Terror's Cradle

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

There was about twenty yards to go. Twenty-one would be a disaster and my physical state didn't make for fine judgment. Ten feet short of the edge I flung myself flat and began to kitten-crawl forward. At the edge I stopped, put the water bottle down, and turned to watch the helicopter. The thing was huge, with long rows of passenger windows along its sides; one of the oil company machines I'd seen on the tarmac at Sumburgh and which were used to carry men out to the deep sea drilling rigs. The roaring monster came down slowly and carefully, bringing its own fierce gale that seemed to be buffeting me towards the edge. Its coloured lights turned and flashed eerily in the now deafening darkness. It looked like some vast insect predator, come to ingest me. The wheels touched and the massive rotors continued spinning, but the pitch diminished, then a door in the side opened and Elliot stepped down and waited for Willingham to join him. They were both armed.

As I watched them walk towards me, I rapidly unscrewed the stopper of the plastic bottle. They stopped no more than ten feet away and stood looking down at me. 'All right, Sellers. Give me that!' Willingham bawled against the helicopter's racket. I shook my head and shouted back. 'Get back into the bloody thing and fly off.'

They came closer, both with pistols levelled. Elliot called. `We'll use these, Sellers. Don'

t doubt it.'

I held up the bottle. 'If you do, it goes over the edge. The stopper's off. It'll sink straight away.'

Elliot yelled, 'How do I know it's in there?'

Ìt's there,' I shouted. 'Now go. For Christ's sake, go!' Stalemate. Elliot and I stared at each other. I shouted, 'If you shoot me, it falls. If you come near me, it falls. Get into your bloody helicopter and go!' It was Elliot I was addressing, Elliot who was in charge, Elliot who stood looking at me doubtfully. I deliberately ignored Willingham—and I almost lost everything in doing so. I should have expected it; knowing him, but I certainly wouldn't have expected his speed. He hurtled at me from the edge of my vision, diving to try to pin me to the ground. At the last second I saw him coining and rolled over desperately, lashing upward with my foot. It was sheer instinct that made me kick, sheer blind luck that I made contact, sheer disaster that my foot caught him as it did : hard and clean in the face. The impact was doubled by his own onward rush. He thudded to the ground right beside me, with a harsh yelp of pain. I lashed out again, heard his sudden scream and didn't understand for a second what had happened. But the scream continued and died away and I suddenly knew and felt myself shiver. Willingham had gone over!

I looked quickly at the bottle neck. As I'd rolled, had the bottle tipped? I shook it and listened to the water gurgle. No. It was still there.

What about Elliot? For God's sake, where was he? I looked up and saw he was still standing there, open-mouthed now, but the automatic still pointed at me. 'Go!' I yelled at him.

He remained perfectly still for what seemed a long time, then shrugged, turned and walked slowly back to the helicopter. I watched him climb aboard, listened to the rising clamour of the rotor blades, and then the chopper's wheels lifted and it soared upward. Cautiously I crawled away from the cliff edge, then paused to restopper the bottle. The helicopter was a couple of hundred feet above me, beginning to circle slowly. Elliot had gone away all right, but not very far.

What the hell could I do now? I'd won a pause, but no more than that. Before my crazy climb up the rope there had at least been a scheme of sorts. Anderson and I would inform the Russians we had the copy and use it to bargain

for Alsa's release. But now the Russians would probably have guessed why we had returned to the Holm. By now, they'd perhaps even have caught Anderson and be certain. For me, and for Alsa, the alternatives were bleak and fatal. Frying pan or fire?

Americans or Russians? Either way, Alsa would . . .

I crouched alone in the darkness on top of that two hundred foot rock pillar and tried to find a way out. Above, Elliot's helicopter still waited. Below, there, was the Russian boat. There was nothing, nothing I could do!

I stood shakily and looked helplessly around me. Then I saw a dark shadow on the grass near the middle of the surface. I frowned, remembering the Russian who'd captured me last night. I hadn't been sure then that he was dead. I walked slowly towards him. Now there was no question about it. He lay as I'd left him; those blows I'd chopped into his throat had killed him. Now Willingham was dead too! Two men dead. And Alsa would also die; they'd never release her now.

