Read THE HEART OF DANGER Online
Authors: Gerald Seymour
Tags: #War Crimes; thriller; mass grave; Library; Kupa; Croatia; Mowatt; Penn; Dorrie;
374
able to skirt the waiting troops. All the time the sight of the
shadow
shapes drew him forward, and the ache of the tension was in his legs
and there was the hammer of his heart, and he wondered how it was
possible for Ulrike to hold, all that time, the knife blade so steady
against the beard and throat of Milan Stankovic with cold certainty.
There was vomit in his throat, from fear. He depended on Milan
Stankovic, on the desperation of the man. Would the knife go in if
the
man stumbled and a twig broke? Would the knife go in if the man
spluttered once? It would be in Milan Stankovic's mind that if he
stepped heavily, grunted once, then they were gone ... He was trying
to
evaluate how desperate the man was .. . And if the man made a noise
and
Ulrike stabbed him in cold cruelty, then he and Ulrike were gone ..
.
They were in the hands of their prisoner, dependent on the desperation
of their prisoner .. . The vomit was in Penn's throat and sliding
forward and he could not spit and he did not dare to swallow. They
were so close to the shadow shapes, and to the voices, and once a
metal
water bottle rattled against a rifle barrel, and he trembled, and
did
not know how the faster panting of his breath had not been heard ..
.
The shadow shapes turned. So still again, so frozen against a tree's
trunk, so quiet, and the shadow shapes had gone away and past them,
retreating until he could no longer see the blurred half-images.
Weakness dribbled in him. They went off the path. He glanced at
his
watch. He estimated it had taken one hour and forty-seven minutes
to
cover one mile. And he should, too bloody right, have listened
better
to Ham, and he could not remember the details that Ham had given him
of
ambush positions. He should have listened better because there
would
be ambush positions to a depth of a mile, and then there would be
tripwires, and then there would be the patrols moving on the bank
of
the river, and then there would be the bloody river. Her hand came
to
him. She took his shoulder and she squeezed it hard, as he had
squeezed her. She squeezed the bone of his shoulder as if to tell
375
him
that she thought he had done well. He knelt. Penn brushed the floor of the forest with his hand until he had found a small branch. He
held
the branch ahead of him, making a blind man's progress, going towards
the river. "It's Hamilton, I want, Sidney Hamilton. I expect you
call
him "Ham". I'm his friend The warning was there, quick. Marty Jones was at the sandbagged entrance to the old police station, and the
sentry had come out of the protected san gar to block him, and the
corporal was reaching for the field telephone in the guardhouse. The
sentry was aggressive, and the corporal was evasive. Marty Jones
hesitated. He knew it had gone foul and the aggression and evasion
were the evidence. He hesitated and he did not know what his response
should be, and then in front of him was the blast of the horn and
the
flashing of headlights. Two jeeps and a car lined up and trying to
get
the hell out of the inner courtyard of the old police station, and
the
barrier was down and blocking their leaving. The corporal abandoned
discipline and the field telephone and came out to lift the barrier.
Two open jeeps came by him, and he saw the flashes on the tunic arms
of
the guys and he knew they were Special Forces, and there was a big
Rover tailing them out under the raised barrier. The barrier came
down
and the corporal was reaching again for the field telephone, and Marty
was running. They could just as well have shouted a warning at him.
Marty Jones ran to where he had parked the car, flung himself inside,
twisted the ignition and hit the gears. Not until he had caught them,
could see the lights of the Rover and the two jeeps, going down the
big
avenue, out of Karlovac, towards the river where there were the tanks'
teeth of concrete beside the wide road, and the artillery-damaged
apartment blocks from the war gone by, and the bazooka defence
bunkers,
did he kill the lights and let them lead him. He hissed to Mary
Braddock, through his teeth, "I don't know what it is, I just know
it's
gone bad .. ." He was trying to concentrate, but his mind was leaping
.. . Two more hours gone, and he reckoned a mile covered for each
hour.
And no longer the surety of the moon to guide him with the flow of
silver light. He had found one tripwire. The taut wire checking
the
376
motion of the stick, and crouching until his fingers brushed the wire,
and Ulrike and himself lifting the weight of Milan Stankovic over
the
wire and the knife blade never leaving his beard and his throat. The
last stretch before the river, and facing the last patrols .. . and
the
concentration came harder and his mind leapt faster. The wind
rising,
and cloud scudding across the moon's face. Too much damn well
surging
in his mind, and that was danger. Danger was distraction from the
gentle loose hold on the stick that wavered in front of his footfall..
. Penn took them off the path that ran down alongside the planted
mines, and on towards the river bank ... It was a place where brambles
were thick, near to the path, and the moonlight was at that moment
gone
from above the tree canopy. A mile from the river bank .. . His mind
leaping, concentration failing, danger .. . The flashing of the
torch,
shaded, and the ripple sounds of Ham edging the inflatable into the
current of the Kupa river. The drive to Zagreb, the prisoner given
over. A taxi for the airport, first flight out. She was so strong
and
there was no future for them. He would not know what to say to her.
Gazing into her eyes, staring into the depth of them, wondering if
she
would cry, if she would laugh, if she would kick him on the shin.
