The Madagaskar Plan (56 page)

Salois took out Madeleine’s knife and began sawing through the fence. Each link pinged open. On the other side of the wire a slope led to a second fence, then the quayside and the air defenses he had come to destroy: four missile batteries that protected the base’s southern approach. For the moment, he ignored them, his eyes fixed on the scrubby peninsula of Kap Diégo and its runway.

There was a line of Me-362 fighters on the apron, their wings catching the glare of the lights; more were hidden in hangars, only their nose cones visible. Every single aircraft stood silent and unmanned.

The other team’s raid on Mazunka had been a success. The radar station was out.

Salois gave a grunt of satisfaction and squeezed through the hole in the fence.
We’ll do our bit,
Cranley had said on the radio.
The rest is up to you.
His hour had almost come.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

Mandritsara

21 April, 03:20

“WE DON’T HAVE to do this.”

Madeleine’s face was hard in reply.

“We can just go. Get out while we can.”

“How can you say that?”

He wanted to squeeze her hand again. “They can’t have survived, Maddie. There’s nothing we can do.”

“They’re your children.”

“None of this is your fault.”

“Is that what you think? That I’m doing this out of guilt?” Her voice was emphatic: “They’re alive.”

Burton gave a sad shake of his head. “It’s not possible.”

“Did you think I was alive?”

“Yes.”

“But you didn’t know. Anything could have happened to me. So why did you come here?”

“I … I just believed.”

“The same with me. It’s more than hope—I know they’re down there, Burton. Waiting for us—”

Abner intervened: “Let me go.”

They were crouched in the undergrowth on the lee of a hill. Around them was the forest that encircled the hospital. New eucalyptuses had been added to the trees; most were already tall and leafy, but there were also younger saplings attached to stakes. Burton had planned to do the same on the farm, thickening the wood at the edge of the south meadow to give the house more privacy. The air was breezeless and bloated with a wet heat, their faces dewed with sweat. Chinks of light from the hospital glinted through the trunks.

“They’re our babies,” said Madeleine. “It’s not your risk to take.”

“There’s less chance of being caught if it’s only one of us,” replied Abner. He scratched the sodden, leafy earth, avoiding his sister’s gaze. “I want to make up for before, Leni.”

Burton also sensed that he wanted to give them some time alone. For that he was grateful. Since being reunited, they had spent every moment within earshot of others; there had been no chance to pour out everything that needed to be said. The feverish bliss of the first few hours was giving way to confusion and reproach. He reappraised Madeleine’s brother.

“If I’m caught, get out of here,” Abner said.

Burton offered his Beretta. “Take it.”

Abner refused. “I’ll see if there’s a way in. Then come back.” He risked a glance at Madeleine. “Burton’s right: you should leave while you can. We all should.”

He was gone before she could reply.

They watched him slide down the slope, submerging into the trees, silencing the insects as he went. Gradually the clicks and whirrs returned, enclosing them in an incessant chatter; some creature made a strange whooping noise. Farther along the valley Burton sensed a building pressure of movement and unseen forces—like in Dunkirk as they waited for Guderian’s tanks. According to Abner, it was coming from the direction of the Sofia Reservation. In the distance: helicopters and the occasional plaintive whistle of a train. Madeleine stared at the hospital through the trees, her eyes as bright as if she had a fever. More than anything he wanted to touch her, to hug her body against his, feel the heat of her breath.

Finally, he spoke: “I never imagined it like this.”

“Neither did I.”

“What did you imagine?”

“I thought you were dead, Burton. I grieved for you, I emptied myself of you. It was the only way to survive.”

Silence between them again.

“You understand why I didn’t want to come here,” said Burton. He was as gentle as possible. “I want to save them, too. But they’re gone.”

“I’ve heard stories. They keep people alive in this place…”

“So they’re alive. So Abner finds a way in. They won’t let us steal them away. If we step inside that hospital, it’s over.” He stretched out his hand as though she were a stranger. “All I want is for us to get away and live safely. We can have other children.” He was aware what a stupid thing it was to say.