Then I saw that something lay beside the Russian. I bent to look at it. Of course – the radio he'd used! I scooped it up, switched on my torch, and looked at it. A simple walkietalkie gadget. On-off switch, probably single wavelength. Could I make use of this in some way? I sat down and thought about it for a bit, then went quickly to the hide and found what I wanted.

A couple of minutes later, I flicked the switch and spoke into it. `Marasov,' I said. Nothing happened. I went close to the edge, raising the aerial so that it projected - over into space. I repeated Marasov's name several times. Perhaps the damned thing had been smashed when the Russian fell?

Then a voice replied in Russian. I said, `Marasov, Marasov,' and waited. There was a little hiss of static.

`This is Marasov.'

I said, 'This is Sellers. I have a copy transparency that Anderson made.'

`Then an exchange can be arranged.'

`You have two prisoners. Alison Hay and a man called Newton.'

A pause, then, 'That is true. Climb down the rope, Mister. Sellers. Give it to us. I undertake to land the two people you name on one of the Shetland islands.'

I said, 'Get stuffed.'

Ìt is a promise.'

`Made to break,' I said. 'I have a better idea.'

Ìf the transparency reaches the Americans,' Marasov said grimly, 'no deal is possible.'

Ìt won't. Now listen. I will deliver this to you after you have put Miss Hay and Mr Newton on to Anderson's boat. When I see they are safely aboard and that the boat is well under way, you get the transparency.'

The walkie-talkie crackled. Marasov said, 'You do not trust me, I do not trust you. Why should I?'

`Because,' I said, 'I will offer myself as hostage.'

`How?'

I hesitated, then committed myself. 'I will climb a few feet down the rope . . . damn!' I had to stop talking as the helicopter suddenly roared low over the island. I waited for it to go away and started to talk again. 'I will climb a few feet down the rope. The transparency remains here on top. It's in a bottle. Quite safe now. I shall have a long string tied to the bottle. When I see Miss Hay and Newton are , aboard Anderson's boat, I'll pull the bottle over the edge and let it fall. It's polythene. It won't break. You can pick it up.'

There was silence for a moment; comparative silence. The helicopter still clattered somewhere near, though for the moment I couldn't see it.

In my ear Marasov's voice said, 'If I transfer them, what is to stop you breaking your word and leaving the bottle there? The helicopter, after all, is waiting.'

The helicopter was suddenly doing more than waiting. It must have been lurking near sea level, because abruptly it again tore up over the cliff edge and passed low over the Holm top. I swung round to watch it go, trying to discover

what Elliot was up to. For some reason tear gas came into my mind : tear gas, or that other stuff – Mace – they use to stun people in riots. Would Elliot have things like that available up here in the Shetlands? I pictured myself staggering round up there blinded and helpless. As the roar died, I said quickly, 'I'll be ten feet down the cliff, hanging on the rope. You can shoot me very easily, if I don't keep my word.'

I waited tensely for his answer. I'd offered him all I had to offer . . Marasov's answer was hesitant. 'How can I trust you?'

Ìf I don't keep my promise, you kill me. It's that simple.'

Still he hesitated. There was only one thing to do. I stood up, showed myself at the cliff edge, and said, `Look at me now. Look through the sights of a rifle. I'll come ten feet down the cliff. Could you miss?'

Below me on the lighted deck of the trawler I could see men looking up. 'Well, could you?'

His voice crackled in my ear. 'I accept. I warn you, we shall not miss.'

I looked down at the sea far below and swallowed. I'd proposed, but I was appalled by what I'd proposed. My guts felt slithery at the thought of venturing again into the void. And the feeling of revulsion grew worse with every second I stood there. I said, 'Where I climbed before, at the south end. Understand?'

Ì understand.' I .could pick out Marasov now, walkie-talkie in hand, head bent back as he looked up at me. A second later the bow of the big fishing boat began to come round and water foamed beneath her stem. I stepped back, picked up the water bottle, and tied the string I'd got from Anderson's hide firmly round the bottle neck. Then I crossed the Holm, using my torch to find my discarded climbing belt, and buckled it on. Finally, I hooked the strap of the walkie-talkie round my neck. I was ready, possibly able, very far from willing.

