Passage by Night (v5) (11 page)

Orlov joined him and they paused in the shadows listening. Somewhere there was laughter as a door opened, silence as it closed again.

'I know my way about on this side of the fortress,' Orlov said. 'They've installed a service lift at the end of this corridor which goes down to the ground floor where the orderlies have their quarters. We'll stand a better chance of getting out that way. It's at the rear.'

Manning nodded and the Russian led the way along the corridor. The lift doors were new and shining and looked strangely out of place. As he pressed the button, Manning noticed with amusement that the manufacturer's plate said
Made in Detroit,
which proved something, though he couldn't think what.

When the lift arrived, they stepped inside quickly and started down. He was conscious of a strange, hollow feeling in his stomach as they came to a halt, but the doors opened into a large, quiet basement. There was no one about.

They moved to the door and turned into a long brightly lit corridor. Voices came from a room to their left and the door was slightly ajar. Manning caught a glimpse of soldiers sitting round a table eating and moved on quickly after Orlov.

The Russian stood listening at one of the doors farther on and opened it as Manning arrived. It looked like the quarters of half a dozen men. The beds were ranged around the room, blankets neatly folded. Submachine guns and automatic rifles stood in a rack in one corner and there was a selection of uniforms and other items of equipment in the tin lockers by each bed.

'How good is your Spanish?' Orlov asked.

'Pretty fluent.'

'Then this is the obvious way out for us.'

They dressed quickly in military greatcoats and peaked caps and took a submachine gun each. They went back into the corridor and moved on quickly, mounted several stone steps and came into a narrow corridor that opened into a small hall.

There was a tiny glass office in the entrance and a guard casually leafed through a magazine, a cigarette in his mouth. Manning and Orlov walked out casually, submachine guns slung from their shoulders. As they passed the office, Manning half-raised a hand and the guard waved carelessly in reply.

It was raining outside and they went down some stone steps into a wide courtyard and walked into the darkness. 'All the trucks come in here,' Orlov said. 'We still have to walk round to the front gate. It's the only way out.'

Manning touched his arm and pointed. A few yards away, a jeep stood outside a lighted doorway. 'The Officers' Mess,' the Russian whispered.

'Couldn't be better, Manning said. 'Less chance of being questioned.'

They moved across the wet cobbles quickly. He climbed behind the wheel and pressed the starter. As the Russian scrambled into the other seat, they moved away.

He waited for the sound to come from behind him, for the sudden cries of alarm, but all was quiet. He turned into the front yard and approached the gate. It was ridiculously easy. When they were still twenty yards away, the guard raised the swing bar. A few moments later, they were driving rapidly through the night, down into San Juan.

13
From the Jaws of the Tyrant

As they turned onto the waterfront, a thin fog rolled in from the harbour, pushed by the wind. Although there were lights in many windows, the streets were deserted and when Manning braked to a halt a few yards from Bayo's place, he was conscious of the extreme quiet.

'Are you sure your friends will be here?' Orlov asked.

'They'd better be. I don't know where else to start looking,' Manning said. 'You stay here. I'll see how things are.'

He approached the hotel and peered in through the window. Bayo stood behind the bar reading a newspaper and three old men played cards in the corner. Otherwise, the place was deserted.

He moved back to Orlov who waited beside the jeep. 'No sign of them. Let's hope they're here somewhere.'

They moved along a narrow alley at the side of the building and turned into a cobbled yard. The back door wasn't locked and they stepped into a large, whitewashed kitchen. A small black-and-white puppy who had been sleeping in a basket in the corner rushed forward and started yapping furiously. As Manning bent to down to pat him, the door to the bar opened and Bayo came in.

'Here, what do you want?' he demanded angrily and then he recognized Manning.

He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, crossing himself hurriedly. 'Holy Mother aid me.'

'You've got nothing to worry about,' Manning said in English. 'I only want to know what's happened to Papa Melos and Anna.'

Bayo was quite obviously terrified. 'If Rojas finds I've helped you, he'll take a week over killing me.'

'If you're smart, he won't need to know.'

The Cuban made an obvious effort to pull himself together, crossed the room and opened another door. 'In here.'

Papa Melos lay on a bed against the wall, eyes closed, mouth slightly open. There was an empty bottle of rum on the bed, and another had spilled half its contents across the floor so that the whole place stank of liquor.

Orlov bent down, rolled back one of the old man's eyelids and felt his pulse. He turned and shook his head. 'He'll be like this for hours.'

Manning kicked the empty rum bottle across the floor and turned to Bayo. 'How long's he been like this?'

