Duncan Kyle - Terror's Cradle

As I watched them walk towards me, I rapidly unscrewed the stopper of the plastic bottle. They stopped no more than ten feet away and stood looking down at me. 'All right, Sellers. Give me that!' Willingham bawled against the helicopter's racket. I shook my head and shouted back. 'Get back into the bloody thing and fly off.'

They came closer, both with pistols levelled. Elliot called. `We'll use these, Sellers. Don'

t doubt it.'

I held up the bottle. 'If you do, it goes over the edge. The stopper's off. It'll sink straight away.'

Elliot yelled, 'How do I know it's in there?'

Ìt's there,' I shouted. 'Now go. For Christ's sake, go!' Stalemate. Elliot and I stared at each other. I shouted, 'If you shoot me, it falls. If you come near me, it falls. Get into your bloody helicopter and go!' It was Elliot I was addressing, Elliot who was in charge, Elliot who stood looking at me doubtfully. I deliberately ignored Willingham—and I almost lost everything in doing so. I should have expected it; knowing him, but I certainly wouldn't have expected his speed. He hurtled at me from the edge of my vision, diving to try to pin me to the ground. At the last second I saw him coining and rolled over desperately, lashing upward with my foot. It was sheer instinct that made me kick, sheer blind luck that I made contact, sheer disaster that my foot caught him as it did : hard and clean in the face. The impact was doubled by his own onward rush. He thudded to the ground right beside me, with a harsh yelp of pain. I lashed out again, heard his sudden scream and didn't understand for a second what had happened. But the scream continued and died away and I suddenly knew and felt myself shiver. Willingham had gone over!

I looked quickly at the bottle neck. As I'd rolled, had the bottle tipped? I shook it and listened to the water gurgle. No. It was still there.

What about Elliot? For God's sake, where was he? I looked up and saw he was still standing there, open-mouthed now, but the automatic still pointed at me. 'Go!' I yelled at him.

He remained perfectly still for what seemed a long time, then shrugged, turned and walked slowly back to the helicopter. I watched him climb aboard, listened to the rising clamour of the rotor blades, and then the chopper's wheels lifted and it soared upward. Cautiously I crawled away from the cliff edge, then paused to restopper the bottle. The helicopter was a couple of hundred feet above me, beginning to circle slowly. Elliot had gone away all right, but not very far.

What the hell could I do now? I'd won a pause, but no more than that. Before my crazy climb up the rope there had at least been a scheme of sorts. Anderson and I would inform the Russians we had the copy and use it to bargain

for Alsa's release. But now the Russians would probably have guessed why we had returned to the Holm. By now, they'd perhaps even have caught Anderson and be certain. For me, and for Alsa, the alternatives were bleak and fatal. Frying pan or fire?

Americans or Russians? Either way, Alsa would . . .

I crouched alone in the darkness on top of that two hundred foot rock pillar and tried to find a way out. Above, Elliot's helicopter still waited. Below, there, was the Russian boat. There was nothing, nothing I could do!

I stood shakily and looked helplessly around me. Then I saw a dark shadow on the grass near the middle of the surface. I frowned, remembering the Russian who'd captured me last night. I hadn't been sure then that he was dead. I walked slowly towards him. Now there was no question about it. He lay as I'd left him; those blows I'd chopped into his throat had killed him. Now Willingham was dead too! Two men dead. And Alsa would also die; they'd never release her now.

Then I saw that something lay beside the Russian. I bent to look at it. Of course – the radio he'd used! I scooped it up, switched on my torch, and looked at it. A simple walkietalkie gadget. On-off switch, probably single wavelength. Could I make use of this in some way? I sat down and thought about it for a bit, then went quickly to the hide and found what I wanted.

A couple of minutes later, I flicked the switch and spoke into it. `Marasov,' I said. Nothing happened. I went close to the edge, raising the aerial so that it projected - over into space. I repeated Marasov's name several times. Perhaps the damned thing had been smashed when the Russian fell?

Then a voice replied in Russian. I said, `Marasov, Marasov,' and waited. There was a little hiss of static.

`This is Marasov.'

I said, 'This is Sellers. I have a copy transparency that Anderson made.'

`Then an exchange can be arranged.'

`You have two prisoners. Alison Hay and a man called Newton.'

A pause, then, 'That is true. Climb down the rope, Mister. Sellers. Give it to us. I undertake to land the two people you name on one of the Shetland islands.'

I said, 'Get stuffed.'

Ìt is a promise.'

`Made to break,' I said. 'I have a better idea.'

Ìf the transparency reaches the Americans,' Marasov said grimly, 'no deal is possible.'

Ìt won't. Now listen. I will deliver this to you after you have put Miss Hay and Mr Newton on to Anderson's boat. When I see they are safely aboard and that the boat is well under way, you get the transparency.'

The walkie-talkie crackled. Marasov said, 'You do not trust me, I do not trust you. Why should I?'

`Because,' I said, 'I will offer myself as hostage.'

`How?'

I hesitated, then committed myself. 'I will climb a few feet down the rope . . . damn!' I had to stop talking as the helicopter suddenly roared low over the island. I waited for it to go away and started to talk again. 'I will climb a few feet down the rope. The transparency remains here on top. It's in a bottle. Quite safe now. I shall have a long string tied to the bottle. When I see Miss Hay and Newton are , aboard Anderson's boat, I'll pull the bottle over the edge and let it fall. It's polythene. It won't break. You can pick it up.'

There was silence for a moment; comparative silence. The helicopter still clattered somewhere near, though for the moment I couldn't see it.

In my ear Marasov's voice said, 'If I transfer them, what is to stop you breaking your word and leaving the bottle there? The helicopter, after all, is waiting.'

The helicopter was suddenly doing more than waiting. It must have been lurking near sea level, because abruptly it again tore up over the cliff edge and passed low over the Holm top. I swung round to watch it go, trying to discover

what Elliot was up to. For some reason tear gas came into my mind : tear gas, or that other stuff – Mace – they use to stun people in riots. Would Elliot have things like that available up here in the Shetlands? I pictured myself staggering round up there blinded and helpless. As the roar died, I said quickly, 'I'll be ten feet down the cliff, hanging on the rope. You can shoot me very easily, if I don't keep my word.'

I waited tensely for his answer. I'd offered him all I had to offer . . Marasov's answer was hesitant. 'How can I trust you?'

Ìf I don't keep my promise, you kill me. It's that simple.'

Still he hesitated. There was only one thing to do. I stood up, showed myself at the cliff edge, and said, `Look at me now. Look through the sights of a rifle. I'll come ten feet down the cliff. Could you miss?'

Below me on the lighted deck of the trawler I could see men looking up. 'Well, could you?'

His voice crackled in my ear. 'I accept. I warn you, we shall not miss.'

I looked down at the sea far below and swallowed. I'd proposed, but I was appalled by what I'd proposed. My guts felt slithery at the thought of venturing again into the void. And the feeling of revulsion grew worse with every second I stood there. I said, 'Where I climbed before, at the south end. Understand?'