The Tightrope Men / The Enemy (17 page)

McCready was desperately tired. He lay on a hillside in a grove of dwarf birch and watched the group of four men making their way up the valley on the other side of the river. He had had very little sleep in the last two days and his eyes were sore and gritty. He had long since come to the conclusion that it needed two men to do this job.

He lowered the binoculars and blinked, then rubbed his eyes before checking on the camp on the top of the bluff across the river. There was a new figure on the rock above the camp which looked like Denison. At three in the morning there was quite enough light to see; the sun had skimmed the horizon at midnight and was already high in the sky. It seemed that Diana had insisted that a watch be kept.

He shifted his elbows and checked on the higher reaches of the valley and his mouth tightened as he saw a movement. The three men of the first party were coming down, keeping close to the river. Earlier he had crossed the river to scout their camp and, although he had not got close enough to hear clearly what they had been talking about, he had heard enough to know they were not Finns. Their tones had Slavic cadences and he had seen that they were very lightly equipped with no tents or even sleeping bags.

He switched his attention to the group of four who were coming up the valley. The two groups could not see each
other because of a bend in the river where the water swirled around the bluff. He judged that if both groups kept up the same pace they would meet under the bluff and just below Denison.

McCready frowned as he watched. If the first group was under-equipped the second was well-outfitted to the point of decadent luxury. He had watched them stop for a meal and had seen what seemed to be a collapsible barbecue. Two of the men carried coils of rope as though they might expect rock climbing. Maybe Finns, he had thought, but now he was not so certain; not even Finns made route marches at three a.m.

At the time he had first seen the second group he had been too far away to distinguish faces, but now the men were nearer and he had a better chance. As he waited patiently he pondered over the differences between the two parties and came to the conclusion that they were indeed quite separate. Two minutes, later he was sure of it when he saw the face of the leading man of the four.

It was Jack Kidder, the big loud-mouthed American who had cropped up in Oslo and, later, in Helsinki.

Whatever the first group had been speaking it had been neither Finnish nor English. It was reasonable to assume that not only were the two parties quite distinct but also that neither knew of the existence of the other. Even more interesting, they were going to run into each other within twenty minutes.

McCready put down the binoculars and twisted around to open the pack which lay beside him. He took out what appeared to be the stock of a rifle and slapped open the butt plate which was hinged. From inside the hollow glassfibre stock he took out a barrel and a breech action and, within thirty seconds, he had assembled the rifle.

He patted the stock affectionately. This was the Armalite AR-7, originally designed as a survival rifle for the American Air Force. It weighed less than three pounds and was
guaranteed to float in water whether knocked down or ready to fire, but what made it suitable for his purpose was the fact that, stripped down, it measured less than seventeen inches in length and so could be smuggled about unobtrusively in a back pack.

He inserted a magazine containing eight rounds of long rifle and put another clip in his pocket, then he crawled backwards out of the grove of trees and began to make his way down to the river along a ravine he had previously chosen for the eventuality. He came out to the river’s edge opposite the bluff and right on the bend of the river, and took shelter behind boulders which a long-gone glacier had left in its passage.

From his position on the outside bend of the river he could see both groups although neither, as yet, was aware of the other. He looked at the bluff and could not see Denison who was farther back up the hill. Nothing like adding confusion, he thought, as he raised the rifle to firing position.

As both groups were about to round the bend he fired, not at Kidder but just in front of him, and the sand spurted at Kidder’s feet. Kidder yelled and rolled sideways and, as if by magic, all four men disappeared.

McCready did not see that sudden transformation of the scene; he had already turned and slammed another shot at the leading man of the trio which ricocheted off a rock by his head. The man ducked instinctively and went to ground fast, but not so fast that McCready did not see the pistol that suddenly appeared in his hand.

McCready withdrew into his niche like a tortoise drawing its head into its shell and waited to see what would happen next.

Denison heard the shot from below and jerked to attention. Even before he took the second quick pace back to the camp he heard the flat report of the second shot which echoed
from the hill behind him. Then there was no sound but the thudding of his boots on the rock.

