The Leader And The Damned

Chapter Thirty-Four

Lindsay and Reader perched themselves on an isolated boulder and the sergeant glanced round the hilltop before he asked the question and gave his companion the shock of his life.

'Got any form of identification to prove who you are, mate? And this sten isn't aimed at your guts for the fun of the thing.'

'What the hell…'

'We can do without the indignation bit, Wing Commander,' Reader interrupted in a voice of quiet menace. 'I've been on this underground lark long enough not to trust my own grandmother – unless she has her papers. Have you?'

'Here you are,' Lindsay said wearily, extracting his RAF pay-book. 'I don't normally pull rank, but…'

'So don't pull it now. The man with the gun outranks everyone. Something else I learned down there in Greece. Same bleedin' set-up. Only there they call themselves EDES and ELAS. One lot Commies, the others Royalists and both more keen on cutting each others' throats than fighting Jerry. The whole Balkans is one big shithouse…'

While he was rambling on, Reader was examining Lindsay's identity papers with great care, even testing the thickness and feel of the material with thumb and forefinger.

'Checking for forgery?' Lindsay queried sarcastically.

Reader's reply stunned him and he studied the outwardly phlegmatic sergeant all over again as though he had never seen him before.

'Checking for just that. The Gestapo boys have a whole printing outfit at No. 9 Prinz Albrechtstrasse, Berlin: Work like beavers day and night producing false papers. Some of them to infiltrate their own people into the underground escape route for RAF fliers from Brussels to the Spanish border. You know what, old boy? You pass scrutiny. Lucky for you. If you hadn't passed muster I'd have been obliged to put a bullet into you after nightfall…'

Lindsay returned the identity papers to his pocket. He was trying to absorb the complete change of accent in Reader's voice in his last four sentences. In contrast to the earlier cockney they had been spoken by a highly-educated man.

'And, incidentally,' Reader continued with a wintry smile, 'I'm not all that heavily out-ranked by you. I'm a major. Army Intelligence

…'

'I knew there was something phoney about you,'

Lindsay replied quietly. 'You'll excuse me – your performance was a bit hammy. I used to be a professional actor a millennium ago.'

'I thought I was pretty good…' Reader sounded a trifle put out. 'Where did I go wrong?'

'The usual faults they knock out of you at RADA. Exaggeration, of gesture, accent and so forth. Economy is the secret, gaining the maximum of effect with the minimum effort. The art of doing nothing can take you a long way…'

'The object of the exercise was to fool this rabble.' That I did pull off. What a ghastly crowd they are. Positively wallowing in butchery. Some of them, anyway. They'd have been lost without a war…'

'We have to remember this is the cradle of war throughout most of history. Why the cover role? Major! '

They had left the boulder and wandered slowly round the crown of the hill. In the distance Milic and his men watched them uncertainly. Smoke like a poison gas cloud drifted from a nearby slope and brought with it a stench like burning flesh. Reader wrinkled his long, enquiring nose.

'The whole Balkans stinks. Literally. My cover role? Enough about the set-up out here filtered through to London to give us something of a picture. Nobody trusts anyone. Strangers – new arrivals – are automatically suspect. It's like one of our English villages. Twenty years in the place and maybe they'll give you the time of day. Just maybe! Can you imagine the reaction of Tito if he heard Army Intelligence had arrived? From what we've gleaned he's the biggest neurotic of them all…'

Lindsay rather liked gleaned. As they walked, Reader couldn't keep his hands still. His fingers walked up and down the barrel of the sten as though he were itching to use it. Probably he was missing his tightly-rolled Dunhill umbrella. Unless… Lindsay went on probing in his off-hand manner.

'Care to tell me why you are out here? Why you downgraded yourself to sergeant?'

'Cover again. We thought the sergeant touch rather good. Gives me some air of authority with the locals, but an officer, no! A Communist gang is going to take a very questioning look once an officer lands in their lap. God knows, you must have found that out by yourself now…'

'Not really. You were going to tell me what brought you into this earthly paradise.'

'Was I?' A hint of mockery crept into Reader's tone. 'Surely you asked me. Well, here goes. What I told you earlier – doing my cockney bit – was gospel. I'm the bloody chaperone – escort Wing Commander Lindsay out of the Balkans, Reader, they said…'

'And who may they be?'

'Nice bit of syntax there. The Lord's anointed. Colonel Browne. None other…'

'He still smokes those foul cigars?'

'When he can get them, yes. He sends you his regards. Thought you'd appreciate that out here.'

`So you're not a radio operator at all?' Lindsay went on grimly. 'We have no communication with the outside world?'

'Begging your pardon.' The mockery had turned to mild indignation. 'Before I transferred to Intelligence I was in Signals. Came out top of the form for transmitting at high speed.'

