So she went on, talking about her dream home, trying to fill my mind with thoughts that lay beyond the nightmare of the present. I remember I said, ‘First I shall have to get a job — a job in England.’
‘That will not be difficult,’ she answered. ‘My father plans to build a factory. He has patents, and the money for the factory—’ She stopped then. ‘What happened to the things that were in your leg?’
I remembered then and my mind seized with relief on something immediate and practical. I leaned forward and grabbed Sansevino by the arm. ‘You took something from my leg — up there on that roof. Give it to me.’ I saw cunning and hesitation in his eyes. ‘Give it to me.’ My voice was almost a scream.
He put his hand in his pocket and for one awful moment I thought he’d got a gun and I half rose to fling myself at him. But his hand came out with the little leather bag and I remembered he hadn’t got a gun. He handed it across to me. It was quite light and as I shook it the contents rattled like a bag of dried peas. I undid the neck of it and poured the contents into Hilda’s lap. Zina’s eyes opened wide and she leaned forward with a hiss of excitement. It was like a stream of glittering fire as I poured it on to Hilda’s dust-caked skirt. Diamonds and rubies, emeralds, sapphires. They lay there winking and glittering, all the wealth of the Tucek steelworks condensed into that little pile of precious stones.
I was angry then, angry because Tucek had committed me unwittingly to smuggle his wealth out of the country. He’d come to my room that night with the intention of asking me to help him, and when he’d found me drunk he’d seen my leg and slipped the little leather bag into the hollow shaft. He’d realised that if I didn’t know what I carried I’d be more likely to get through. But he’d no right to do it without my permission. He’d committed me to a danger that I hadn’t known about.
I stared at him angrily. But he met my stare with vacant eyes, his head rolling mindlessly with the jolting of the cart. Then I remembered the other package. I demanded it from Sansevino. And when he’d handed it to me I knew why Tucek had done it without asking me. The little oilskin roll contained a dozen small metal cylinders, light as feathers. I knew what they were at once. They were rolls of films — microfilms of blueprints. There in my hand were the details of new equipment, arms and machinery, in production at the Tucek works. He’d done exactly as he’d done in 1939. I understood then. I closed the package and passed it across to Hilda.
She stared at the tiny cylinders for a moment and I saw that she was crying. Then slowly she poured the pile of precious stones back into the leather bag, tied it up and handed me the bag and the oilskin package. ‘Keep them, please, Dick. Later you can give them to my father.’ It was a gesture of trust and I suddenly felt like crying too.
Sansevino was talking to Hacket now and the cart lurched off the track, dragging slowly through the vineyards towards a big corrugated iron barn half-buried in an orange grove. When we reached it Sansevino jumped down and he and Hacket and Reece slid back the doors. Inside was an old Dakota, its camouflage paint worn to bright metal in places by the constant impact of air. My heart sank at the sight of it. It had been dragged in tail-first by the tractor that was parked under the starboard wing.
I sat there staring at it, quite unable to move. I was conscious of them carrying Maxwell’s stretcher off the cart, of Zina clapping her hands with joy at the sight of the plane, of the child sucking its thumb and staring in awe. Even when Tucek and Lemlin had been got off the cart I still sat there. My limbs seemed incapable of movement.
‘Dick.’ Hilda was tugging at my arm. ‘Dick. Please.’
My gaze shifted from the plane to the mountain behind. It seemed to lean right over the improvised hangar, the great, black column of gas surging up from its crater, billowing, swirling, rising till it spread like a hellish canopy across the sky. And between us and the mountain was a thick, sulphurous haze. ‘Dick!’ Hilda’s voice was suddenly urgent and my body shook as though I were possessed of some horrible devil. Memory stood at my side, the memory of the last plane I’d flown, a crumpled heap of burnt-out wreckage. ‘I can’t,’ I whispered. Panic had seized me again and my voice came like a sigh from deep down inside me.
Her hands gripped my shoulders. ‘You see that haze? You know what it means?’ I nodded. She twisted my shoulders round so that I was facing her. ‘Look at me.’ Then she took my hands and put them about her throat. ‘I can’t face that lava, Dick. Either you fly that plane or you kill me — now.’
I remember I stared at her in horror. Her throat was soft beneath my fingers. And then the softness of her flesh gave me strength. Or perhaps it was her grey eyes, staring straight into mine. I got to my feet. ‘All right,’ I said. I jumped to the ground. I stood there, trembling. But she followed, caught hold of my hand and led me towards the machine. ‘When you feel the controls — you will be all right then.’ She looked up at me and smiled. ‘Are you very tired, Dick?’
I bit on my lip and didn’t say anything. We walked to the plane then. I remember my feet seemed a long way away, almost beyond my control. They had the door of the fuselage open and were getting Maxwell’s stretcher in. It was Reece who pulled me up into the plane. He patted my shoulder and grinned. I stood there, staring at the familiar details in the half dark. It was just as it had been when it had carried parachutists to half the countries of Europe — the canvas seats, the oxygen notices, the Mae Wests and collapsible dinghies.
A hand gripped mine. I stared at it and then at Reece. He was stammering, awkward. ‘I want to apologise, Dick. I didn’t realise — what guts you’d got.’
I think it was that more than anything else that helped me to get a grip on myself. I felt that here, in this plane, I was in some measure squaring my account with him and Shirer. Hilda was beside me and together we went forward to the crew’s cabin. It was as though I’d stepped back into the war. Everything was familiar, ordinary. I climbed to the cockpit and sat down in the pilot’s seat. A helmet hung over the control column, trailing its intercom plug-in wire. I felt as though if I put it on I could talk to my navigator and the wireless operator.
Hilda had climbed into the second pilot’s seat. Reece, who had followed us, said, ‘I’ll let you know when we’re all set.’
I ran my hand over the controls, thrust at the rudder with my feet.testing the weight of it against my dummy leg. Then I got my handkerchief out and wiped the sweat from my face and hands. It was so damnably hot and I felt sleepy. God, I felt sleepy. I stared at the dials and they seemed to be trembling in the heat of the cabin. I felt sick then.
Hilda’s hand came out and gripped mine. ‘Are you all right?’
I wasn’t all right. I felt faint. But I said, ‘Yes, I’m all right.’ I said it violently as though to convince myself. She kept a tight hold of my hand. And then Reece was at my elbow, peering up at me, telling me they were all on board. ‘Do you want the motors turned over? There’s starting equipment here.’
‘No. They’ll be all right. They shouldn’t need warming up in this heat.’
‘Shall I close the door then?’
‘Yes. Close the door.’
The moment had come now. I looked up from the controls, looking out through the windshield to the ash-covered vineyard that was to be our runway. And then I saw George. They’d moved him to one side and he stood there, a desolate little figure standing dejectedly between the shafts of the broken cart. A violent, uncontrollable wave of anger swept over me. ‘You swines,’ I shouted. ‘You bloody swines.’ I was out of my seat and down the fuselage in an instant. ‘Get him on board. Get him on to the plane.’