Dive in the Sun (31 page)

They both turned to him like defiant children.

‘I was with the wounded all the time,’ she said hotly, ‘I could not have done it, even if I had wanted!’

Duncan rubbed his chin, his brain jumping madly. ‘Well, if neither of you did it …’ He paused, his eyes suddenly anxious.

‘Somebody else …’ Carla’s voice trailed away, and the resistance seemed to drain from her.

They looked at each other. Jervis was the first to speak.

‘You think it was your father?’

‘Of course she does! Who else?’ Duncan jumped for the door, his face wild. He twisted the handle, but nothing happened.

Carla and Jervis stared at Duncan’s hand on the door. Neither spoke, and the silence in the cabin was complete and menacing.

They all heard the clatter of feet on the ladder and the sound of hurried steps across the deck.

‘Here! Open the door!’

Duncan suddenly burst into life, the reality of the new danger making his eyes blaze with fury. He pulled the pistol from his belt, but with a shake of his head he threw his weight against the door.

‘Can’t risk the sound of a shot!’ he gasped, as he drew back and hurled himself once more at the door. There was a splintering crash, and he burst out into the passage.

Followed by the others, but unaware of them, Duncan ran on deck, his eyes wide as he stared round at the silent shadows. He ran wildly along the deck, peering from side to side and over at the deserted jetty.

At that moment Jervis, who had run to the fo’c’sle, called out, his voice shaky.

‘Here, Steve! Quick, the sergeant!’

They found Sergeant Dunwoody lying on his side in a crumpled heap, his bandages white against the blackness of the raised fo’c’sle.

‘He’s still breathing,’ commented Duncan briefly as he stood up. ‘I think he’s had a crack over the head.’ Duncan was thinking furiously. ‘Call some help from the hold, Ian. I’m goin’ to look for somebody!’

He stared at the girl’s frightened face. ‘I don’t know how much you’ve had to do with this, but I promise you that——’ He broke off, as a sudden burst of firing cut across the jetty.

‘God! The Schmeisser!’ Duncan pulled out the pistol and vaulted over the bulwark, to land crouching on the jetty.

He dimly heard the girl sob and say, ‘He wouldn’t, Ian! It
can’t
be him!’ before he started to inch his way along the lip of the stonework, his shoulders hunched and the pistol unwavering in his hand.

The corporal appeared to be asleep. One hand was beneath his bandaged head, and the balaclava lay unheeded by the stone bollard at his feet. Duncan stepped over him, his teeth bared as he searched the darkness at the end of the jetty. There was nothing he could do for the corporal, the burst of bullets from the automatic pistol had practically decapitated him.

Fired from behind, too, he thought coldly, as he ran on into the sandbank beyond the jetty. He halted, breathing fast. No sound, but for the gentle lap of water against the beach and the barking of a dog, came to his straining ears, although as he listened, his head bent forward, he imagined that he could hear a stone falling on the cliffs, far to his right.

Taylor panted out of the night behind him, his eyes dark blobs on his pale face.

‘Get ’im? Where’s ’e gone?’

Duncan shrugged. ‘God knows!’

Taylor stared round the unfamiliar roadway, his shoulders jerking with pent up sorrow and rage. ‘The bastard! The rotten, stinkin’ bastard! The poor bloke never ’ad a chance!’

Duncan hissed, ‘Steady! Someone’s runnin’ this way!’

They froze by the roadside and then Duncan stepped forward. ‘It’s the skipper,’ he said quickly.

Curtis loomed up almost at their side before they could actually see his anxious features.

‘What’s happened? That shooting …’ He was breathing fast, and had obviously been running for some time.

They heard the laboured whine of a car engine, and then, as they turned towards the cliff road, an ancient Fiat bounced around the corner and drove recklessly towards the sea.

‘It’s the doctor, thank God!’ muttered Curtis as he caught a glimpse of the Italian captain’s fat face through the open window. He turned back to Duncan.

‘Come on, man! Spit it out!’

‘Zecchi’s jumped us! Grabbed the Schmeisser and killed the corporal!’ He waved towards the sloping hillside road. ‘He’s up there somewhere!’ He turned to Curtis, his voice unnaturally earnest. ‘I couldn’t help it, Ralph! I never gave it a thought!’

‘What about Carla, the girl?’

