He came out from the last of the store rooms, stared down at the metal rails of the track, frowning, biting his lip. Like the power-house, that track was in a good state of maintenance, and the rails themselves were not as rusty as Shaw would have expected to find if they had remained unused for as long as the rest of the old mine appeared to have been.
Funny…
He ran a hand along his jaw and said, “Gillian, we’ll have to go right along, that’s all. Wiley could have gone this way. If he did, then it seems at least a possibility that it comes out somewhere in the area of the control-station.” He took her arm and they went forward, went beyond the line of overhead lights into the gloom. Soon they couldn’t see anything, simply went ahead by feel through total blackness, their scalps tingling. They clung together, the girl fearful of losing Shaw. They edged forward, hands reaching out for the sides of the tunnel, feet stumbling on the rails. Small animals slithered across their feet. There could, Shaw supposed, be snakes down here too — or spiders. He urged the girl on as fast as she could go, always conscious of the lack of time and of the dreadful thing that was going to happen if he didn’t reach the station before Hartog was ready to go into operation. It was not far off dusk now. It was a long, tricky walk, but in time their groping hands noted the widening of the tunnel, and soon after that they stumbled up against the trolley which Wiley had left there earlier. And then, a little later, they saw the faint glimmer of the fading daylight ahead and they went on faster, able soon to make out the tunnel walls and then the overgrown entrance.
Shaw whispered, “Dead quiet now, Gillian. There could be some one else on guard this end, just as an extra precaution.”
They edged forward — very slowly, very carefully and silently.
There seemed to be no one there after all.
Shaw halted again just inside the entrance, pressed his body close to the wall and kept in the lee of the thick green vegetation which overhung the tunnel-mouth. He looked all around, then beckoned Gillian to follow him. He went ahead carefully, his fingers on the trigger of the Sten.
He’d just caught a quick glimpse of the man in the tree when he heard Gillian’s shout:
“Look out — get down—”
He dropped at once, felt Gillian doing the same behind him. As he fell he fired a burst into the tree, heard a stifled scream, and then saw the black body crashing from a branch.
Shaw felt a slight tugging sensation in his shirt-sleeve and when he looked down at it he saw the small barbed arrow. Drawing in his breah sharply, he picked the barb out, held it up and looked at it. He said “Poisoned — I suppose.” He threw it away. They waited five minutes after that, and when no further attack came Shaw said, “All right, let’s go. Looks as if it was just the one at each end.”
He helped the girl to her feet, and they walked out into the overgrown clearing. Away to their right, down in the valley and just visible in the trees through the gathering dark, they saw the complicated antennae on the beaming-mast over the Bluebolt station’s control-tower.
The mast was turning slowly, seeking, listening… waiting for Bluebolt.
Shaw took a deep breath, found that his hands were shaking. He said, “Well — there she is. I only hope Geisler’s there.”
“You’re going to make direct for the station?”
“Yes, surely. We may be in time — or we may not. It’s too late now to get hold of troops from Manalati or anything like that. We’ve got to move fast now — damn fast, and by ourselves.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Taking his direction from the mast, Shaw quickly found the track leading to the road, and then he turned along to the right. It was still a goodish way and the going was hard, up sloping ground and through deep, muddy ruts left behind by service transport, and the rain was still teeming down on them. By the time they had made the station some half an hour later the last remnant of the daylight had gone from the sky, and the barred gateway was illuminated by floodlights.
Shaw and Gillian were covered with oozy, clinging mud. They were tired and filthy and almost unrecognizable. A naval sentry stopped them at the entrance with a wicked-looking sub-machine-gun aimed through the gateway at Shaw’s stomach. He said, “Okay, fella, that’s close enough. Drop those guns.”
“Like hell I’m going to—”
“I said drop ’em.” The man’s eyes were hard, narrowed to slits. His finger was moving on the trigger of his own weapon.
Shaw seethed, but obeyed, nodded curtly at Gillian to do the same. The Sten and the revolver were laid on the ground. The sentry relaxed a little, asked, “Who are you and what d’ya want?”
“The name’s Shaw. I’ve lost my identification, but I’m Commander Shaw of the British Navy—"
The man grinned, his jaws moving on a stick of gum. "Yeah? Guess yu're a Limey all right — a Limey bum."
Shaw snapped, "Cut it out, laddie. I'm an officer of Naval Intelligence and—"
"Well, whaddya know!" The gun was prodded forward, the man's hand caressing the trigger again. "Say, isn't this just like a goddam Limey to —"
“Now just you shut up and listen.” Shaw’s voice was a rasp of fury now; he was shaken with a terrible, consuming dread that he was going to be too late after all. “I’ve told you who I am, and I demand to see Commander Geisler immediately. The matter’s vital — and I mean vital — and if you hold me up here with any more fool wisecracks I’ll personally see to it that you’re chucked into cells once I do get in. After that you can argue it out with the Pentagon. Now — open up those gates and be damn fast about it!”
The sentry stared at him, still chewing. He’d been slightly shaken, Shaw thought, at the direct mention of Geisler; but the gun was still lined up on his stomach and the hand was steady, the face unrelenting again.
Shaw went on harshly, desperately, “If I was up to anything d’you imagine I’d come right here to the gates, openly and alone except for a girl? Use your ruddy head! Anyway — I’m coming in even if I have to shoot my way through.”
He bent quickly towards the Sten. The sentry jerked his weapon forward, snapped, “Leave those guns right there unless you want a load of this, Limey. You’re coming in all right — but not the way you want.”
Sweating, Shaw straightened, left the Sten in the mud. The sentry said, “Hold it just like that.” Still keeping his gun aimed at Shaw and the girl, he moved sideways and pressed a bellpush in a small weatherproof box by the gateway. Almost at once an armed petty officer of the British Navy came out from the guardroom alongside the entrance. Shaw gave a gasp of relief when he saw the Royal Naval cap. The American rating jerked a thumb in Shaw’s direction. He said, “Guy out there says he wants to see the Old Man. Says it’s urgent—”
Shaw broke in, explained once again who he was, that he had to see Geisler and Hartog right away. Time was running out now, every single second counted… slowly, maddeningly the petty officer rasped a brown hand across his jaw. He said, “We’ll have you in the guardroom, then we’ll see.” To the sentry he said briskly, “Righto, lad, keep ’em covered.” He went forward, put a hand on the gate. “Move away from those guns, you two.”
“But—”
“You ’eard. Move, or else! Remember, I’ve no proof you’re who you say you are… sir.”