'Several hours. He tried to see Colonel Rojas again about his boat, but they wouldn't let him through the gates. Then he found they'd moved it out into the harbour and put a guard on board. That was when he came back and started on the rum.'

'What about the girl?'

'She did her best to stop him, but he wouldn't listen.'

'Where is she now?'

'She went to Colonel Rojas to beg him to return the boat to her father.'

'He wouldn't cut his own mother down if she were hanging,' Manning said.

'Who knows, Senor?' Bayo shrugged. 'She is pretty and the colonel's weakness for young girls is well known.'

Manning's throat turned dry. He moistened his lips and said, 'Where does he live? At the fortress?'

Bayo shook his head. 'He has a hacienda about a quarter of a mile out of town. Very fine, senor. Set in a walled garden.'

'What about guards?'

'There is one on the gate, three inside. And the colonel's aide, Lieutenant Motilina, he lives at the house also. He is personally responsible for his security.'

Manning stood there thinking about it and Orlov said, 'You are thinking of paying this place a visit?'

Manning nodded. 'I'll take the jeep. If I'm not back in an hour I suggest you steal a boat from the harbour and get the hell out of here.'

'When we go, we go together,' Orlov said. 'Besides, I should enjoy meeting Rojas again.'

'Then we'd better take the old man with us,' Manning said. 'From now on, we're going to have to move fast. I wouldn't like to have to leave him behind.' He turned to Bayo. 'We have a jeep outside.'

'I will carry him for you, senor.'

Bayo hoisted the old man across his shoulders and they went out through the yard and along the alley to the front of the building. They eased him onto the floor at the rear and Manning and Orlov got in quickly.

Manning switched on the engine and held out his hand. 'My thanks, Bayo.'

'We have a proverb, senor. Have patience and you will see your enemy's funeral procession. Go with God.'

The Cuban turned and disappeared into the alley and Manning drove away quickly.

The wrought iron gates of the hacienda stood open and the lamp suspended from the archway above swayed in the wind, a pool of light constantly reaching out into the darkness and retreating again.

The sentry stepped out of his wooden box, raising a hand to halt them. Manning slowed, but kept on moving. 'Urgent dispatch for Colonel Rojas,' he called and the sentry waved and stepped back into his box.

The gardens were a riot of colour and palm trees lifted their heads above the wall and gently nodded in the cool breeze, leaves etched against the night sky. The drive curved suddenly and Manning braked to a halt at the front door.

They went up the steps and entered a wide hall, cool and pleasant and very quiet. They could hear voices from a door to the left and someone was singing a popular
guaracha.

Fidel has arrived,

Fidel has arrived,

Now we Cubans are freed

From the jaws of the tyrant.

When Orlov opened the door, two men were sitting at a table in the centre of the room, tunics unbuttoned, playing chess. A third sat on the edge of a bunk and strummed a guitar.

'On your feet!' Manning said in Spanish.

They stood up slowly, hands clasped behind their necks. Two of them were only boys, but the guitar player was older, with a cold, hard, face.

'Where's Motilina?' Manning demanded.

No one replied and he moved forward quickly and rammed the barrel of his submachine gun into the stomach of the boy on the end.

'Where is he?'

'Don't tell him anything,' the guitar player said. 'They won't get far.'

Orlov transferred his machine gun to his left hand, took a step forward and punched the man in the face. He staggered back, blood spurting from his nose.

The boy said hurriedly, 'In the kitchen. It's at the other end of the corridor past the stairs.'

'Any servants?'

The boy shook his head. 'They have the night off.'

'A young girl called earlier. What happened to her?'

'She's with the colonel. He said he wasn't to be disturbed.'

'Did you get all that?' Manning asked Orlov.

The Russian nodded. 'Most of it. You go after the girl. I'll see to these three.'

Manning moved quickly along the hall past the stairs that curved up to the second floor and entered a narrow corridor. Light showed under a door at the far end. He stood outside, listening for a moment, and then gently turned the handle. Motilina was frying eggs at the stove, his back to the door. As he turned, reaching for a loaf of bread, he saw Manning and a frown appeared on his face.

'Who are you? What do you want?'

In the same moment, Manning moved forward, reversed his gun and drove the butt into the side of the Cuban's neck. He gave a terrible groan and collapsed against the table, sliding down to the floor where he lay quite still.

Manning wiped sweat from his face and moved outside. Somewhere close at hand, he could hear the murmur of voices. He moved along the corridor, turned a corner and paused at another door. For a moment, there was silence and then someone cried out in pain and Rojas laughed. Manning opened the door and went inside.

