Passage by Night - Jack Higgins [34]
'Englishman, eh?' Cienaga sucked in his breath sharply and spat full in Manning's face. 'Pig.'
Something snapped inside Manning at the feel of the cold slime on his cheek. All his pent-up rage and fury erupted in one beautiful punch that swung all the way from the waist and connected with the side of the Cuban's jaw.
Both soldiers moved a split second later. One gun butt thudded into his back, the other glanced from the side of his head. There was a moment of searing pain and then darkness flooded in on him.
12
Enter Comrade Orlov
He drifted up from a deep pit of darkness into a place of shadows. He was lying on an iron cot from which the mattress had been removed and the springs dug painfully into his back.
It was almost dark outside and a shaft of grey light drifted in through a narrow slot in the stone wall, giving definition to the room but no more. It was bitterly cold and he pushed himself up and swung his legs to the floor. Immediately, he was conscious of the pain and touched the side of his head gently and found clotted blood.
'Who's there?' he said sharply.
'Ah, English?' the other said, speaking with a slight accent that Manning couldn't place. 'How interesting.'
'Isn't it just?' Manning said. 'And who the hell might you be?'
The man moved across and sat beside him. 'Sergei Orlov, Major, 31st Regiment of Engineers.'
'A Russian?' Manning said in amazement.
'Georgian,' Orlov corrected. 'There's a difference, you know.'
'So I've heard.' Manning held out his hand. 'I'm Harry Manning. We may differ in politics, but it certainly looks as if we're in one hell of a spot together. Where are we exactly?'
'They call this cell the Hole,' Orlov said. 'It's rather unpleasant. Set in the thickness of the fortress walls. If you think it's cold now, wait until the small hours of the morning. No food, no lights, no mattress.'
'A sort of preliminary softening-up?'
The Russian nodded. 'I'm afraid so. Pity you can't see how elegant it all is. You'll have to wait till dawn for that pleasure.'
Manning's hand instinctively went to his breast pocket and found his lighter. 'Surprised they didn't take this,' he said and flicked it on.
The face that leapt out of the darkness at him was wedge-shaped, the skin drawn tightly over high cheekbones. The eyes were black and flecked with amber and seemed constantly to change colour in the flickering light. The mobile mouth and dark fringe of beard both combined to give an extraordinary impression of vitality.
'They probably forgot to search you in the excitement of beating you up,' he said. 'I don't suppose you happen to have a cigarette to go with the light?'
Manning tried his other pocket and found his leather case. There were half a dozen cigarettes in it and he took one himself and gave another to the Russian. He moved into the centre of the room, flicked the lighter again and held it above his head.
The cell was perhaps fifteen feet square with rough stone walls and a flagged floor. The long narrow slot in the wall which was the window measured no more than nine inches across. The two iron cots were the only furniture and the wooden door was plated with steel. There was a small grille and he peered through into the dark corridor.
'Seems quiet enough.'
'Until someone breaks down and starts screaming.'
'And then I suppose our friend Cienaga goes in and beats hell out of them.'
Orlov shook his head. 'He never enters a cell without an armed guard, and on the night shift he is on his own.'
'So the poor devils just scream themselves into the ground?'
'He likes it that way. Often goes along to the cell and watches them through the grille.'
Manning turned from the door and held the lighter high above his head. It was then he noticed a couple of stout oak beams running from wall to wall about ten feet above the ground. At spaced intervals along their length steel hooks jutted out.
'I wonder what that little lot's for?'
'One can imagine,' Orlov said. 'I must say I prefer to be elsewhere when Colonel Rojas demonstrates.'
Manning slipped his lighter into