‘Aboard. I don’t think she had anythin’ to do with it. He’d not have left her behind.’

The car skidded to a halt, its engine hissing. Curtis reached it in two strides. He saw a small, bird-faced man in a dark suit behind the wheel.

‘
Medico!
’ began the captain proudly, then catching sight of the others and the drawn guns, ‘What ’appens,
signore
? Trouble?’

‘Never mind that!’ Curtis’s voice was terse. ‘Get to the ship.’ He nodded briefly to the doctor. ‘Very pleased to see you, sir. Please do all you can for those men.’

The doctor ducked his head and grinned. ‘Pleasure!’

Curtis turned to the captain. ‘That road, where does it lead?’

‘That one? To Vieste. It is about ten kilometres from here.’

‘Are there any police there, d’you think?’

‘There could be,’ he nodded quickly. ‘It is likely.’

Curtis stood back. ‘Go to the ship then. We must carry on and catch him before he reaches help.’

The car moved off, the captain obviously eager to know what was happening.

He looked from Duncan to Taylor. ‘Right, let’s go. We’ve got to catch him, and that’s all there is to it!’

‘But, God, it’ll be dawn soon! We’ve gotta get clear!’ Duncan stared wildly as Curtis turned as if to go.

‘And how far d’you think we’ll get, once he’s telephoned for assistance! Now come on. Move!’

They started to run along the road, their feet keeping a muffled rhythm in the dust as they turned the corner and pounded up the hill. Curtis’s breath was strangely calm, and although he was outwardly alert and watchful, he kept thinking of the girl. She had nothing to do with it, Duncan had said. It was a small light in this terrible darkness.

‘Wot’s the use?’ Taylor spoke between his set teeth. ‘’E might ’ave cut across the ’ill.’

Curtis shook his head and increased the pace. ‘He’s not cut out for this sort of thing, and we’re supposed to be fit! And don’t forget that he’s armed!’

They ran on.

The road got narrower, and the countryside was completely open and windswept. There were no dwellings of any sort, and even the grass on the slopes was mere stubble and weed. There was no cover there.

The moon showed itself again as they topped the rise, and cast a feeble glow over the landscape, leaving the sea dark and shapeless, like a velvet cloak.

Taylor stumbled and fell, and for a few seconds lay winded and gasping on the dirt. He was aware of the sharp pain over his ribs, and remembered the hand grenade inside his blouse. He saw the other two running on, Curtis merely glancing back to see that he was all right, and then beckoning sharply with his hand.

He staggered to his feet, cursing breathlessly. For a moment he was reminded of his rough childhood in the East End, and his endless search for manhood. Before he could join the gang in his street, he had been made to fight a boy much bigger than himself. It had been a terrible and bloody experience for him. He had found on that occasion that once his blood had become heated with fury he had fought blindly and viciously, like a madman, and even when his frightened opponent had run for home, he had pursued him, his mind blank but for the desire to destroy his enemy.

He started to run after the others, his rage still as fresh and compelling as the moment that he had discovered the dead corporal lying pathetically on the jetty. It was as if something else had him in its grip, something which he had only briefly controlled since that fight so many years before. Giulio Zecchi was no longer a mere enemy, he was the very pivot around which their lives revolved, and the one person who would bring all their hopes crashing to the ground.

Taylor was small and wiry, but his body was as hard as nails, and powered by his new fury, he overtook the others and ran purposefully down the centre of the road.

Duncan saw him shoot past and for a moment thought that the man had seen something. He groaned aloud and dashed the sweat from his eyes, as he half realized what Taylor was doing.

They topped another rise and Curtis called a halt. Duncan dropped on to one knee, trying to listen in the darkness, but heard only the savage pounding of his own heart. Taylor slithered to a stop and looked back impatiently at the others.

Curtis didn’t know what had made him halt, but as he stood, trying to control his laboured breathing, his hands loose at his sides, he felt that they were very near their quarry. He tried to calculate how long they had been running and how far the other man might have got. It was too difficult, and he stared moodily at the black shoulder of the overhanging hillside. On his left the roadside petered out and after a small rocky fringe, dropped away steeply to the beach below. Nothing there, he decided, and looked back at the road.
Perhaps
, just a few yards ahead, Zecchi would be waiting. One final burst from the Schmeisser, and he would finish all three of them. He beckoned to Duncan.