The room was pleasantly furnished, the floor covered by a heavy Indian carpet, and the French windows stood open to the night, their curtains lifting in the slight breeze.

Anna was lying across a divan by the stone fireplace and Rojas sprawled across her, his hands moving over the young body. She moaned and Rojas chuckled again. Manning moved silently across the thick carpet and tapped him on the shoulder. As Rojas turned in surprise, he jerked him away from her and drove his fist into the fleshy mouth with all his force.

Rojas staggered back against the divan and Anna scrambled to her feet and moved to Manning. Her dress was torn at the neck and there was a smear of blood on her mouth, but otherwise she seemed all right.

'No questions,' Manning said. 'Outside.'

She ran for the door and he backed across the room slowly, menacing Rojas with the submachine gun. The Cuban stayed where he was, a hand to his smashed mouth, and Manning backed into the corridor where Anna was leaning against the wall waiting for him.

'All right?'

She nodded. 'I knew what I was doing.'

'Straight out of the front door,' he said. 'You'll find your father in the rear of the jeep that's parked at the bottom of the steps.'

She turned at once and hurried along the corridor and Manning stepped back into the room. Rojas was on his feet and reaching for the telephone that stood on a small coffee table near the divan.

'I don't think so,' Manning said.

Rojas straightened slowly, his face quite calm. 'You won't even get off the island, Manning.'

Manning fired from the hip and the bullets smacked into the Cuban's body. As he spun round, a long burst drove him across the divan and his jacket burst into flames.

As Manning ran along the corridor, he heard shooting and Orlov backed out of the guardroom firing from the hip. They went down the steps on the run and scrambled into the jeep. Anna was already in the rear, crouched beside her father, and Manning switched on the engine and drove away rapidly.

As he rounded the curve of the drive, the sentry was running towards them. Manning accelerated, swinging the wheel so that they swerved, and the man jumped into the bushes.

As they turned out through the gate, he said to Orlov, 'What happened back there?'

The Russian shrugged. 'The guitar player took a chance and tried to grab a rifle from the rack. What about Rojas?'

'Met with a nasty accident.'

Anna moved behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. 'I don't understand all this, Harry. What's been happening?'

'No time to explain now,' he said, 'we'll leave that till we're safe on board the
Cretan Lover
and well out to sea.'

'We're getting the boat back?'

'We're going to have a bloody good try. This is Sergei Orlov, by the way. We got out of the fortress together.'

A smile of great charm appeared on the Russian's face and he held out his hand. 'How's your father?'

Before she could reply, they roared along the waterfront and Manning geared down and turned onto the jetty. He braked to a halt at the end and jumped out.

The fog was thicker now, rolling up from the water in long opaque fingers. The
Cretan Lover
was anchored about fifty yards out into the harbour and he unbuttoned his greatcoat quickly.

'You intend to swim?' Orlov said.

Manning nodded. 'Take too long to look for a dinghy and there's a guard on board. I don't want to advertise.'

He lowered himself into the cold water and started to swim in a powerful but quiet breaststroke out into the harbour. When he was only a few feet away from the
Cretan Lover
, a strange unearthly wailing sounded from the battlements of the fortress, echoing away into the night in a dying fall. It was obviously a siren sounding the general alarm and a soldier emerged from the cabin of the
Cretan Lover
and rushed to the rail.

Manning took a deep breath and swam down under the boat, the keel scraping his back. He surfaced on the other side beside the short diving ladder and hauled himself up quickly. He moved across the deck silently and pushed the guard over the rail into the water, then ran to the stern and hauled the anchor in by hand.

On shore, all hell seemed to have broken loose and he could see the lights of several vehicles moving down the road from the fortress. The anchor came over the side unexpectedly and he dropped it to the deck and ran into the wheelhouse.

At first, when he pressed the starter, nothing happened. He tried again, holding the button down desperately, and suddenly the engine coughed and spluttered into life.

As he ran alongside the jetty, two jeeps turned onto the waterfront. The rail scraped protestingly against the piles and Anna jumped down and turned to catch her father as Orlov lowered him. As the Russian followed, Manning took the boat away in a burst of speed.

As he moved into the channel, Orlov joined him in the wheelhouse. 'Do you think they'll come after us?'

Manning shook his head. 'There wasn't anything in harbour fast enough. It's the pillbox they've got on the point at the mouth of the channel that I'm worried about. If the thing's manned, we may be in for trouble.'

'I'll get the old man and the girl down into the cabin,' Orlov said, 'then I'll come back. Perhaps a little answering fire will cool their ardour.'