The Angry Hills - Leon Uris [22]
“There’s a silver lining,
Through the dark clouds shining...”
The glow of campfires studded the beach. Michael Morrison trembled as he sat by a campfire. He was frightened beyond any fear he had ever known. He visualized a black club smashing down on his head and men kicking at his ribs and throwing water on his unconscious body to revive him for further torture. He wanted to believe he had courage—but he was afraid.
He toyed with the idea of trying to bargain for his life in exchange for the names on the mysterious list. He tried to justify it in his mind, but he couldn’t. He knew he would never know a minute’s peace of mind for the rest of his life if he broke in cowardice before them. He chewed at his fingernails and tried to contain the queasy rise in his stomach. He dragged himself away from the campfire. He wanted to be alone with a few precious thoughts before the dawn came.
Through the long night, Mike sat withdrawn, reliving many wonderful hours in memory. He was with Ellie again on the Cal campus.... He was plunging into the Stanford line, fighting every inch of the way for the touchdown.... He held an infant in his arms.... He opened a letter which said, “We are happy to accept your novel....” Yes, there were lots of good things to remember.
The first gray light of day was breaking through the darkness. A strange and wonderful calm took possession of him. He was no longer afraid....
From the edge of the woods a tall blond man wearing a New Zealand uniform looked at Mike quietly.
The sun began to rise on the Gulf of Messína.
The tall blond man stepped from behind a clump of trees and walked up behind Mike’s seated figure. Mike sensed his presence and turned to look up into the cold blue eyes of Jack Mosley. He was not startled—nor was he frightened. It was a calm acceptance.
“All right, Morrison, stand up—no outcry—move into the woods.”
Mike arose and preceded Mosley into the woods until they were isolated from the beach. Mosley produced a pistol and leveled it on Mike as he leaned against a tree. His haggard face cracked into a smile.
“Touché,” Mosley said with a mock salute of his pistol. “Your little drunk act was quite convincing, I must say. Threw us all off for a while.” Mosley lit a cigarette. “Touché again on the merry chase.”
Mike was silent. His eyes narrowed in hatred. He waited for Mosley to relax for only a second.
“You’ll be interested to know that I got through the lines last night after the surrender. I had a phone chat with our mutual friend, Konrad Heilser, in Athens. He was quite overwhelmed with joy that you hadn’t departed from this pleasant little country.”
“If you’re going to kill me, get it over with,” Mike said quietly.
“Kill you? Oh, dear, no. Herr Heilser has such a lovely reception planned for you in Athens. I believe you have a bit of information he’d like. I do hope our car for Athens won’t be late...” Mosley sighed. “Soon as the business of hauling your friends off to a prison camp is cleared we’ll be underway.”
“What are they going to do with me?”
“Do? Depends on you, old boy. You know, I have disagreed with Konrad about his messy methods of extracting information, but I will say this for him—he does get excellent results. By the bye, Morrison, would you give me the name of that splendid tobacco I smoked with you? I must send to America for some....”
“You Nazi son of a bitch,” Mike said.
“I say, you are a bad loser, Morrison,” Mosley shrugged. “You know how it is in this business.”
“You Nazi son of a bitch.”
“Better save the endearments for Herr Heilser, Mosley said, smiling.
A sharp crack of a pistol report sounded.
An odd expression came over Mosley’s face. His pistol spun around on his finger. His hand opened and the pistol dropped to the ground. Mosley wavered. He took a step toward Mike—another... His knees buckled and he fell to the ground and rolled over at Mike’s feet. Mosley kicked and twitched. Then he lay still. His mouth fell open, the expression of amazement still in his dead eyes.
TWELVE