To Risks Unknown (24 page)

He stiffened as another hatch banged open and feet clattered down a ladder almost directly above him. He could see the yellow glare of lamps through a slit in the planking just by his face, and felt dust and sand falling across his mouth as boots grated right over his hiding place.

A voice rapped out something in German, and he heard Coutts muttering a reply in a hoarse, wheedling tone which he hardly recognized. The German shouted an order and there were more scrapes and bangs as some of the cargo was moved.

Crespin held his breath and waited for the planks to move and the first surprise give way to the flash of gun-fire. He closed his eyes tightly and tried to hold on to a picture of the girl as he had last seen her. Like the dream, soft and naked in his arms, shutting out the rest of the world in the fierceness of their love.

Someone laughed and the feet halted again right above his face. He could even hear the leather creaking as the German swayed with the slow roll of the schooner's deck.

The lamplight dimmed, and seconds later the hatch was closed again. Another age passed, and then with a roar of power the patrol boat cast off and thrashed clear of the schooner's side.

The planks moved and Preston peered down at him. ‘Gone, sir. I hope you are feeling all right?'

When Crespin reached the deck Coutts was standing beside the wheel, a cheroot drooping from one corner of his mouth. He held out his hand.
‘Keep down.
The bastards might still be looking at us!'

Crespin lifted his head slowly above the bulwark, conscious of the sunlight on the milky water, the fresh smells of freedom and escape.

The patrol boat was already well away, her screws throwing up a mass of white foam beneath her counter, the bow wave creaming across to make the schooner rock uncomfortably in her wake.

Coutts said slowly, ‘They took some of the wine, the greedy swine! But they were taking too long to check the papers. I had to do something.'

Crespin turned towards the land. It looked very beautiful, and shrouded in pale sea mist, unreal and unreachable.

He said, ‘That was close.'

Coutts' eyes were still on the distant boat. They were cold and filled with hatred. ‘He stood so near I could feel his bloody stomach rumbling. He'll never know how near he came to getting a knife in his fat guts!' Then he seemed to shake himself from his thoughts. He held up the papers and grinned. ‘And now we've got a nice new rubber stamp on these. In this war there's nothing like a rubber stamp for oiling the wheels of diplomacy!'

Crespin met his eyes and smiled. ‘No matter which side you're on,' he replied.

Nine hours later, with her tan sails flapping in a gentle breeze and the old engine pouring out a cloud of rank fumes, the schooner edged past the fringe of Valona Bay. Here there were plenty of other such craft, and Crespin found himself wondering if some of them carried people like Coutts, on missions which were so vague and treacherous that there was neither yardstick nor guidance to ease their way.

By nightfall they were well into the Adriatic, with the coast of Yugoslavia reaching out towards the starboard bow like a black shadow. If there had ever been thought of turning back it had gone now. Crespin sat on the hatch-cover and watched the phosphorescence dancing away from the bows, and listened to Ross humming a strange, lilting little tune. They were all committed, and when he thought of the many miles which had rolled away astern he wondered if they would ever be able to return. Here, time and distance meant nothing. Survival just a word.

Yet as he listened to Ross and watched the stars on the dark, heaving water he knew he was glad to be here, even if he did not know the reason.

Six days after the German patrol had stopped and searched the schooner she dropped her anchor in the lee of a small island called Gradz. The chart showed a tiny village on the southern side, but as Crespin clung to a foremast stay and strained his eyes through the darkness he found it hard to believe that anyone still lived there. That anybody
could
live on such a place. The island was barely four miles long, and surrounded by tall, sheer-sided cliffs. Below them the sea rumbled and hissed, daring any craft to move closer inshore and face the necklace of reefs which showed in the darkness in a broken line of breakers. The cliffs seemed unending, yet he knew they were in fact filled with steep inlets and coves, and he could hear the sea booming across the nearest one like water in a cave.

The dawn could not be far away, but he was too tired even to look at his watch. During the past days there had been so many false alarms and disappointments that he no longer felt any room for hope.