'So there is a hidden transmitter buried somewhere?'

'Bet your life on it.' Reader paused, his tone sardonic now. 'Come to think of it, chum, that's what you are doing – betting your life on that box of wires and circuits. We have to get you out of here. All we need is a radio signal sent in secret. An airstrip for the Dakota from Africa to land on. The Dakota itself. Piece of cake, wouldn't you say?'

'Major, I've just realized something,' Lindsay ruminated aloud. 'You made a big thing about my identification. I haven't seen yours yet.'

'Thought you'd never ask…'

Earlier Paco had reappeared in the distance, talking briefly to Milic before she resumed strolling by herself a hundred yards or so away from the two Englishmen. Lindsay examined the Army pay-book Reader handed him. He opened the stiff brown cover and checked the pages, glancing up several times.

'That blonde girl, Paco,' he murmured, 'speaks better English than you do. In fact, she is half-English – on her mother's side. Thought you ought to know before you meet her. Security. She's a Partisan…'

Reader took back the pay-book Lindsay held out to him and with a sleight of hand made it disappear somewhere inside his uniform. As he handed back the brown folder Lindsay found himself recalling something Reader himself had said earlier.

The Gestapo boys have a whole printing outfit at No. 9 Prinz Albrechtstrasse. Work like beavers..: producing false papers…

'Wing Commander,' Reader commented out of the blue, 'I would say you're head over heels in love with that girl. Are you?'

'What the hell are you talking about?' Lindsay snapped.

'Fact One: the way you said her name. Fact Two: while we've been talking you've hardly taken your eyes off her since she appeared. You watch her every movement as though you're watching a goddess. Fact Three: your expression since I started talking about her – mind your own bloody business is written all over your face…'

'Why don't you do just that, Sergeant?' Lindsay rapped back.

'This might just be the moment to get clear of this bunch of peasants,' Reader suggested, not in the least disconcerted by his companion's reaction. 'They're all grouped together quite a way from where we are now. Take it one step at a time. Head for the spot where I buried the transmitter..

'Could I take a look at that sten of yours?'

The question was so unexpected that Reader handed over the weapon almost as a reflex action.

Lindsay stepped back a few paces, grasping the weapon firmly as he performed a simple action.

'Watch out!' There was genuine alarm in Reader's voice. 'You just released the safety catch – and that's a full mag.'

'I know. And I'm aiming it at you point-blank. Colonel Browne is a chain-smoker – of cigarettes. He's never touched a cigar in his life..

'I've been hoping to hell you'd pick me up on that…'

'Really, Sergeant? May I ask why?'

'Like I tells you before, mate.' Reader was lapsing back into his awful cockney. Out of the corner of his eye Lindsay saw that Paco was approaching. Reader was quick as a knife, he'd grant the bastard that. He went on, gabbling out the explanation. 'We was told to be especially bleedin' careful in this dung-heap. No one is what they say they is until they've been triple- checked, then don't make any cosy assumptions. Those cigars was thought up by the Colonel himself as a trick question. You could have been anyone… Reader rattled on, 'seeing as the Allied Mission is a prime Jerry target. Had to be sure. No offence…'

He broke off as Paco arrived, swept off his cap in an elaborate gesture of politeness and stared at her with blatant interest as she stood and stared back.

'And who have we here, Wing Commander? When they told me you're for the Balkans, my lad, I never expected to meet the Queen of Sheba? I am right? I 'ave to be…'

'This,' Lindsay introduced him to Paco, 'is Sergeant Len Reader who, you may already have gathered, has a habit of speaking his mind – and hardly ever stops doing just that. Reader, meet Paco.'

'Pleasure's all mine.'

They shook hands. Paco's sleepy eyes studied Reader and under her scrutiny he became oddly restless.

'Could I have my hand back now?' Paco suggested. 'I only have two of them…'

'A thousand apologies, lady. No offence meant – but out here a man gets bowled over when someone like you turns up. And when you speak the King's English… This sing-song chatter I've been hearing ever since I arrived…'

' When did you arrive, Sergeant Reader?' Paco enquired.

'It's all right,' Lindsay assured her. 'I've checked his identity.'

'I'd still like to know when he arrived, where and how?'

It was the first time Lindsay realized one of Paco's duties was to act as Intelligence Officer for the Partisan group. The irony of the situation intrigued him – she had little idea that she was interrogating a man who himself was undoubtedly highly-trained in the sophisticated craft of interrogation.

'The when was days ago. The where Mickey can tell you – me I've no flaming idea. The how was by parachute, dangling by my braces over the Black Hole of Calcutta. Anything else you'd like to know, Lady Bountiful? – Blood group? I can show you me birthmark if you're not shy.'

'Mickey?'

'I think he means Milic who brought him in,' Lindsay explained.

