ‘It’s either the right thing to do or it isn’t. You don’t make it right just by voting. I think you’re right but I don’t...’

He was interrupted by a single shot from outside the hut and then there was a sustained rapid chatter of automatic fire. It stopped, and McCready and Denison stared at each other wordlessly. There was another report, a lighter sound than the rifle fire, and a window of the hut smashed in.

‘Down!’ yelled McCready, and flung himself flat. He lay on the floor of the hut and then twisted around until he could see Denison. ‘I think your emergency has arrived.’

All was silent.

Denison lay on the floor and looked at McCready who said, ‘I think that was a pistol shot; it sounded different. I hope it was.’

‘For God’s sake, why?’

McCready was grim. ‘Just pray they don’t start shooting at this hut with those bloody rifles. They’re NATO issue and they pack a hell of a wallop. In Northern Ireland the army found they were shooting through houses — through one wall and out the other.’

Denison turned his head. ‘Are you all right, Lyn?’

She was flat on the floor by her bunk: ‘I... I think so.’ Her voice was tremulous.

‘I’m not,’ said Harding. ‘I think I was hit. My arm is numb.’

Diana crossed the hut at a low run and flopped down beside Harding. ‘Your face is bleeding.’

‘I think that was the flying glass,’ he said. ‘It’s my arm that’s worrying me. Can you have a look at it?’

‘Christ!’ said McCready savagely. ‘One lousy bullet and he has to get in the way. What do you think now, Denison? Still think it’s not time to leave?’

‘I haven’t heard anything more.’ Denison crawled over to the window and cautiously raised himself. ‘The mist is much thicker. Can’t see a damned thing.’

‘Get down from there,’ snapped McCready. Denison pulled down his head but stayed in a crouch below the window. ‘How’s Harding?’

Harding answered. ‘The bone is broken,’ he said. ‘Can someone get my black box? It’s in my pack.’

‘I’ll get it,’ said Lyn.

McCready crawled over to Harding and inspected his arm. Diana had torn away the shirt sleeve to get at the wound, a small puncture. Harding’s arm was a curious shape; it seemed to have developed an extra joint. ‘It was a pistol shot,’ said McCready. ‘If you’d have been hit by one of those rifle bullets at that range you’d have no arm left.’

Again came the sound of automatic fire but from a greater distance. It sounded like a noisy sewing machine and was interspersed with other single shots. It stopped as quickly as it had begun.

‘Sounds like a battle,’ said McCready. ‘What do you think, Denison?’

‘I think it’s time to leave,’ said Denison. ‘We’ve had one bullet in here — we might get more. You and I will go down to the punt; Diana and Lyn can help Harding along as soon as we’ve made sure it’s safe. We leave the packs and travel light. Bring a compass, if you have one.’