Around him the schooner swayed uneasily as she snubbed at her cable, and he could hear two of the seamen in the bows murmuring to each other as they peered into the choppy water watching for the first sign that the little vessel was dragging her anchor. For the sea was very deep here and the anchorage totally unsuitable for any craft, let alone one hiding from an enemy.

And that was how it had been all along. Groping amidst the islands by night and hiding by day. Time and time again Coutts had gone ashore with Preston in the small dory to visit some village or to call on a tiny clump of fishermen's huts huddled in a bleak inlet, and each time he had returned with little more than a curt shake of the head. Nobody it seemed would talk, at least not to him. Perhaps they were too frightened of reprisals, or maybe they were so long weighed down by occupation and war they had forgotten the meaning of resistance. They were neither hostile nor suspicious. They just shrugged and then waited for the schooner to leave. But it could not go on like this. They were courting disaster, and sooner or later they would be betrayed, or would stumble across another, more vigilant patrol boat.

It was hard to tell what the schooner's crew thought about it, but Coutts had withdrawn completely and hardly spoke to anyone but Preston. He was restless and moody, and once when Crespin had tried to draw him out he had snapped, ‘You can do your job when I've found these bastards. Until then for God's sake leave me in peace!'

And now they were here. It seemed like the end of the line. Beyond this rocky island lay the larger one of Korcula, and beyond that the unknown strength of the German occupation forces.

He shivered and banged his hands together. It was damp and extremely cold, and unless Coutts returned very soon the ship would have to stay where she lay, exposed and obvious to anyone who cared to come and inspect her.

Crespin walked slowly aft to where Ross leaned against the wheel, his unlit pipe clamped in his jaw.

‘How long has he been gone, Skipper?'

Ross took the pipe from his mouth and tapped it on the spokes. ‘Three hours. Maybe more.'

Crespin eyed him in the darkness. Ross sounded so untroubled by their predicament, even though Coutts might be lying dead, shot by some unexpected patrol or drowned in a capsized dory.

He said, ‘It looks a pretty inhospitable place.'

‘Aye.' Ross seemed to consider it. ‘But there is a very fair anchorage beyond yon bluff. Deep water and good shelter on both sides. A place a ship could well make use of, I'm thinking.'

Crespin thought of the
Thistle
lying at her moorings at Malta. It was hard to picture her here, hiding amidst bare cliffs with the enemy almost within gunshot. He found himself wondering if the admiral at Portsmouth or the commander in Gibraltar, or even Scarlett for that matter, had any idea of the dangers and complications involved when they devised this mission.

Ross said suddenly, ‘The Germans cannot be too happy about their work here. Can you imagine the difficulties of patrolling such an area?' He shook his head. ‘It must be like putting one English policeman to patrol the Irish frontier, except that here there is also a problem of language.'

Crespin smiled. ‘That's one way of looking at it.'

Ross shrugged. ‘You have to feel your way in this sort of warfare. You must be
right
for it. Now take that poor fellow Trotter for instance. He was a sad one to be sure.'

Crespin stared at him. ‘You knew him?'

‘A passing acquaintance. In North Africa it was. Last year sometime, I forget exactly. He was working with the Special Service even then, but he was doing the work for the wrong reasons. He had made a failure of his previous life and thought this work would be more of an escape from his worries.' He sighed. ‘I thought he might be killed, but not in the manner in which he has died.'

Crespin looked past him towards the heaving water. The wind was breaking the surface into short, angry crests, and he could feel the spray soaking against his legs like rain. But he was thinking of Trotter. It was strange how he kept cropping up.

He asked, ‘That was the last you saw of him then?'

Ross nodded. ‘As I remember. I never really knew him though.' He turned towards Crespin, his beard blowing out in the wind. ‘But surely Captain Scarlett will have told you about him?'

‘Captain Scarlett?'

‘Surely.' Ross was getting restless, as if unused to so much talk. ‘Trotter was one of his team in those days. He must have known him better than most.'

Crespin walked back to the foremast, his mind turning over Ross's information. What sort of a game was Scarlett playing? If Trotter's death made little sense, this latest piece of deception made no sense at all.

A seaman muttered, ‘Dory's comin' back!'

