Duncan Kyle - Terror's Cradle

Ì understand.' I .could pick out Marasov now, walkie-talkie in hand, head bent back as he looked up at me. A second later the bow of the big fishing boat began to come round and water foamed beneath her stem. I stepped back, picked up the water bottle, and tied the string I'd got from Anderson's hide firmly round the bottle neck. Then I crossed the Holm, using my torch to find my discarded climbing belt, and buckled it on. Finally, I hooked the strap of the walkie-talkie round my neck. I was ready, possibly able, very far from willing.

I had to force myself to sit on the edge of the cliff, force myself to dangle my legs into space until I'd fitted my feet

into the stirrups and adjusted the Jumar clips. This was the moment. I placed the precious water bottle a couple of feet back from the edge in case of accident, lowered the• suing over, then turned my body and let myself slide carefully downward until the stirrups took the strain. Lowering the bottom clip, I felt my foot move down. The edge now pressed against my chest. Next the upper clip. Then the lower again. My eyes were level with the bottle. Beside me the slender thread of string dangled limply. I went down slowly, glancing every few seconds at the entrance to the channel, where Marasov's boat would appear at any moment. I wondered how he would have contacted Anderson. Well, it was his problem and there was always Morse. Anderson would be bound to know Morse!

Yes, there it was! Deck lights on, the big fishing boat came nosing cautiously in. I lowered myself two more steps down the rope and waited.

There came a sudden unearthly roar — magnified •a dozen times as the sound smashed back and forth between the cliffs — and Elliot's helicopter roared over. Christ, what was he doing? He was up to something; must have some idea, some plan, but I couldn't begin to imagine what it was! Hanging one-handed on the rope, I fumbled for the walkie-talkie hand-set, and glanced down. The Russian fishing boat was almost directly beneath me. When I released the bottle, it would probably fall straight on to the deck. Marasov?'

Ì'm ready.'

I said, 'Where are they? I want to see them.'

`Look down.'

I looked. Three figures stood in a little group at the stern. 'Let me speak to her.'

I saw him hand over the walkie-talkie. There was a brief pause, then a voice came. I'd have known it anywhere. Relief thudded through me: Alsa said uncertainly, 'John?'

Ìs that Newton with you?'

Another pause, then, 'Yes, John, it is.'

I looked back towards the entrance. Anderson's Shetland model was entering the narrow channel, coming in towards the Russian boat's stern.

let them go aboard,' I said into the handset.

`John. Be careful.'

Ì'll be careful,' I said. 'I have to be. Let me talk to Marasov.'

`They're going now, Sellers,' Marasov said, 'Can you see them?'

I could see very clearly. I saw the man go first: Newton, who'd nearly paid for his love of birds with his life. Then Alsa. With Anderson's good arm around her, she turned at the rail and waved up to me.'

In my ear, Marasov's voice boomed suddenly. `They're on the boat. Did you see?'

`Now we wait,' I told him, 'until they're' out of sight.'

He said, warningly, 'There are three men with automatic rifles here, Sellers. They are ready to fire if you make the slightest movement.'

My throat was dry, my stomach knotting with anxiety as I hung there, swaying a little on the rope, watching as Anderson's boat moved slowly, stem first, back out of the channel. I could see the three figures in the stern as she came about, now under forward power, and began to pick up speed.

My mind raced. Had I allowed enough time? When I let the bottle fall, would Marasov have time to retrieve it, get out of the channel and still catch them before they reached Lerwick? I'd have to wait as long as I dared.

By now the boat was gone. Half a minute passed then Marasov said, 'Now. It is time.'

I didn't reply.

`Do you hear me, Sellers?'

Ì hear you.'

Ì shall count to ten,' he said slowly. 'If you have not then kept your promise, my men will open fire.'

I gritted my teeth and argued. 'It won't help you. I'm not holding the string. It's hanging beside me. The bottle would stay up here. We wait until they're well clear. Five minutes at least.'

I half expected to be shot at that moment, but nothing happened. I hung in space against that awful cliff, sweating and waiting as I counted five minutes slowly away. Marasov's voice came with startling suddenness. 'Now, Sellers! Now or I call up another'

vessel to intercept them.'

`How do I know you haven't?'

`You don't know. But I assure you that I will. I will order them killed, you know that?'

This was it then. Another Russian boat might already be intercepting Anderson; God knows they had enough of them in Lerwick! But I'd reached the end, played my weak hand for all it would stand. I couldn't do more.

Marasov said, 'I am only interested in the transparency. Only that. Remember it. If you let the bottle fall now, they will be safe.'

I took a deep breath of doubt. But now I had to do it. I said, 'Coming now. Watch out for it!'

I reached out my hand to the thin, dangling string, raised my eyes to the cliff edge and pulled gently. It was tight, perhaps lodged against some tiny obstruction. I pulled harder .

. . and watched in horror as the slack string came limply over the edge. There was no bottle on the end!

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Marasov's voice rasped,. 'What's wrong, Sellers?'

`No bottle,' I said. 'There's no –' I was going to die. Now. This moment. Rifles were aimed at me. I said, 'Please, let me – '

Brilliant light suddenly flooded the chasm below me, a bright, white ball of light. I was gaping down, waiting for the bullet, but already blinded by the flaring brilliance, when a voice above 'me shouted, 'Quick, Sellers! Get up here, quick ! ' Elliot's voice!

But I couldn't go quickly. Climbing with Jumars was desperately slow. I felt the rope move in my hands and clung to it, as the cliff face scraped against my knuckles. I heard the sharp crackle of rifle fire from below, heard bullets smack against rock. Somehow I wasn't hit, and I couldn't understand why. I couldn't see at all. That suddenly exploding, flaring light had destroyed my vision totally. I simply hung there, helplessly, aware that I was being dragged slowly upward, knowing Elliot must be doing it, but with no idea what had caused the light, or why I hadn't been hit.

`You're at the edge now.' Elliot's voice was little more than a series of straining grunts. '

Grab it and climb over!'

Ì'm blind,' I yelled. 'I can't see!'

`Christ, put your hands out. Help me pull . .

I felt forward at the cliff face, slid my hands up and felt the edge, where cold rock turned into grass, reached up, found a grip, and pulled. The edge was level with my chest.

`Christ, make it fast!' Elliot grated.

I pulled desperately, hands now nearly at waist level. `Fall forward, Sellers, you're okay!'

But I didn't fall forward. I was smashed forward, by a rifle bullet which, although I didn't know it at that instant, blasted half the flesh of my 'shoulder away. All I knew then was that my shoulder was suddenly numb, that my face was in wet grass. I tried to crawl, but my arm wouldn't support me. I wriggled on my stomach, and rolled, until I felt grass instead of space beneath my feet.

Shock, it must have been. Exhaustion. The burning redness in my eyes was darkening, then dying .. .

I woke in the helicopter and looked up at a dim shape very near. Somebody spoke, and I assumed the shape must be a head. 'Don't worry. Keep still. You'll be at the hospital in a few minutes.'

I nodded, hoping it was true. My shoulder felt as though it was being cremated. If the pain went on much longer I'd . . .