The Iron Tiger - Jack Higgins [45]
It was the stillness of the man that decided Drummond, that and the slight, ominous rattle of a gun sling as he eased from one foot to the other, still peering towards the glowing cheroot. Drummond took a pace forward, tapped him on the shoulder and punched him in the stomach as he turned round.
He lay moaning on the ground and Drummond struck a match. It was Brackenhurst, one of the Russian sub-machine guns lying in the mud beside him. The match hissed and was extinguished by the rain.
After a while, Brackenhurst groaned and sat up. 'What happened?' His voice quavered and he sounded sick.
'You shouldn't go creeping around in the dark like that,' Drummond said. 'People might get the wrong idea.'
'I wanted a word with you, that's all,' Brackenhurst said. 'Away from the others. I wanted to explain about what happened at Sadar. When the roof started to come down, I panicked. Didn't know what was happening. I got to the Land Rover and when no one else followed, I thought you'd all bought it.'
Which was a straight lie, but Drummond let it go. 'That's all right. These things happen.'
Brackenhurst hesitated. 'Have you told anyone else?'
Drummond shook his head. 'Only Hamid and I know and we've more important things to worry about.' He stood there, calm and somehow uncompromising in the darkness. 'You'd better get some sleep. You're going to need it.' He picked up the sub-machine gun and held it out. 'Better take this with you.'
Brackenhurst stumbled away without speaking and Drummond went back to his tree. Half an hour later, Sher Dil relieved him. 'Anything happened?'
Drummond shook his head. 'No, everything quiet up here,' he replied and trudged through the mud back to the camp.
He climbed into the back of the truck and lay down, hitching a blanket over his shoulders. He was cold, numb all over and yet he wasn't miserable. He was long past that point.
He came awake slowly, yawned and turned on one side. Janet crouched over the oil stove, waiting for the kettle to boil, her face half in shadow in the subdued glow.
'What time is it?' he asked softly.
She glanced at her watch. 'Just after three. I couldn't sleep.'
She made tea in two tin mugs and handed him one and they sat in companionable silence in the glow of the stove. After a while, he said gently, 'What is it, Janet? Are you afraid?'
'I think I am,' she said simply. 'Even Vietnam didn't prepare me for anything like this. Do you think we'll get out?'
He was tempted to answer with a false assurance and then looked into that calm, grave face and knew that he couldn't. 'I'm not sure. As Sher Dil says, if the Chinese have moved fast along the other side, they could be ahead of us. They're bound to find boats at Huma or one of the other riverside villages. They could put men across to cut the road with no trouble.'
'This bridge up ahead that Sher Dil mentioned. Do you think there may be trouble there?'
'Trouble is where you find it. There's never any sense in worrying too much in advance.' He smiled. 'What will you do when all this is over?'
'Carry on to Chicago with Kerim, I suppose. That still stands whatever else may be changed. I'm due three months leave anyway.'
'And afterwards?'
'I'm not sure. I go wherever the Society sends me.'
'Isn't it time you thought about settling down?'
'Is that a straight offer?'
He shook his head. 'I could offer you money, Janet, enough and to spare. But take a look at the debit side. I'm forty years old, a beat-up ex-Navy flyer who's seen too much of hot countries and strange cities, had enough of flying to places where no one else will go. I want to rest my head somewhere for a while. That doesn't sound like much of a catch to me.'
'I know one thing,' she said quietly. 'If we don't try, we'll regret it for the rest of our lives.'
He sat staring down at the light of the stove, her hand in his, sighed and got to his feet. 'I'll get a little air. I've got some thinking