He stooped to Diana’s sleeping bag and found her already awake. ‘Someone’s shooting.’

‘I heard. Wake the others.’

He roused Lyn and then went to Harding who, in spite of his pessimism, was fast asleep. ‘Wassamatter?’ he said drowsily, but came awake with a jerk as two more shots broke the early morning silence. ‘What the hell?’

Diana was gesturing vigorously. ‘Over the ridge,’ she called. ‘Away from the river.’

Harding hastily thrust his feet into his boots and cursed freely. Denison ran over to Diana who was helping Lyn. ‘What about the gear?’

‘Leave it. Leave everything except your gun. Get moving.’

He hauled Lyn to her feet and they ran for it, up the hill and over the top of the ridge, a matter of some three hundred yards. There they waited, breathless, until Diana and Harding caught up. Three more shots were fired in rapid succession, and Denison said, ‘It sounds like a bloody battle.’

‘We’ve got to get lost,’ said Diana. ‘There’s cover over there.’

They ran for it.

On the other side of the river, at the water’s edge, McCready watched and smiled. As he had figured, neither of the groups had time to find out where the shots had come from. They had taken cover immediately in the manner of professionals, and now they were dodging about on each side of the bluff in skirmish lines, ready for defence or attack. Kidder, on the left, caught a glimpse of a man on the right, and fired. He missed but, in firing, he exposed himself and someone took a shot at him. Another miss.

Kidder pulled back and unslung his pack which was hampering him. As the others did the same McCready
smiled. A typical battle situation was developing in miniature. Kidder, to improve mobility, was divesting himself of supplies, which might be a good idea considering he outnumbered the opposition—although he could not know that. But if he lost and was overrun and had to retreat then his supplies would be lost.

McCready patted his rifle again and withdrew, to worm himself up the ravine and back into his original position in the stand of stunted trees. On the way he heard three more shots fired. He picked up the glasses and studied the situation. Denison was gone from the rock and the camp was deserted, so it was likely that they had pulled back over the hill and gone to ground, which was the sensible thing to do.

He looked down at the river. The narrow strip of sand between the bluff and the water’s edge was held at each end by two men, and both sides were engaged in a classic outflanking action. Kidder and another man were climbing the bluff on the left, obviously intending to come out on top. There they would have the advantage of height and dropping fire as well as greater numbers.

The only snag was that the opposition was doing the same with one man and he had got the idea first. McCready, enjoying his grandstand seat, watched their progress with interest and estimated that the deserted camp on top of the bluff would be the next battleground. If the single man on the right could get himself established on top of the bluff before Kidder and his friend arrived he would stand a good chance despite the two to one odds.

Meanwhile the holding action at the bottom of the bluff continued with a desultory exchange of shots more to indicate the presence of opposition than to press an attack. McCready stroked his rifle, and thought,
How to Start a War in One Easy Lesson.
He hoped no small nation got the idea—using atomic missiles instead of rifle bullets.

The man on the right made it to the top while Kidder and his man still had twenty yards to go. He came up slowly, looked at the deserted camp, and then ducked for cover behind a rock. Kidder came up to the top and also surveyed the camp from cover, then gestured to the other man to crawl farther along.

He shouted—a thin cry that came to McCready across the river—and they both broke into the open, running across the top of the bluff. The man in cover fired and Kidder’s companion spun away and fell among the rocks. Kidder dropped into cover and simultaneously there was a renewed outburst of fire from the base of the bluff to which McCready transferred his attention.

There had been a casualty on the other side and from the way the man nursed his arm McCready judged it to be broken. He beard a confused and distant shouting; Kidder was worming his way among the rocks in the direction of his wounded friend, and suddenly the other man on the bluff broke away and retreated.

Within fifteen minutes both sides were retreating in opposite directions, Kidder’s group going down-river, one man limping heavily with a bullet in his leg, and the others heading up-river. Honours were even in an inconclusive engagement, and McCready thought that neither party knew just exactly what had happened.

Diana Hansen waited an hour after the last shot before making a move, then she said, ‘I’ll go and see what’s happening.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ said Denison.