No
future for them. Her going back to the Transit Centre. Him going
back
to Alpha Security Ltd, and tramping up the stairs from the street
door
beside the launderette, and seeing Basil and Jim and Henry, and
Deirdre
giving him the post that had accumulated, two weeks of it. No future
for them. Heading back to Jane, and asking shyly how it had been,
and
a cold kiss on his cheek that was formality, and Tom's wet mouth on
his
face that was a stranger's, and nothing .. . But there was no future
for them. And the morning after , .. The morning after he was home
he
would go down to the station at Raynes Park where there was a florist
and he would buy the flowers, big bunch and bright blooms, and walk
them home and fill the little living room of 57B the Cedars with life,
and he would kiss his Jane, and tell her that he was going out of
377
her
life. And the morning after, the day after tomorrow, he would catch
the train into London and take the Underground to Goodge Street, and
walk down Gower Street, and sit in the front reception as if it were
his right and not give a shit what the guards thought, and wait for
Arnold bloody Browne to take the lift down .. . The day after tomorrow
he would make Jane laugh, and leave her . The day after tomorrow
he
would tell his story to Arnold bloody Browne and have the pleasure
of
walking out on him .. . He would go to search for space for himself,
go
where the de wed fields were quiet in the morning, and where the trees
threw shadows in the evening ... It was the way that Dorrie had shown
him, and he would go to private places in the months ahead, years
to
come, and he would think of Dorrie and be with Dorrie. It was his
dream .. . The bramble stems clawed at him, held him. He did not
hate
the man. He almost felt a pity for the man. And the man had a wife who had loved him, and a child who fought for him. The man was craven,
bare-arsed and bare-balled because they stripped from him even the
love
of his wife and the pride of his child .. . For what? For principle,
for the God Almighty 'feel good' factor of those who wanted to see
'something done', for Mary bloody Braddock's peace of mind. He
wouldn't get the chance ever to talk with the man, like he would have
talked to the man in a cafe or a bar or on the beach if they, Jane
and
him, had ever come for a holiday in what they called former
Yugoslavia,
and way back, and before the madness .. . For what? For the killing
of
Dorrie Mowat, what else .. . ? Was she laughing, was she bloody
mocking? Dorrie Mowat... up high, up on the bloody mountain, looking
down and laughing, mocking, had caught him. Caught in the brambles
at
the side of the path. His boot kicked at the clinging bloody mess.
Caught him, caught Mary, caught Marty Jones, caught and hurt them
all,
like she'd hurt him, like she'd hurt Milan Stan-kovic, would have
liked
to have talked with the man .. . caught in the brambles' hold .. .
The
wire would have been set across the path that they avoided. His boot
tripped the wire. The wire would have been fastened to a cut peg
378
that
had been buried in the brambles' mess. His boot was held for a moment
by the wire as he lurched for balance. The wire might have been
visible if the bloody moon had not been hidden behind the bloody
cloud.
His boot snagged the wire. One movement, throwing himself back.
One
movement, flattening Ulrike and the man. The thunder of the
explosion
numbed his hearing, cut the whistle spray of the grenade's shrapnel.
He
was pulling her up, then grasping for Milan Stankovic, and he felt
the
wet run of blood because the knife blade had been against the man's
beard and throat and the sharpness of the knife's blade had slashed
the
hair of the beard and the skin of the throat. Pulled her up, grasped
and lifted him. Going for the path and running. Clutching back
behind
him for the jacket of Milan Stankovic and dragging him, and Ulrike
was
pushing him. It was the start of the stampede run for the river bank.
High up, above the tree canopy and below the cloud that masked the
moon, away to the east, the first flare burst. He had taken the
telephone call, broken his meeting, charged from his office and gone
like a mad puppy down the stairs to the operations room. The Director
stood in front of the wall map, and the tip of the pointer danced
against the clear sheeting that covered Sector North. The Canadian
colonel said, "It's what we're getting from the monitoring. He's
in
trouble .. . They're in close pursuit. He'll be running for his life,
but there's the river ahead of him. No rendezvous, right, sir ...
?"
In the cause of the greater good .. . The Director nodded, dumb. He
stared up at the map. The Jordanian major asked, knowing the answer,
"No rendezvous, no boat waiting for him?" In the interest of the greater number .. . The Director shuddered, numb. For a few brief
seconds the tip of the wand held the clear-cut line of the Kupa river.
The Argentine captain lit his cigarette, "No rendezvous, no boat
waiting, with or without his prisoner there is not a possibility of
him
coming out. It is what you wanted, sir, yes .. . ?" Penn was
running,
trying to see the path, trying to take the man and Ulrike with him.
Bad
pain .. . His hand was behind him, gripped deep into the material
379
of
the man's coat. The pain was the man's teeth buried into his hand.
Penn loosed him. He was crushed by the pain. He staggered free of
the
burden of the man. There was another flare falling behind them, gone
from its summit arc, and the flare threw brilliant white light down
through the trees' canopy, and he could hear shouting and whistles
blowing. He gripped his bitten hand and he was bent and he was
rocking
and he squeezed at the hand as if that way he could shed the pain.
The
pain was his own world and private, and the pain brought smarting
tears
welling from his eyes. Penn turned. Light fell from the flare. It gleamed on the knife's blade. She had lost the knife. Penn stood
and
suffered his private pain and watched. The knife was beyond her
reach,
as if it had fallen clear when the man had moved. She was on the
floor
of the wood, and she was writhing in the leaves, and she clung to
one
leg of the man, and the boot of Milan Stankovic kicked with savagery
at
her body. The flare was guttering, failing. He saw her body bounce away from the impact of the kick, and her hands seemed to have the