I had to force myself to sit on the edge of the cliff, force myself to dangle my legs into space until I'd fitted my feet

into the stirrups and adjusted the Jumar clips. This was the moment. I placed the precious water bottle a couple of feet back from the edge in case of accident, lowered the• suing over, then turned my body and let myself slide carefully downward until the stirrups took the strain. Lowering the bottom clip, I felt my foot move down. The edge now pressed against my chest. Next the upper clip. Then the lower again. My eyes were level with the bottle. Beside me the slender thread of string dangled limply. I went down slowly, glancing every few seconds at the entrance to the channel, where Marasov's boat would appear at any moment. I wondered how he would have contacted Anderson. Well, it was his problem and there was always Morse. Anderson would be bound to know Morse!

Yes, there it was! Deck lights on, the big fishing boat came nosing cautiously in. I lowered myself two more steps down the rope and waited.

There came a sudden unearthly roar — magnified •a dozen times as the sound smashed back and forth between the cliffs — and Elliot's helicopter roared over. Christ, what was he doing? He was up to something; must have some idea, some plan, but I couldn't begin to imagine what it was! Hanging one-handed on the rope, I fumbled for the walkie-talkie hand-set, and glanced down. The Russian fishing boat was almost directly beneath me. When I released the bottle, it would probably fall straight on to the deck. Marasov?'

Ì'm ready.'

I said, 'Where are they? I want to see them.'

`Look down.'

I looked. Three figures stood in a little group at the stern. 'Let me speak to her.'

I saw him hand over the walkie-talkie. There was a brief pause, then a voice came. I'd have known it anywhere. Relief thudded through me: Alsa said uncertainly, 'John?'

Ìs that Newton with you?'

Another pause, then, 'Yes, John, it is.'

I looked back towards the entrance. Anderson's Shetland model was entering the narrow channel, coming in towards the Russian boat's stern.

let them go aboard,' I said into the handset.

`John. Be careful.'

Ì'll be careful,' I said. 'I have to be. Let me talk to Marasov.'

`They're going now, Sellers,' Marasov said, 'Can you see them?'

I could see very clearly. I saw the man go first: Newton, who'd nearly paid for his love of birds with his life. Then Alsa. With Anderson's good arm around her, she turned at the rail and waved up to me.'

In my ear, Marasov's voice boomed suddenly. `They're on the boat. Did you see?'

`Now we wait,' I told him, 'until they're' out of sight.'

He said, warningly, 'There are three men with automatic rifles here, Sellers. They are ready to fire if you make the slightest movement.'

My throat was dry, my stomach knotting with anxiety as I hung there, swaying a little on the rope, watching as Anderson's boat moved slowly, stem first, back out of the channel. I could see the three figures in the stern as she came about, now under forward power, and began to pick up speed.

My mind raced. Had I allowed enough time? When I let the bottle fall, would Marasov have time to retrieve it, get out of the channel and still catch them before they reached Lerwick? I'd have to wait as long as I dared.

By now the boat was gone. Half a minute passed then Marasov said, 'Now. It is time.'

I didn't reply.

`Do you hear me, Sellers?'

Ì hear you.'

Ì shall count to ten,' he said slowly. 'If you have not then kept your promise, my men will open fire.'

I gritted my teeth and argued. 'It won't help you. I'm not holding the string. It's hanging beside me. The bottle would stay up here. We wait until they're well clear. Five minutes at least.'

I half expected to be shot at that moment, but nothing happened. I hung in space against that awful cliff, sweating and waiting as I counted five minutes slowly away. Marasov's voice came with startling suddenness. 'Now, Sellers! Now or I call up another'

vessel to intercept them.'

`How do I know you haven't?'

`You don't know. But I assure you that I will. I will order them killed, you know that?'

This was it then. Another Russian boat might already be intercepting Anderson; God knows they had enough of them in Lerwick! But I'd reached the end, played my weak hand for all it would stand. I couldn't do more.

Marasov said, 'I am only interested in the transparency. Only that. Remember it. If you let the bottle fall now, they will be safe.'

I took a deep breath of doubt. But now I had to do it. I said, 'Coming now. Watch out for it!'

I reached out my hand to the thin, dangling string, raised my eyes to the cliff edge and pulled gently. It was tight, perhaps lodged against some tiny obstruction. I pulled harder .

. . and watched in horror as the slack string came limply over the edge. There was no bottle on the end!