‘You take the hillside, Steve.’ He noticed the listless droop of the man’s shoulders and added easily, ‘You’re the only one who can manage that sort of thing. Try to keep level with us, but watch the road in front.’

Duncan shook himself and nodded. With a sudden burst of energy he jumped the loose rocks at the side of the road and was soon lost on the hillside.

Curtis gave him a few seconds to get started. ‘Right, George, you keep on the left of the road and about twenty yards behind me. If anything happens, jump over the edge of the cliff and blaze away for all you’re worth!’

Taylor digested this carefully. ‘An’ wot about you, Skipper?’

‘I’m going to walk down the middle of the road,’ answered Curtis calmly.

‘Bit dodgy, ain’t it?’

Curtis raised his hand. ‘Listen!’ They cocked their heads. ‘I heard something! Come on!’

Taylor dropped slightly behind Curtis’s tall figure and plodded forward along the edge of the road. He found it difficult to drag his eyes from the skipper’s back. Alone, in the middle of the road, striding along as if on parade, he looked vulnerable and completely open for attack.

Curtis stepped briskly round the next curve, his breath momentarily halted as he waited for a shot to smash him down, but nothing happened. Perhaps Zecchi had found another route after all, but he dismissed the thought instantly. He was a stranger here, too, and he knew quite well that his only hope was to reach the nearest village or town.

Chasing a man in his own country, he thought suddenly. It only helped to add to the unreality he now felt. His foot kicked against a small metal object. He scooped it up in one movement and continued walking. He knew without looking at it, that it was Zecchi’s cigarette case, and the find gave him a cold sense of relief and loathing together.

His head was beginning to pound with his exertions, and inwardly he told himself to keep with Taylor, near the only available cover. Then it happened. A little above the road to his right there was a savage burst of orange flashes, accompanied by the short, harsh rattle of the Schmeisser.

He flung himself recklessly forward, aware of the bullets singing hotly past his face and snickering amongst the loose stones behind him. As he reached the edge of the road, he rolled over against the rocks and fired two shots indiscriminately into the darkness. Taylor fired, too, and Curtis sighed with relief. He realized that the rocks near him afforded no real cover at all, and should Zecchi have noted his position, another burst would finish him. He bared his teeth savagely. Go on, shoot away! Steve will get you in a minute, you murdering bastard!

Taylor called across the road, his voice hoarse. ‘I gotta thirty-six in me pocket, Skipper! Shall I ’eave it at ’im?’ He cursed horribly as two shots whined down from the slope and made him duck down the cliff.

‘No! Remember Steve!’

He peered round the rocks. Nothing stirred. Zecchi had used only single shot that time. Of course! He almost cried out with excitement. There was only the one magazine with the gun.

His neck ached with concentration and anxiety. The shots might easily be heard a mile away on such a still night. Perhaps that was Zecchi’s idea. He jumped, as Duncan’s powerful voice shattered the stillness.

‘Look out! He’s off down the road again!’

Then they were all running again, caution thrown to the wind, like hounds after a stag.

Duncan grunted as he landed in the road and gathered speed towards the next bend, his head hunched in his shoulders.

‘Soon now!’ he gasped at Curtis. ‘He can’t manage much more!’

They rounded the curve together, and stopped.

The moon had risen above the hill again, and like part of
a
carefully dressed stage, the next fifty yards of roadway was bathed in eerie blue light.

Giulio Zecchi had stopped, too. They could just define his round pale face and short grey hair, as he stood in the middle of the road, his square figure heaving from exertion.

Curtis stared past him at the line of figures across the road. Dark, formless shapes, they might have been of stone, but for the gleam of moonlight on their levelled rifles. Even as the three of them watched, another slow-moving line of heads appeared along the top of the rise, closing the road into a silent arena.

‘Well, that’s that!’ The bitterness in Duncan’s voice was complete.

Giulio Zecchi rested a plump hand on his chest, fighting for breath. ‘Nothing to say, Lieutenant?’ He laughed wildly. ‘What about the Australian? Nothing? Such a pity!’

‘Oo are they, fer Gawd’s sake?’ Taylor stood loosely, his hand inside his blouse. He could feel the rough warmth of the grenade under his palm. One pull, and I’ll blow all of us to hell!