Tapestry of Fear (6 page)

“I mean it,” I said. “ The slightest move from any of them.…” I stepped into the shadow of the cottage, my skirt brushing against Jose.

“
Get inside
,” he said, as I backed into him. “
Now!
”

A bullet smashed into the stone inches above my head as Jose sent me stumbling into the dark of the cottage, slamming the door behind him. I dropped the gun, clattering, to the floor.

“It's no time to get cold feet,” he said cheerfully, ramming another magazine into his gun. “Those bastards aren't going to take us carefully to Bilbao for a nice little trial. They are going to shoot. Shot trying to evade arrest, or English tourist accidentally shot in riot, take your pick.”

A hail of bullets smashed through the wood shutters and Jose flung the gun I had dropped back into my hands. “For God's sake use it! If they think there's only one of us shooting they'll try to rush us.”

“I can't,” I said wildly, kneeling beside him beneath the window. “God, I can't shoot at police!”

“Why not?” he asked reasonably. “They're shooting at you.”

I didn't answer. There wasn't time. A huge stone shattered the top half of the shutter, crashing down onto the floor, chips of stone flying like hailstones, followed immediately by the whine of a bullet singing over my head. Sheer terror made my finger curl round the cold metal and squeeze once, twice, the gun kicking back powerfully, jarring my arm and shoulder, knocking me backwards.

“You'll do better if you open your eyes.”

“Go to hell,” I said. And meant it.

“And that gun only holds nine bullets. You've spent two.” He sent a magazine skittering across the floor. “And don't shoot like that. Hold your wrist with your other hand and keep your arms straight, point the gun at the target and
then
pull the trigger, and follow through with a natural pull up. That way the kick-back won't be as hard, and you have more chance of the bullet finding its target.”

“
I don't want it to find a target!
”

“And don't jump ten feet in the air when the cartridges eject, they're supposed to …” he broke off, springing to his feet, eyes blazing. “
For Christ's sake, the door
,” he shouted as he leapt past me. “
The door!
”

He flung himself against it as it crashed open and in that blinding, agonising second, I caught a glimpse of black boots and a bullet ploughed into the stone floored room, ricocheting wildly, before the force of Jose's body slammed the door shut and he leaned heavily against it, panting, sweat pouring down his face.

“Well done,” he said as I stood trembling, staring with fascinated horror at the smoking gun in my hand. “Did you get him?”

“No.”

“Better luck next time.” Jose said, kneeling beneath the window, levelling his gun once more. He stiffened, then gave a whoop of exhileration, spinning round to me.

“Can you see? Bloody hell, bloody, bloody
hell
!”

I caught a glimpse of a running figure on the periphery of the woods and then another, stouter figure firing from the shelter of a tree, before it turned, diving deep into the pines. I stared at Jose bewildered. “ Who are they? What.…”

“It's Javier and Pedro!” he said exultantly. “
Look!
”

Amiano and Arias were racing across the hillside in pursuit.

“That only leaves three,” Jose said lightly. “And two of them are injured.”

“One of them,” I corrected.

“Two. You shot the officer in the foot.”

I felt the blood drain from my face and then he was putting a finger to his lips. “ Keep shooting from the window,” he whispered. “And don't stop till I tell you. The officer has disappeared, he must be round the back, probably nursing his foot. I'm going to try and get him through the rear window. Just keep the attention focused on the front of the cottage, there's a good girl.”

“
No!
” I hissed back. “ I can't, I.…”

“You don't have to aim, just keep his attention. There's only one of them out front. The other one is leaning against the tree uninterested in anything but his wounded arm.”

“Which one is firing at us?”

“The fat one. The one that had hold of you.”

“Good,” I said and closed my eyes and fired.

Jose stepped cautiously into the other room, gun in his hand.

Seconds later there was the sound of struggling and swearing and I swung the gun round frantically, only a hair's breadth from shooting Jose. His gun was pressed in the back of the flushed and raging officer.

“It wasn't easy encouraging him back through the window, even with this, he keeps complaining about his foot.”

