The Angry Mountain (31 page)

I think I might have turned back then. I needed another drink. I needed to keep myself drunk. But when I glanced towards Avin I saw the figure of a man trudging up the road towards me. I turned George and cantered towards him.

It was Sansevino all right. I pulled Zina's little automatic out of my pocket. But I needn't have bothered. The man was too shaken with fear to try any tricks, and he was literally glad to see me. I think he'd been coming to the villa anyway. He needed company. I remembered how I'd felt alone on that roof watching the lava steadily encroaching. It wasn't nice to be alone while you're waiting for the lava to reach you.

I hauled him up in front of me and we trotted back to the villa. As we turned off the road on to the track through the vineyards he said, “Suppose I could show you a way to get out of here?”

“How do you mean?” I asked.

“I will make a bargain with you. If I tell you how we may be able to get away, will you all give me your word of honour as gentlemen that you will not say anything of what has happened?”

“I don't bargain with people like you,” I snapped. “If you know a way out you'll tell us to save your own miserable hide.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Later perhaps, when the lava is close, we make a deal.”

He had no trace of American accent now. He had dropped the personality of Shirer entirely. He was an Italian speaking English.

I didn't even bother to question him about his proposition. I knew there was no way out.

“Is Maxwell badly hurt?” he asked.

“Thanks to you—yes. One leg's crushed.”

We had reached the villa now and I slid to the ground. I had the pistol ready and I was prepared to use it. I think he knew that, for he went straight into the villa. “Where is he?”

“The room on the left,” I told him.

Hilda was still kneeling beside the couch. Hacket and Reece were there looking much cleaner. “Here's your doctor,” I said to Hilda.

Hacket started forward at the sight of Sansevino. Then Reece brushed past him and seized Sansevino by the shoulder. “What happened to Shirer?” he hissed. “Did you kill him? What happened?”

“Let him go,” I ordered. I could see Reece's fist clenched, ready to lash out. His chagrin at realising how he'd been duped was eating into him, destroying his reasoning. I hit him across the knuckles with my pistol. “Let go, damn you!” I shouted at him. “Haven't you any sense? The man's a doctor.”

He stared at me, his expression a mixture of shocked surprise and anger. I pushed quickly between him and Sansevino. “There's your patient, doctor,” I said. “Get that leg set properly. Make a slip and I'll start shooting.”

He looked at me. “Please, Mr. Farrell. You do not have to threaten. I know the responsibilities of my profession.”

“You can hardly expect me to take a remark like that very seriously,” I answered.

He shrugged his shoulders. “I do what I think is necessary. I told you that before. However, I do not expect you to believe me. Do you mind if I wash?” As I followed him, he added, “You do not have to worry. I shall not run away.”

As we returned to the room I heard the sound of the piano. Zina was sitting there, playing—her fingers drifting easily,
lingeringly over the keys and a dreamy expression on her face. She stopped playing as she saw Sansevino. “So you have found it, eh?” he said. “You feel better now?”

“I feel marvellous, Walter. Wonderful.” She glanced towards the black, louring sky beyond the windows. “I do not care any more.” Her fingers rippled along the keys.

Sansevino crossed to the couch, stripped the blankets off Maxwell's body and then began to cut away the clothing from his injured leg. “Get me some water, please. Warm water. Also sheets for bandages and some pieces of wood. The banisters from the stairs will do nicely. Zina! Get me the morphia and my hypodermic.” It was extraordinary. He ceased to be the man who'd tried to murder us up there in Santo Francisco. He was just a doctor faced with a surgical problem.

He got the clothing cut away and stood for a moment looking at the bloody pulp of flesh. At one point the white of the bone was showing. He shook his head. “It is very bad.” His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth. Then he went over to a desk in the corner and opened the bottom drawer with a bunch of keys he'd taken from his pocket. He brought out a small roll of surgical instruments. “Go and tell Miss Tu
č
ek I also need some boiling water, please.” I hesitated. Reece and Hacket were outside, knocking out the banisters. There was only Zina in the room. “Hurry, please. Go on, man. I shall not hurt him. What would be the point?”