“Remember our last night on the farm, when you told me about Hochburg? We both knew you shouldn’t have gone to Kongo. You told me the only way to secure the future was to lock up the past. That’s why I’m here.”

“I was wrong.”

“Then let me be wrong, too.”

Once more they lapsed into silence, until Madeleine said, “I saw him—Hochburg—in Antzu. He was balder than I thought.” They shared an uneasy smile. “I tried to settle your score with him.”

Pride and shame jostled in Burton. And then a heat rising through his chest to his gullet, burning like vomit. “Can life ever be the same?” He was stunned by the sheer depth of his regret.

For a long time Madeleine didn’t respond. She shivered, despite the mugginess of the night. “There was a time when I thought I’d never be happy again. Then we met, found the farm, made all our plans.”

“We can never go back there.”

“I want to live in the mountains, or the desert. Somewhere dry. I’m sick of all this … lushness, this humidity. My bones feel sodden.”

Burton remembered the description of Patrick’s house in Las Cruces, New Mexico: the baking sun and distant peaks. “Let’s go to America—”

“That’s a Vanilla phrase. It means something different here.”

“—I know a place where no one will find us.”

“Exile?”

“A place to start over. A new home.”

Burton’s mind became dislodged, random memories beckoning him. He thought of those early days on the beach when he was desperate for Madeleine to slide her arm through his and feel her bumping against him. It wasn’t desire, not then; it was loneliness, the urge to share the blandest intimacy with her. He recognized that they were the same: people who had been broken and glued themselves back together but were never going to be quite so strong again. They both needed someone to tend their weak points, the invisible fissures that made them.

Madeleine was shivering more violently now, as if she couldn’t control it, though whether because of cold or fear of what lay ahead, he didn’t know. Burton shifted closer, till their thighs were touching. Another memory assaulted him.

“Do you remember the pretzels in the Tiergarten?” he asked. He could almost smell them. “And the cotton candy? And those almonds baked in honey?”

“Don’t, I’m starving.”

They had been strolling in the Tiergarten, Germania’s largest park, sandwiched between the Great Hall and the Führer’s Palace, browsing the phalanx of stalls selling snacks, watching acrobats and fat, red-faced men playing tubas. Nerves had been chasing Burton all afternoon. They had promised to discuss the future—the lover’s eternal question of
What next?
—yet neither of them seemed willing to broach the subject. Burton was certain it was more than just an affair but didn’t know whether Madeleine would leave her husband.

Resting in the undergrowth of Mandritsara, he felt a similar sense of uncertainty hold him back. He put his arm around her shoulders, hesitated, then inched her closer. She no longer smelled the way he remembered her, and her body was all bones, as if he were clutching a sack with her remains in it. He felt a rumble of tears that didn’t come, remembering the full, taut, arousing flesh of her body. She eased out of his embrace and took hold of his severed arm, tracing her fingers over his brand.

“Show me your tattoo,” he said, wanting to see her scars.

“I don’t have one.”

“Why not?”

“They processed me in a rush when I arrived. I guess nobody cared.” She examined the flaps of skin where his wrist ended. “Will you tell me what happened one day?”

He tried to withdraw his stump. “Alice said you wouldn’t like it.”

“It’s a miracle to have the rest of you.” She nuzzled the tip of the bone; he had never felt so disfigured. “How is Elli?”

“Missing you. I promised to bring you back.”

“How will we ever get her away from
him
?”

Once more he wanted to tell her it was impossible—saving the twins, snatching Alice—but he didn’t have the strength. “I don’t know.”

“Salois’s boat,” she breathed.

“There are other ways off the island.”

“Cranley will be there. We wait for him, kill him.”

“Revenge is vanity,” replied Burton, recalling his aunt’s words. “Look where it led me.”

“It’s the only way back. I can’t bear the thought of him in Britain, home and thriving. Somehow we have to win.”