She hesitated. ‘All right. I’ll go to the left, you go to the right. We move alternately, one covering the other.’ She looked back at the others. ‘You two give us general cover. If anyone shoots at us you start banging away fast; it doesn’t matter if you don’t hit anything—just make a lot of noise.’

She went first and Denison watched her as she zigzagged forward up to the top of the ridge. Half-way up she stopped and waved him forward and he did his best to imitate what she had done. He flopped down when he was parallel with her and wondered how she had learned a trade like this.

She was on the move again and this time she got to the top of the ridge where she could look down on the camp. At her hand signal he also went forward and peered cautiously around a rock. The camp was deserted and nothing appeared to have been touched; he could even see a gleam from the open theodolite case where he had left it, forgetting to close the top.

She wriggled over to him. ‘I’ll go around to the left—you to the right—we’ll come in on the camp from two sides. Don’t be in too much of a hurry, and don’t shoot at the first thing that moves—it might be me.’

He nodded. She was just going away when he took another look at the camp and saw a movement. He grabbed her ankle as he ducked back. ‘Someone down there,’ he whispered.

She turned. ‘Where?’

‘By the rock where we kept watch.’

After a while Diana said, ‘I don’t see anyone.’

‘I saw it,’ said Denison. ‘A movement by that rock.’

Again they waited and watched until Diana said, ‘Must have been your imagination.’

Denison sighed. ‘I suppose so.’ His hand suddenly tightened on hers. ‘No—look! On the other side now.’

The figure of a man came over the edge of the bluff, paused a little wearily, and then walked slowly towards the camp. When he got there he stared about him and unslung his pack.

Diana clicked with her tongue. ‘It’s George McCready,’ she said, and stood up.

McCready looked as though he was ready to drop on his feet. His clothing was soaked and his boots squelched when he walked. He saw them coming but made no move to advance. Instead he sat down and began to unlace his boots. ‘That bloody river,’ he said. ‘That’s the third time I’ve crossed it.’

‘What was all the shooting?’ demanded Diana.

McCready described what had happened. ‘One crowd was American; I don’t know who the others were. The language sounded vaguely Slav.’

‘Russian?’

‘Could be,’ said McCready. ‘I hope so. If they’re chasing us up here there’s a good chance they won’t be on to Carey.’ He wrung out his socks. ‘When I’m sixty I’ll be an arthritic cripple.’

‘So you set them fighting each other,’ said Denison. ‘I don’t know if that Was a good idea. They might think it was us, and next time they’ll come shooting.’

McCready nodded. ‘Now’s the time to lose them. The best way of doing that is to cross the river and go back on the other side. That will give us the three days that Carey wanted us here.’

‘But we don’t want to lose them,’ objected Diana. ‘That isn’t the object.’

‘I know,’ said McCready. ‘But I’d like to get back to the cars and away while they’re licking their wounds. We can leave plenty of signs to indicate where we’ve gone. They’ll beat around here for a while—if we’re lucky they’ll have another shooting match—and then they’ll follow. It’s still gaining time for Carey and it’s less risk for us.’

Diana thought about it. ‘All right.’

McCready cocked his head on one side and regarded Denison. ‘The leader of the American mob was your old pal, Kidder.’

‘Kidder!’ said Denison incredulously.

‘I thought he turned up a bit too opportunely in Helsinki,’ said Diana. ‘But the man sounded such a fool I discounted him.’

‘If it’s any consolation, so did I,’ said McCready. ‘But you know what it means—our cousins of the CIA are muscling in.’ He took a pair of dry socks from a plastic bag. ‘Unless he’s a renegade or a double agent. I fancy the CIA myself.’ He looked up at Denison who was deep in thought. ‘What’s the matter with you? You look as though you’ve just been sandbagged.’

‘For God’s sake!’ said Denison. ‘It was
Kidder
!’ He shook his head in a bewildered manner. ‘The man who questioned me after I was knocked out in the sauna. I thought I recognized the voice but I couldn’t place it because the American accent had gone.’