Paco ignored him as she continued studying Reader who stared back with what Lindsay felt sure he would have described as 'dumb insolence'. Lindsay sensed a growing hostility between the pair.

'Milic,' Paco said with quiet deliberation, 'tells me he found you wandering round in the middle of the night. No sign of any parachute.'

`So I buried it under some rocks, didn't I? You think I'm going to leave it lying around for Jerry to find? Next thing we know is a whole bleedin' Panzer division is on me heels. First thing you do when your arse hits enemy territory is hide the 'chute.'

'I know…'

'Why ask then, for Christ's sake?' Reader flared up. 'We come here to help you people out and you try and stand me in the witness box. Why did you do this? Why didn't you do that? My boss is going to love you…'

'And just who is your boss?' Paco asked sharply.

'Brigadier Fitzroy Maclean…' Reader leaned his face close to Paco's. 'And let me tell you something. He's been in more scraps than you've had hot dinners. We started fighting 'itler in 1939. You joined the party a bit late, didn't you?'

'I think that's enough, Sergeant,' Lindsay intervened.

'Well keep your girlfriend off my back or I'm liable to get a bit shirty. She wouldn't like that is my guess.'

Taking his sten from Lindsay, Reader marched away at a steady one-two, one-two. Paco waited until he was out of hearing before she spoke.

'Lindsay, I don't trust that man…'

'Just because you didn't hit it off with him? He's come a long way to…'

'It's the classic manoeuvre of the suspect under interrogation,' she insisted. 'Pick a quarrel, break the trend when the questions get dangerous…'

'He just hasn't attuned himself to the atmosphere out here. He only dropped out of the blue a few days ago.'

'You're sure of that? Milk found him roaming about. No one saw him coming down in a parachute. He's sensitive about that 'chute, as he calls it. And why did he call me your girlfriend?'

The question, idly thrown into the conversation, caught Lindsay off guard. Paco was standing very close to him. He was excruciatingly aware of her physical proximity. The emotions he had clamped a lid down on flooded out. The lid was blown sky-high. Damn Reader and his careless remark to the flames of hell.

He stood very still, not looking at her. She waited in silence. He knew she was watching him as closely as she had so recently watched Reader. He took out one of his few remaining packs of cigarettes, cupped his hand against the breeze which was blowing up, and lit it.

'Could I have one?' Paco asked quietly.

'Here you are, take this one…'

He would have liked to place it between her lips but refrained from even this small gesture of intimacy. Instead, he handed it to her. He was pleased to see his hand was steady. This was unadulterated hell. Paco took short, quick puffs and then opened Pandora's box.

'Lindsay, I like you.' She paused. 'I like you a lot. But that's all. I'm sorry…'

'The feeling's mutual…'

He didn't know how he'd managed to get the words out. He was worried his voice had sounded forced, unnatural. Paco, he knew, was a very perceptive girl. God knows he'd done his best to conceal his real feelings. If she went on like this he was going to give himself away.

'You're still very carefully not looking at me.

'I'm watching Reader traipsing about. You said don't trust him.'

'Now you're changing the subject. What's your next move – to manufacture a row between us?'

He swung round violently and stared straight at her. 'What do you want me to say then?'

'Let's go for a stroll. I want to talk to you.'

She linked her arm inside his and he felt the gentle pressure of her right breast. They walked in step as she began talking.

'You don't know much about me. There is no one else, by the way. The war seems to have stultified my emotions. I've seen so much horror I've grown almost immune. That worries me, worries me more than you might imagine, Lindsay. I know how you feel – I wish I felt the same way. I don't. And a quick roll in the hay after dark isn't going to help either of us. I thought bringing it out into the open might help. I made a mistake. I can see that now. War is not the most amusing of human activities.'

She let go of his arm, bent down to stub out her cigarette on a rock and then dropped the dead stub in her pocket. Her voice changed, became matter-of- fact.

'The first rule of Partisan survival. Leave no traces for the enemy to find.'

She walked away, a slow, purposeful tread. The sun came out. It showed up the gleam of her neat, blonde hair. She had never looked more desirable.

Lindsay stopped at the edge of the abyss. The rock wall fell a thousand feet to a scatter of boulders far below. They looked no larger than pebbles.

He had to get his priorities sorted out. He was carrying – inside his head, in his diary – priceless information which London must know. It could even affect the outcome of the war. Getting back to Allied territory was his prime objective.

He found it poor consolation. He felt humiliated. Paco knew. It was, he now realized, her presumed ignorance of his feelings which had sustained him. He felt an emotional wreck. How often had he imagined making love to her in every erotic detail – her equally passionate response.

'We could make a break for it now, Wing Commander. I've found a hidden gulch which leads into the valley…'

It was Sergeant Len Reader. Of course.