I stared horrified at the blood seeping out of his boot.

“Keep shooting. His men haven't even missed him yet!”

The officer let out a stream of oaths, spittle forming at the corner of his mouth as Jose pushed him down onto a wood chair, beginning to lash his wrists behind his back. He blasphemed viciously, his eyes pinpricks of hate and rage.

“One down, two to go,” Jose said with grim satisfaction. “ Do you think we should put him in front of the window as target practice for his men?”

“
You'll die for this, Villada!
” he said, spitting in Jose's face.

“No manners,” Jose said pleasantly. “And a bad loser. Let's see if the other two are any improvement.”

“You out there,” he called. “Drop your guns and come in here. If one shot is fired, the girl will blow your officer's brains out. If you do as you are told you won't be harmed. Just a little inconvenienced.”

There was no reply.

“You tell them,” Jose ordered curtly. “ Or she will shoot.”

If the officer had spared me the briefest of glances he would have realised that it was a bluff and that I was no more capable of shooting him through the head than flying to the moon. But he didn't. He glowered venemously at Jose and then said loudly. “ Do as the pig asks. That's an order.”

The pig smiled with satisfaction, and while I kept the gun at the officer's head, he strode to the door. Tight lipped, the injured Fidel and the furious Martinez stepped unwillingly into the room. With my gun still pointed at their officer's head, they allowed Jose to tie them to the wooden chairs.

“Beautiful,” Jose said, his eyes dancing with pleasure as he pulled the rope tight. “Almost a complete set! And just to show there is no ill feeling, we'll even bandage you up.”

“Go to hell,” Fidel said, cradling his still bleeding arm.

Jose shook his head in mock sorrow. “You never know when to say thank you, do you?”

They didn't. Instead they swore with great energy and enlarged my Spanish vocabulary of obscenities threefold.

Jose laughed. “See to his arm, Alison. The lady of the house won't thank us if we leave blood stains all over her kitchen floor.”

Thankfully I put the gun on the table and did as he asked. Neither wounds were so bad. One bullet had ploughed its way through the flesh of an upper arm and passed out the other side, and I simply cleaned it as best I could and bound it with some of the bandages we had brought to the cottage for use on Luis and Jose.

The foot wound was the worst. Not because it looked serious, but because it was me who had inflicted it. He screamed as I tried to ease his boot off, calling me names I had never heard of before. I avoided his eyes as I sponged it clean, not daring to probe for the bullet, but staunching the flow of blood and praying he would get medical help before very long.

“
Whore!
” he spat at me as I rose shakily to my feet. “English scum.…”

Jose raised an eyebrow. “ What did I tell you? They've got less breeding than they have brains.”

“
You'll be garotted for this, Villada
,” the officer said through clenched teeth. “Salvador Ancioth took twelve minutes to die, if I have my way it will take you twice as long!”

“Charming,” Jose said lightly, staring intently out of the window towards the distant pines. “Only one minor flaw. I haven't killed a policeman yet. Though no doubt it's a technicality that can be overcome.”

There came the sound of rasped breathing and heavy footsteps thudded on the grass and then scraped to a halt outside the door, I drew my own breath in harshly, the icy touch of fear prickling my spine, staring round-eyed as the door swung inwards and Amiano and Arias surged into the room. A lump rose in my throat, threatening to choke me. I grasped at the table for support, my whole body trembling.

This was it. The end. All the future held for me was the inside of a Spanish jail, and then Javier pushed his way in behind them, his face distorted by a stocking mask, a gun held at their backs. His face split in a wide, triumphant smile.

“Is this a private party, or can anybody join?” he asked gaily.

I leant weakly against the wall as Jose tied and bound Amiano

and Arias with enjoyable vigour. Pedro winked through his hideous

disguise, slapping the palms of his hands against his paunch.
“Not a bad days work, eh?” he asked, his voice muffled.
“You're joking,” I said bitterly. “It's been the worst day of my

entire life … and it's still not over.”
He said with a shrug … “It has been a little difficult, but soon

you will be safe in France.”
“France!” I said unbelievingly. “You're as mad as he is!”
Pedro exchanged glances with Jose and grinned.
“France is the only destination for you now.”
Jose straightened up, ignoring the foul language from his prisoners,

and said: “Let's know the worst.”
“The worst is that there are warrants out for your arrest.”
Jose's face was grim. “What the devil happened?”
Pedro's voice darkened. “It was Garmendia,” he said heavily.