She had lost all reason—but when he stared at her, he realized she was quite rational. As rational as he’d been when he decided to go to Kongo to assassinate Hochburg. There was a coppery gleam to her skin. He noticed tiny etchings around her eyes, a downward twist to her lips that hadn’t been there before. Burton had admitted more of his life to her than to anybody else, but there were still experiences he hadn’t told her about. There was no need to repeat all the cruelty he’d witnessed. Now he understood that Madeleine had seen things that she would never share. They were more equal than ever.

“What are you smiling at?” she asked.

He removed his stump from her grip and slipped it behind her waist, holding her tight. “The future.”

*   *   *

Madeleine’s breathing shallowed, her face relaxed. She dropped into a deep sleep as if she had stepped off a cliff. Burton traced her eyebrows; they were dark and dense, so unlike the delicate, plucked lines he remembered. From her brow he ran his fingers through the tufts of her scalp. “You’ve got a soldier’s haircut now,” he whispered. The individual strands of hair were weak and wasted. Yet no matter what damage his own body suffered, it always revived once he was free of Africa. The air of the continent was noxious, poisoning any who inhaled it, as though the ills of the world were gathered in its breath.

He let Madeleine sleep until an uneasiness began to build in him. That bounce of courage he’d felt on meeting Salois, a fellow legionnaire, had passed. The sky was showing the first muted signs of dawn. Tenderly, he roused Madeleine. She woke with a start, kicking away from him, then clutched his face to convince herself that his return hadn’t been a dream, and kissed him. A gust blew through the trees and set the branches whispering.

“Abner’s been gone too long,” he said.

“Perhaps he was caught.”

“We’d have heard.”

“What do we do?”

There was no point in telling her to stay put. “Let’s take a look.”

They descended through the forest, through intimately knotted branches, following Abner’s path to the tree line. There was an asphalt road and a perimeter fence separating them from the grounds of the hospital. On the crest of the farthest hill was a Totenburg, its four massive columns standing guard over the valley.

“He can’t have come this way,” said Burton.

“How do you know?”

“Listen.” There was a steady hum. “The fence is electrified.”

They retreated into the trees and crept along the road till they reached the main entrance: a locked iron gate with machine-gun posts on either side and a guardhouse, all well illuminated.

“Where are the sentries?” whispered Madeleine.

The entrance was deserted.

They watched for several minutes in case someone appeared: nothing. The faint smell of burning drifted from the direction of the Sofia Reservation. The earlier drone of helicopters was reduced to intermittent fly-bys.

Burton took out his Beretta. “Stay here,” he said and darted across the road, expecting a spotlight to hit him at any second. As he approached the gate he slowed, stood tall, and walked with Tünscher’s swagger. There was no sign of anyone. In the guardhouse was a telephone he assumed must be connected to the main building. He lifted the receiver; it rang endlessly. He thought of what Patrick used to say in similar situations:
This is damn peculiar.

Madeleine appeared at the door. “Anything?”

He shook his head.

“Perhaps they evacuated the place, because of the rebellion.”

“They would have left some security.”

The road continued for several hundred yards to the front of the hospital. Halfway along the drive was an unmanned barrier; guard towers with searchlights dotted the perimeter fence. All empty. Next to the telephone were some enamel mugs. Burton took two, leaned out of the window, and hurled them into the air.

They landed with a noisy clatter. The searchlights remained dark.

Madeleine left the guardhouse and strode toward the hospital. Burton raced after her.

“The twins could be in there.” She was edgy with excitement. “We can get them and be gone before anyone knows.”

“Then where’s Abner?”

Instead of replying, she quickened her pace. Her steps rang out.

Burton moved in front of Madeleine. It was a pointless gesture: an attack could come from anywhere.

The hospital was built from blocks of russet-colored stone that had been quarried locally. There was a central building of two stories with a pagoda-style roof supported by brick columns. Beyond it were dozens of other buildings connected by enclosed passageways, as if the complex had been constructed over a number of years without any formal design. The tops of palms peeked over some of the roofs, suggesting courtyards. He figured the place must be considerably larger than it appeared from this angle. To the rear of the compound were a radio tower and two tall, fat chimneys.

“You remember any of this?” he asked Madeleine.

“No. They flew me in; when I left I didn’t care.”