I went out into the kitchen. Hilda had a bowl of warm water. I carried it in while she got some hot water for the instruments.

When I got back Hacket and Reece were standing over the doctor. As soon as Hilda had brought in the hot water and he had sterilised his instruments, he began work. He was deft and quick and he worked with complete concentration. I watched, fascinated, as the long sensitive fingers moved over Maxwell's flesh. It gave me a horrible, almost masochistic
sense of pleasure. It was as though I could feel them on my own leg, only this time I knew there'd be no pain for me.

Gradually the broken limb took shape. Then suddenly he was bending over, straining at it, forcing the bone into place whilst a high, thin scream issued from Maxwell's mouth. He straightened up at last, wiping the sweat from his face with a towel. “It's all right. He will not know anything about it afterwards. He is drugged.” After that, splints and bandages, and then he was pulling the blankets up and rinsing his hands in the bowl.

“He will be all right now,” he said, wiping his hands on the towel. “Would you be good enough to give me a drink, please, Mr. Hacket?”

Hacket passed him a stiff cognac. I became conscious again of Zina playing and realised she had been playing all the time. Sansevino gulped noisily at the liquor. “You see, I have not lost my touch.” He was smiling at me. There was no double meaning intended. He was genuinely pleased that he'd done a good job. “When we get back to Napoli we will have that leg in plaster and in a few months it will be as good as ever.” He paused, searching our faces with his dark eyes. “I take it you do not wish to die here in the lava?”

“Just what are you getting at?” Hacket asked.

“I, too, do not wish to die. I have a proposition to make.”

Reece took a step forward. “If you think—”

Hacket caught him by the arm. “Wait a minute. Let's hear what he's got to say.”

“I think I can arrange it so that we all get out,” Sansevino said. “But naturally I expect something in return.”

“What?” Hacket asked.

“My liberty—that is all.”

“All!” Reece exclaimed. “What has happened to Petkof and Vemeriche? And probably there are others.”

“They are alive. You have my word for it. I do not kill unless I have to.”

“You didn't need to kill Shirer.”

“What else was I to do? The Germans make me do their dirty work for them. When they lose the war I know what will happen. I shall be arrested and sentenced to death by your Allied murder courts. I do not like to be killed. If it is a question of my life or someone else's—” He shrugged his shoulders.

“It was not a case of your life with Roberto. You did not need to kill Roberto.” Zina had stopped playing and had come towards us.

Sansevino looked at her. “Roberto is a peasant,” he said contemptuously. “What does it matter to you? You use him as an animal. There are plenty more animals.” He turned to Hacket. “Well, now—what is it to be, signore? We can all die here together—or we can come to an arrangement.”

“How do we know you can get us out?” Reece asked. “If you know how to get away, why haven't you gone already?”

“Because I cannot go without you. As for whether I know how we can get away—if I do not, it will not be necessary for you to keep your side of the bargain. Well?”

“All right,” Hacket said.

Sansevino looked at Reece and myself. I glanced at Hilda. Then I nodded. Reece said, “All right. How do we get out?”

But Sansevino didn't trust us. He got a sheet of paper and made Reece write out a statement that we were convinced he was really Shirer, that he'd done everything possible to help us to locate Tu
č
ek and Lemlin and that Roberto was shot when crazed with fear. It was so much a repetition of what had happened at the Villa d'Este that it seemed unbelievable that we weren't back again in that hospital ward.

“Very well.” Sansevino pocketed the piece of paper. “And I have your word, gentlemen?” We nodded. “And yours, Miss Tu
č
ek? And you all agree to hold Maxwell and the other two to this promise?” Again we nodded. “Good.
Then I think we had better start. There is a plane in the outhouses halfway towards the road.”

“A plane?” Hacket echoed in astonishment.

Hilda had jumped up. “Oh, what a fool I am! Of course. That is what Max was trying to tell us when he was on the cart. We saw it land whilst we were waiting out there on the road.” I remembered then Zina saying—
What about the aeroplano, Walter?
and Sansevino reply—
Ercole has gone to Naples in the jeep.