Ross hurried from the wheel. It was amazing how quickly he could move when he had a mind to. ‘Cover it with the Stens, lads!' To another he rapped, ‘Stand by the cable in case we have to cut loose in a hurry!'

Preston's voice echoed above the wind and spray. ‘It's all right! It's me!' It was hardly a correct approach, but there was no mistaking his drawling tone.

The boat banged alongside and a grapnel thudded into the bulwark.

Crespin stayed by the mast watching the dark heads rising above the pitching rail and wondering what Coutts would have to report this time. But the man with Preston was certainly not Coutts. He was short and shaggy, his thick jerkin criss-crossed with bandoliers and a heavy carbine slung across one shoulder.

Preston saw Crespin and said quickly, ‘Be careful what you say, sir. I'm not sure if he speaks English or if he's just pretending to be awkward.'

The man shambled across the deck and peered closely at Crespin's uniform. He smelt strongly of woodsmoke and dirt. Then he nodded violently and gestured with his thumb towards the cliffs. Preston spoke to him for several seconds and the man replied in a short, guttural whisper.

‘He says we are to enter the inlet, sir.' Preston sounded tired. ‘He's not exactly forthcoming.'

‘But where is Captain Coutts?' Crespin felt isolated and useless. ‘What did you find?'

Preston stared at him. ‘Oh, didn't I say? Well, we managed to find a beach for the dory and we were just getting it hauled out of the water when about a dozen of these characters pounced on us.' He looked over the bulwark. ‘I think they were expecting us. We tried to speak to them but they just kept prodding us with their guns and demanding that we anchor the boat inside the inlet.'

Crespin clenched his fists. ‘But are they …?'

‘Partisans?' Preston studied him thoughtfully. ‘Could be. Come to that, they could be anything. But they've kept Captain Coutts as an insurance policy. The rest is up to us.'

Ross said gruffly, ‘Don't be so big-headed, young fellow!' He looked at Crespin. ‘It is surely up to
you
, sir?'

Crespin nodded. It was the first time Ross had called him
sir.
He must be more worried than he showed.

He said, ‘If we stay out here we shall be asking for trouble.' He made up his mind. ‘Break out the anchor and start up the engine, Skipper.'

The newcomer had been standing in silence watching them with obvious interest. As Ross moved towards the wheel he unslung the carbine and worked the bolt noisily. Then he squatted on the bulwark and pointed the gun at the shore. He spoke briefly, and Preston spread his hands before interpreting unhelpfully, ‘He just says to go on in, sir!'

As soon as the anchor broke free the schooner seemed to dance sideways out of control. But with the engine coughing and roaring Ross managed to bring her round until the bows were pointing directly towards what looked like a solid wall of rock.

It was some small comfort to see the partisan, or whatever he was, sitting unconcernedly on the bulwark smoking a cheroot and swinging one foot as the schooner bucked and rolled beneath him.

Ross muttered, ‘Ah, I have the feel of it now.' He said no more, but spun the wheel hard over as two tall rocks reared out of the darkness and slid away over the starboard quarter like a pair of browsing sea-monsters.

All at once the engine noises became louder and the sea less choppy, and Crespin could feel the land closing around him, like a blind man walking into an empty room.

The Yugoslav grunted and gesticulated sharply with the carbine.

Preston said, ‘Anchor, sir.'

Crespin waved his hand and from forward came the answering ring of metal as the slip was knocked free and the cable roared once more through the fairleads. Ross stamped his foot twice on the deck and obediently the engine sighed gratefully into silence.

Crespin said, ‘Tell your friend that we'll wait for first light. Then we'll go ashore in the dory.'

He did not have to understand the language to know what Preston was going to translate. He saw the little Yugoslav's teeth gleaming in the darkness, heard the taut anger in his throaty voice.

Preston said, ‘He says
now
, sir. You are to go with him right away. I am to go, too, apparently.'

It was pointless to argue. If the whole German army was poised on the island it could not make much difference now. They needed help, and these people, whoever they were, must know it by now. So perhaps the villagers Coutts had questioned had not been so dumb and helpless as he had imagined.