Tara opened her eyes as we moved her into a dim room. Fleming was already there with a bed of fresh-cut boughs, hobbling on a crutch. I hadn’t even realized he was around. We laid Tara on the bed and Mitzy brought a bright grass coverlet. Tara was conscious now, but still a very sick girl.
There would not be an exodus from the fort today. We couldn’t carry both Fleming and Tara over the rough mountains. We would have to wait it out.
I stayed crouched beside the blonde girl, chewing on frustration, more worried about Tara than I’d liked to admit. She had gotten to me and her illness made me realize it. If Noah hadn’t recognized the poison, she’d be dead by now instead of sleeping. The old man had delivered on the dot.
Breakfast smells came through the door. I ignored them until Noah called, then I went out to where the others were gathered around the glowing brasier.
I had a surprise waiting. We had company.
A dark young man in a twist of cloth. He brought news. Noah told it to me in a tired voice while Fleming and Mitzy looked depressed. The tribe had been busy through the night, scouting. Carib Jerome’s soldiers had been busy, too. There was now a cordon of them from the shore of the cove all the way to the beach where the third patrol boat lay.
We were encircled. With two people on the sick list, there wasn’t a chance in hell of breaking through. I asked the boy if he could take me out for a try at Jerome when it got dark again. No, he said. He’d come in before the encirclement was completed. Now he couldn’t get through.
Tara hadn’t heard any movements. If I hadn’t slept, I might have — or maybe they’d been too far away. I looked at the silent figures around me, realized what easy targets we made, and lost my appetite.
We ate anyway. It was something to do. Then we sat listening. The wait was not long. I heard it first, a split second before Noah turned his head to look at me. There was the low, lazy drone of planes coming out of the morning sun.
The old man stood up without hurry, sounding as if he were inviting us for tea. “I suggest we repair to the catacombs now. Mr. Carter, will you bring Miss Sawyer.”
As Mitzy had said when I first met him, the old man was full of surprises. So he had a basement under his fortress. I wondered how deep it was, if the rock ceilings could withstand the bombs or if a hit on top would bury us below. Mitzy’s color faded under her lustrous tan and I knew the same thing was going through her mind. But once again there wasn’t much choice.
I went for Tara, lifted her and was relieved that she could put an arm around my neck. When I brought her outside, Noah was holding open a thick limestone slab, a door I hadn’t spotted before. Mitzy and the kid were already out of sight, Felming was hunching through on his crutch. I followed. Noah pulled the slab closed, leaving us in utter darkness.
A second later he struck a spark from a flint against a candle wick. We had light. Noah handed the candle to the boy, took the doctor in his arms, and walked into a dark entrance of a tunnel, then down some steps. The boy beckoned to us, holding the little flame above his head. The space was wide enough for us to pass, but the roof was low. The tall man ahead bent double. I had to kink my knees and even Mitzy ducked her head.
It was a long flight down. Encouraging. There would be enough rock over us to absorb quite a jolt. At the bottom a sharp turn took us into a fair-sized chamber.
We settled down on the floor and Noah pinched the candle. To conserve air, he said. Minutes passed. The planes must have reached us by now, but no explosions shook the headland. There was no sound at all.
It was spooking me. What were they waiting for? Then I had a new idea. In our haste to get away from the bombs, we’d left ourselves no exit. It was quite possible that the air raid would slam shut the door of the catacombs, piling rubble against it so it couldn’t be moved. There was only one way we’d be sure to get out — with dynamite. And that had been left upstairs.
Mitzy had brought the machine gun and I felt for it in the dark. I made my way up the stairs and eased the slab door open about two inches. The bright daylight blinded me, but I thought I caught movement. I stayed where I was until I could see clearly. Four figures in Russian uniforms materialized. Of course. The colonel wanted Fleming alive, not blown into fertilizer.
They had machine guns too. Climbing out of their parachute harness, they separated, two starting one way around the grounds, two the other, looking into rooms. They evidently expected to find people there. The search speeded up. They were all looking away from me, going through houses on the opposite side. I shoved the slab aside and stepped against the dark wall. I’d made a bad mistake. If I’d waited above ground I could have picked them off parchuting through the air. Now I had to stay here and sweat it out.
It was quite awhile before one of them put his head around my door and looked into the muzzle of my gun. The empty rooms had made him careless, his gun was down. I motioned for him to come in and stepped back. He didn’t like the idea, but he came. When we were well inside, out of sight, I slammed my barrel against his head. He fell and didn’t move. I went back to the door.
The next man was backing out of a room around the comer; close enough. I shook out the stiletto and threw it. I don’t often miss, but he turned. The blade passed him, rang on the wall and clattered at his feet. He stared, then swung my way but not until I had moved back from the opening. He yelled to the others in rapid-fire Russian. An answer came from the other side of my door. They planned to come in blasting, spraying the place on their way. That suited me. I dropped down the catacomb stairs, figuring they wouldn’t shoot low and was ready when they came, bullets leading them, one at a time through the entrance. I cut them in two before they quite firing so the sound could be taken for only their guns.
The echoes covered Mitzy’s scramble behind me. Her voice panted at my shoulder.
“What’s going on?”
“Visitors. Four of them, three here, one still loose.”
I climbed to the door but couldn’t see the fourth man. I’d let go a yell of triumph, but he didn’t flush. The court yard was still. Too still. I didn’t know where he was and could get my head blown off if I went out looking. I didn’t believe he’d blunder in here now. Stalemate.
I kicked a Russian gun toward the girl and told her, “Check it for ammunition.”
“Plenty.”
“Keep your head down. I’ll go back to ask if there’s another way out. Maybe I can get to our friend by another route.”
After I described the situation, Noah lighted the candle. The flame showed Fleming sitting quietly against the wall. Tara sat a few feet away. She looked better, but still dazed. The dark hole in the depth of the mountain, smelling of dust and stale air, wasn’t exactly a recovery room. But I couldn’t take her out until that fourth man was found.
Noah spoke to the boy who had ghosted through Jerome’s army. The young man nodded and took the candle, waving me to follow. The faint light shone upon a painted screen hung behind a primitive altar. He lifted a corner of the screen, revealing a passage behind it, and went into it ahead of me. I hoped he knew where he was going. The stub of candle wouldn’t last very long. We went down more steps to a lower, curving tunnel lined with recesses. Bits of candle were stuck in the walls, never more than two-or-three inches long. The air was foul. Then I saw why. Most of the recesses held human bones, hollow-eyed skulls behind them on stone shelves. This was the burial crypt of the tribe.
The corridor was long with several turns. My sense of direction told me it led to the far side of the fortress. Finally there was a round pool of sunlight on the floor. Looking up, I saw a small hole in the roof, barely wide enough for my shoulders and too high for me to reach.