“But who's to fly it?” Reece asked. “Maxwell can't. Have you got an antidote to the drugs you've given Tu
č
ek and Lemlin?”

Sansevino shook his head. “No. Mr. Farrell will fly us out.”

“Me?” I stared at him, sudden panic gripping me.

“You are a flier,” he said. “Didn't you land Reece and Shirer behind our lines?”

“Yes, but—” I wiped the sweat out of my eyes. “It's a long time ago now. I haven't flown for—” God, it was ages since I'd flown a plane. I couldn't remember the position of the instruments. I'd forgotten the feel of the stick. “Damn it,” I cried, “I had two legs then. I haven't flown since—”

“Well, you're going to fly now,” Reece said.

“I can't,” I said. “It isn't possible. Do you want to crash? I'd never get her off the ground.”

Hilda came over to me. She had hold of my arms, gripping them. “You've been one of the best pilots in Britain, Dick. When you get into the machine it will all come back to you—you will see.” She was looking up into my eyes, trying desperately to communicate her sense of confidence.

“I can't,” I said. “It's too risky.”

“It's either that or stay here till the lava wipes us out,” Hacket said.

I glanced round at the ring of tight, set faces. They were all watching me, seeing my fear, blaming me now for not getting them out. I suddenly felt I hated them all. Why
should I have to fly the damned plane to save their skins?” You must get Tu
č
ek to do it,” I heard myself stammering. “You must wait till he comes out of—”

“That is not possible,” Sansevino cut in.

Hacket stepped forward and patted my arm. I could see the level set of his dentures as he forced a smile. “Come on, now, Farrell. If we're prepared to risk it—”

Reece thrust him aside. “Are you going to let us all die here?” he said angrily.

“I can't fly the plane “—the words seemed to be forced out of me. “I daren't.” I was half-sobbing.

“So we're all to die here like rabbits in a trap because you're scared. You rotten, yellow—”

“You've no right to say that.” Hilda hauled him away from me. “How dare you?” she stormed. “He has done more than any one. Ever since the eruption started he has been fighting to save us. Did you go to get Dr. Sansevino for Max? No. You were too busy getting the dust out of yourself. And you didn't go near the lava. Dick has faced death twice to-day. And you have the nerve to call him a coward. You have done nothing—nothing, I tell you.”

She stopped then. She was breathing heavily and she wiped her hand across her hair. Then she took my arm. “Come. We will go and get clean. We shall feel better when we have had a wash.”

I followed her upstairs to the bathroom in a sort of daze. I wanted to crawl into a corner and hide. I wished I was back on that roof top. I'd welcome the approach of the lava now. If only it would come. I wanted it to end—quickly. “I can't fly that plane,” I told her.

She didn't answer and ran the tap of the bath. “Take your things off, Dick,” she said. And as I hesitated, she stamped her foot angrily and said, “Oh, do not be so stupid. Do you think I don't know what a man looks like without his clothes. I have been a nurse, I tell you. Now get those filthy things off.” I think she knew that it was my leg I
didn't want her to see, for she left the room saying she'd find me some clean clothes. She flung them in while I was getting the dirt off in the bath. Then whilst I dressed she washed her face in the basin.

“Now do you feel fresher?” she asked as I did up the buttons of one of Sansevino's shirts. She was rubbing her face with a towel and she suddenly began to laugh. “Please, don't look so tragic. Look at yourself.” She thrust a mirror in front of my face. “Now smile. That's better.” She caught hold of my arms. “Dick. You're going to fly that plane out.”

I felt an obstinate dumbness welling up inside me. “Please, Dick—for my sake.” She stared at me. Then her face seemed to crumple up. “Don't I mean anything to you?”

I knew then what I'd known all day—knew that she meant all the world to me. “You know I love you,” I murmured.

“Then, for heaven's sake.” She was laughing at me through her tears. “How do you imagine I'm going to bear your children if I'm buried under twenty feet of lava?”

Suddenly, I don't know quite why, we were both laughing, and I had my arms round her and was kissing her. “I shall be right beside you all the time,” she said. “You will make it. I know you will. And if you don't—” She shrugged her shoulders. “Then the end will be quick and we shall not mind.”