Alistair MacLean - Breakheart Pass

He hadn't long to wait. There came the sound of a frantic hammering on a door, then Henry's voice. Henry's voice sounded as Henry had looked, overwrought.

'God's sake, Major, come quickly. They're gone, they're all gone!'

'What the devil are you talking about?' O'Brien's voice was distinctly testy, the voice of one rudely awakened from sound slumber. 'Talk sense, man.'

'Gone, Major, gone. The two horse wagons – they're no longer there.'

'What? You're drunk.'

'Wish to God I was. Gone, I tell you. And the ammunition and explosives boxes have been forced open. And the coffins. And Carlos is gone. And so is Deakin. No sign of either of them. I heard a scream. Major–'

Deakin didn't wait to hear more. He crossed to the second coach, passed through the dining compartment, stopped outside Marica's door, tested it, found it locked, used his keys, and went inside, closing the door securely behind him. A night-light, turned low, burned on a little table beside Marica's bunk. Deakin crossed to this, turned it up, placed a hand on the blanket-clad shoulder of the sleeping girl and shook gently. She stirred, turned, opened her eyes, opened them much wider still, then opened her mouth. A large hand closed over it–'

Don't. You'll die if you do.' Her eyes opened even wider and Deakin shook his head, trying to look encouraging, which was a pretty difficult thing to do in the circumstances. 'Not by my hand, ma'am.' He jerked his free thumb towards the door. 'Your friends out there. They're after me.

When they get me, they'll kill me. Can you hide me?' He removed his hand. Despite the racing pulse in her neck she was no longer terrified, but her eyes were still wary. Her lips moved without her speaking, then she said : 'Why should I?'

'You save my life. I'll save yours.'

She looked at him with little reaction, not so much dispassionately as without understanding, then slowly shook her head. Deakin twisted his belt until the under side showed, opened a buttoned compartment, extracted a card and showed it to her. She read it, at first uncomprehending; her eyes widened again, then she nodded and looked at him in slow understanding. There came the sound of voices from the passageway. Marica slipped from her bunk and gestured urgently to Deakin, who climbed in and pressed closely against the compartment partition. pulling the clothes over his head. Marica quickly turned down the night-light and was just climbing into the bunk when a knock came at the door. Marica did not answer but instead busied herself with arranging the clothing on the bed to conceal Deakin as effectively as possible. The knock came again, more peremptorily this time.

Marica propped herself on an elbow and said in a sleepy voice: 'Who is it?'

'Major O'Brien, ma'am.'

'Come in, come in. The door's not locked.' The door opened and O'Brien stood in the doorway, making no move to come further. Marica said in an indignant voice: 'What on earth do you mean by disturbing me at this hour, Major?'

O'Brien was most apologetic. 'The prisoner Deakin, Miss Fairchild. He's escaped.'

'Escaped? Don't be ridiculous. Where could a man escape to in this wilderness?'

'That's just the point, ma'am. There is no place to escape to. That's why we think he's still aboard the train.'

Marica looked at him in cold disbelief. 'And you thought that perhaps I–'

Hastily and at his most pacific O'Brien said: 'No, no. Miss Fairchild. It's just that he could have sneaked in here silently when you were asleep–'

'Well, he's not hiding under my bed.' There was considerable asperity in Marica's tone.

'I can see that, ma'am. Please excuse me.' O'Brien beat what was clearly an uncharacteristically rapid retreat, and the sound of his footsteps was lost as he moved along the passageway. Deakin's head appeared from under the clothes–'

Well now, ma'am.' Deakin's voice was frankly admiring. 'That was something. And you never even had to tell a lie. I'd never have believed–'

'Out! You're covered with snow from head to foot and I'm freezing.'

'No. You get out. Get out, get dressed and bring Colonel Claremont here.'

'Get dressed! With – with you lying–'

Deakin laid a weary forearm across his eyes 'My dear girl – that is to say, I mean, ma'am – I have other and less pleasant things to think of. You saw that card. Don't let anyone hear you talk to him. Don't let anyone see you bring him here. And don't tell him I'm here.'

Marica gave him a very old-fashioned speculative look but she didn't argue any more. There was something in Deakin's face that precluded further argument. She dressed quickly, left and returned within two minutes, followed by an understandably bewildered-looking Colonel Claremont.

As Marica closed the door behind them Deakin drew back the covers from his face and swung his legs over the edge of the bunk.

'Deakin! Deakin!' Claremont stared his disbelief. 'What in God's name–' He broke off and reached for the Colt at his waist.

'Leave that damned gun alone.' Deakin said tiredly. 'You're going to have every chance to use it later. Not on me, though.'

He handed Claremont his card. Claremont took it hesitantly, read it, then read it a second time and third time. He said: '“John Stanton Deakin… United States Government … Federal Secret Service … Allan Pinkerton.”' Claremont recovered his aplomb with remarkable speed and calmly handed the card back to Deakin. 'Mr Pinkerton I know personally. That's his signature. I know you too. Now. Or I know of you. In 1866 you were John Stanton. You were the man who broke open the $700,000 Adams Express robbery in that year.' Deakin nodded. 'What do you want me to do, Mr Deakin?'

'What does he want you - but you've only just met him. Colonel.' Marica was openly incredulous. 'How do you know that he – I mean, don't you question him or–'

'No one questions John Stanton Deakin, my dear.' Claremont's voice was almost gentle.

'But I've never even heard of–'

'We're not allowed to advertise,' Deakin said patiently. 'Secret Service the card says. There's no time for questions. They're on to me now and neither of your lives is worth a burnt-out match.' He paused reflectively. 'That would still hold true even if they weren't on to me. But it's come earlier now. Every other person left alive on this train at this moment has only one ambition in life – to see we don't stay alive.' He opened the door a crack, listened, then closed it. 'They're up front, talking. Now's our one and only chance. Come on.' He ripped the sheets from Marica's bed and stuffed them under his jacket.

Claremont said: 'What do you want those for?'

'Later. Come on.'

'Come on?' Marica spoke almost wildly. 'My uncle! I can't leave–'

Deakin said very softly. ' I intend to see that the honourable and upright Governor, your beloved uncle, stands trial for murder, high treason and grand larceny.'

Marica looked at him in totally uncomprehending silence, her face registering almost a state of shock. Deakin eased open the door. A babble of excited raised voices could be heard from the officers' day compartment. Henry, at the moment, was holding the floor.

'Richmond! That's where I saw him. Richmond!' Henry sounded acutely unhappy. 'Sixty-three, it was. A Union espionage agent. I saw him just the once. He escaped. But that's him.'

'God! A Federal agent.' O'Brien's tone was vicious but the accompanying apprehension was more than just underlying. 'You know what this means, Governor?'

Apparently the Governor knew all too well what it meant. His voice was shaking and pitched abnormally high.

'Find him! For God's sake find him. Find him and kill him. Do you hear me? Kill him! Kill him!'

'I think he wants to kill me,' Deakin said in Marica's ear. 'Charming old boy, isn't he?'