The firing ceased just about the time I had located and discarded the last chunk of poisoned metal. I stretched out on my stomach and gazed over the ledge. I could see the roof of the small station below, but couldn't see the Marines. I knew, though, that the guards had already sent word down the mountain via walkie-talkie that an imposter had made it this far. Marines would be coming up in force.
I spotted another ledge a dozen feet below me and to the left of the point where the winch stood above me. I worked my way to the extreme end of my ledge, tossing over metal scraps as I went, and prepared to drop down to that next ledge. The sunlight caught hunks of sharp metal down there and gave me fair warning. I had no sandals now; dropping down there barefoot would be certain suicide.
An idea came. I took off Nuyan's robe and hood, and began to tear them into strips. Working slowly and purposefully, wondering what the guards below and the monks above were plotting, I wrapped my feet, hands, buttocks, thighs and hands with the heavy garb of the monk. If I had had more material, I would have wrapped myself up like a mummy, but I didn't so I would have to take more risks with the sharp metal and the poison than I wanted to take, but there was no other way.
Sure enough, when I dropped to the next ledge, my left foot landed on a huge chunk of metal. I eased up quickly and the metal didn't make it through to skin. And I had made it to the ledge without being observed from above or below. I knew this because the guards were still firing sporadically, and their bullets were going to that outcropping of rock that had been above me on the first ledge.
This second, lower ledge was about thirty feet wide and a foot deep. I cleared it of metal and worked my way to the westernmost end where I dropped to a third ledge only six feet down. I was still more than seventy feet above the trail and was running out of ledges that would keep my momentum to the west, away from the guard station.
I found a small cave on the third ledge, but it would do no good to hide out in there. Even if they didn't find me, I would soon starve. I had already decided that I couldn't wait for darkness to cover my escape from this rock wall of a mountain. Darkness would not be my friend and ally up here. If I didn't miss my footing in the dark, I would certainly fall prey to the ubiquitous metal shards if I couldn't spot them ahead of time.
In fifteen minutes, though, I had worked my way down four more ledges, to a point about thirty feet above the trail and a hundred yards to the west of the Marine station. The Marines were still taking potshots at the first ledge and, above, the four green-hooded monks manning the winch had filled the wicker chair with an enormous rock and had lowered it ten feet. They were swinging it back and forth, trying to hit whoever might be hiding there. Of course, no one was.
Intenday and his group had apparently gone on up the trail, working their way to the top where plans of war would be discussed with Don Carlos Italla. Following this incident of the imposter and the killing of the real Nuyan, I had no doubts as to the outcome of that discussion. Don Carlos would get his support and he would signal from his cloud-ringed mountaintop in two days for the bloody sport to begin.
Once again, my efforts to head off trouble had only fueled the fires of war and made my own task more difficult. Perhaps I'm a firetender by nature.
While I was resting at my last point, thirty feet above the trail, I heard a terrible hubub below and looked down to see Colonel Vasco and a whole company of Marines scrambling up the trail. The final passage to the trail was a gradual slope. I wouldn't have to jump it. If it weren't for the metal slivers and the Marines coming up the trail, I could slide down it and run like hell for a time. Eventually, though, I knew I would have to come face to face with the Marines. Unless I wanted to take an even bigger chance with the metal scraps and hotfoot it down the mountain slope to the west.
I crammed myself back against the wall at the back of my last ledge and let the Marines go streaming past below. Soon, I knew, they would have the monks lower the basket, put an armed Marine in it and winch him up to the ledge where I'd gotten off. At that time, the search would fan out and they'd find me. There were more than a hundred of them up on the trail now, and I couldn't be more than two hundred yards from the station at the gap in the trail.
I remained hidden, not even watching the Marines at their latest activity. After ten minutes, I heard one of them trudging back down the trail, apparently going after climbing equipment to supplement the winch. I waited another five minutes, surveyed the slope beneath me for metal scraps and then went over.
Five metal scraps caught in the wrappings, but I plucked them out and sent them flying over the trail. I reached the trail, undetected I was sure, and began running down toward the base camp. It had taken us two hours of climbing to reach this point; I figured I could run back down it in about fifteen minutes. I figured wrong.
As I made a turn around the side of the mountain, I came face to face with Col. Ramon Vasco. He was leaning against the mountain, smoking a cigarette. The cigarette dangled untended between his heavy lips. Across his middle, pointing directly at me, was a loaded Volska automatic rifle.
"We meet again, Senor Carter," he said, spitting out the words and smiling with a ruthlessness that made my bowels churn. "This time, I know who you are. You can't fool me with stories about being on special assignment for Captain Rodrigues. And this time, you will not squirrel away into thin air."
"It would seem that way," I said, retaining my outward glibness. Inside, I was in riot, trying to decide which of my weapons to go for first. It had to be Wilhelmina, the luger. I was too far away to be effective with Hugo, and poor old Pierre would be too slow for his quick trigger-finger. "What's keeping you? Why don't you shoot?"
His smile broadened and became even more ruthless looking, if possible.
"Patience, Mr. Carter," he said. "You've exhibited a great deal of it in infiltrating my ranks and then concealing yourself among these humble men of God. I will be the one to kill you, make no mistake about that. First, I wish to ask you a few questions."
"Go ahead." I was inching forward, hoping he wouldn't notice but knowing he would. He did.
"Don't move any farther," he snapped, "or we forget the questions and toss your body over the side of the mountain. When you are questioned, it will be by experts. Take my word for it, Mr. Carter. When they are finished with you, we will know everything you know, and more. You will talk as you have never talked before."
"You have ways," I said, using the old cliché in a mocking manner.
"Many, many ways. Now, move to the outer edge of the trail and pass by me. We will go down to the base camp now."
"How did you know I wasn't still up on that ledge?" I asked as we trudged along single file down the trail.
"I didn't. But I have witnessed your miracles before, Senor Carter. This time, I decided to detach myself from the scene and hope that the thin air you disappeared into would be occupied by me. And it was, much to your misfortune."
At a turn in the trail, I saw a squad of Marines far ahead. We would catch up to them in a matter of seconds. Thirty or forty at the most. It would surely be all over for me then. I might have a chance against one armed man, but not a squad of them. I stumbled and stopped. Colonel Vasco stopped behind me.
"What is it? Why do you stop?"
I turned and showed him the blood on my chest. It was Nuyan's blood, but the colonel didn't know it. I leaned against the side of the mountain and let my body sag as though weak. I put my hand to my face and bent over.
"A piece of metal," I said, gasping out the words for effect. "When I dropped down on a ledge up there, a piece of metal cut through my clothes. I feel sick. Weak."