“He is insane. He deliberately wrecked our plans to smuggle the

arms in.…”
Jose's voice was barely controlled. He said tightly. “ Garmendia

betrayed us?”
Pedro nodded, and beneath his mask Javier's distorted features

blazed with savage anger. “Jaime's death is on his hands,” he said

passionately. “And all the others who died. It was all Angel's fault

…”
Jose's face had whitened. “ Was it?” he said softly. “Was it, indeed.”
Pedro said in a low voice. “He thought you were too soft, Jose.

With you out of the way he thought he could control the local ETA units himself … and he has. They all believe the attempt to smuggle in arms failed because of you, and that it was your fault so many men died. Angel is behaving like a madman. He and Alphonso Cia murdered Motrico's mayor … and it was Angel who tipped off the coastguards about the rescue attempt last night, and gave Alison's name to the police. He wants you dead and out of the way, Jose. And if the police don't do it for him, he will do it himself.” Pedro cleared his throat uncomfortably. “ There is even worse.”

No-one moved and the silence lengthened tensely. He said at last, not looking at me. “ Both you and Alison are wanted on charges of murder.”

“But that's ridiculous!” I cried out, the room reeling around me. “
They can't! It's not true!
”

Jose caught hold of me, his arm tightly round my shoulders.

“Like I said,” Pedro continued. “Garmendia is a man possessed. His own brother died that night on the beach because of his treachery. The last twenty-four hours have been a continuous chain of bombs and shooting. Early this morning it was Motrico's mayor. Later a bomb exploded in the town hall at Zarauz. No-one was injured but it was a miracle. And he has support. All the lunatic fringe are behind him. As we left to come here and warn you, they were rioting in Amorebieta and the police were rounding up demonstrators … all hell is breaking loose. And according to the latest news bulletin, you and Alison killed a coastguard in the early hours of this morning whilst escaping arrest.”

“We didn't,” Jose said curtly. “And I'd like to know how that son of a bitch framed us!”

“It would have been easy,” Pedro said with outspread hands.

“Garmendia knew what time you were to be picked up by the boat. He tipped off the coastguards, and if you did escape then he was nearby. He fired the shot that killed one of them and you and Alison are left to take the blame.”

Jose said hoarsely, “I'll kill him. God help me but I'll kill him.”

“Not this side of the Pyrenees you won't.” Javier said practically.

“One sight of you and the police will have you in Carabanchel, if you live that long.”

“None of you will live that long!” the officer sneered triumphantly. “ Not one of you will set foot on French soil …” he broke off abruptly as Javier jabbed his back with the butt of his gun.

“You're in no position to threaten anybody. I would keep quiet if I were you … unless you want a posthumous award.”

The officer's eyes burned with anger and an ugly red stain flushed his face and neck, but he clamped his mouth tight shut staring venemously at Javier as he turned his back to him.

He and Jose moved towards the door, heads close together, whispering so that the listening policemen could not hear. Pedro sighed, saying softly so that I could hardly catch the words. “ Jose came back from Argentina last summer. Since then he has re-organised all the local ETA units, before, they were a shambles, and psychopaths like Cia and Garmendia were killing and bombing under the cloak of Basque nationalism. Jose put an end to it. He negotiated with Madrid from our headquarters in Bayonne, with a coherant plan for Basque autonomy and he was beginning to have success. Angel saw his chance of discrediting him and took it, even though his brother was killed in the process, now nothing will stop him. The whole Basque region is going to be plunged into bloodshed again.” He patted my shoulder comfortingly. “But another twenty-four hours and you will be with your friend, miles away from here and for you, this will be nothing but a bad memory.”