THE HEART OF DANGER (64 page)

last

clinging hold of his legs. If he had had his hands, if his hands

had

been free ... If the flare had not been fired, if there had not been

the light.. . Penn thought the man realized he was at the edge of

freedom. One more kick, one more blow from the boot at her head,

and

she would loose him. It was the last moment before the flare fell.

He

could hear the shouts and the whistles closing. In the last moment

of

the light of the flare, the last moment before the final kick that

would free the man, Penn tried to learn to be cruel. With the heel

of

his hand he hit at the back of Milan Stankov-ic's neck. Penn hit

with

his bitten hand, and the man fell, and they writhed in the coming

darkness. He punched at Milan Stankovic, as an animal at war. Penn beat at Milan Stankovic and he seemed not to hear her voice in the

night's blackness, and she was calling to him that he had hit enough.

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She had the knife.

They took the prisoner, sullen quiet, on towards the bank of the Kupa

river.

The knife's blade was back at his throat.

Penn led the charge, and his bitten hand dragged the man forward.

He

had needed to be cruel to have hit so hard with the heel of his hand.

He did not hate the man. There were flares, all the time, bursting

high behind them ... He had respect for the man ... He knew of the

deep

and raw courage that was required to make a break. He felt that the

man was in his care. He did not think about Mary Braddock, nor about

Katica Dub-elj, and he did not think about Dorrie Mowat. The man

was

in his care, and he owed Milan Stankovic his protection. The man

would

not fight again ... it was finished for Milan Stankovic, he had fought

and failed, but respect was won. When the flares died, when they

fell

back doused, then there was the full moon's light, and the fast-going

clouds had moved on. They ran, stumbled, charged, pulled and pushed

the weight of Milan Stankovic, down the path that ran beside the

single

length of barbed wire that marked the minefield. He could not judge

how far behind the chasing pack were, but all caution was gone ..

.

Ahead, through the trees, he saw the dark mass of the Kupa river.

There were silver trellis lines on the darkness where the force of

the

current swirled.

They burst the last cover of the trees. They came onto the narrow

path

that ran along the upper bank of the great river. She was tugging

at

his coat, pecking at him for his attention. The cover of the trees

was

behind him. The reeds nestled along the bank ahead of him. The

shouting and the whistle blasts were behind him. The river and the

silver network of lines were ahead of him.

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There was a killing flatness in her voice.

"We came too early. We are an hour ahead of the rendezvous. You

said

we should lie up, but we cannot.. . We came too early for Ham, for

the

rendezvous, for the boat. Did you not know that ... ?"

She was at his back, the barrier was ahead of him.

Another flare soared high behind him, and he saw the far width of

the

river ahead of him. Milan Stankovic rocked with muffled laughter,

and

he would not have understood what she said, only the tone of despair.

Penn turned. Eyes going past the babbled laughter of the man who

croaked under the gag, and he was trying to speak as he laughed, as

if

now the knife at his beard and his throat no longer terrorized him.

She destroyed him because he had not thought it through when he had

led

the stampede flight towards the Kupa river.

He rifled at her pockets, felt first the weight of the pistol, then

the

bulk of the torch. He stood on the path above the deep flow of the

river and he shaded with the palm of his hand the beam of the torch.

He made the signal. He flicked the button of the torch, on and off,

on

and off, waited for the answering light, on and off, on and off, waited

to see the boat dragged down the far-away bank, on and off, on and

off.

The voice carried by the loud-hailer echoed sharply across the river

width.

"Penn, you have no boat. There is not going to be a boat .. ."

'.. . You should abandon your prisoner. Penn, you and the woman,

Schmidt, should take your chance in the water. Penn, Hamilton is

not

here, there is no boat. You should immediately release your prisoner

.. ."

382

It was a long and straight track, and it went by a well-constructed

building that was roofless and abandoned. The track went all the

way

to the river. Marty saw the flares that lit the skyline, and the

flares silhouetted the group at the end of the track. He was leading

Mary Braddock towards the group and the jeeps and the Rover car.

Below

the flares, beyond the group, separated by the width of darkness and

silver, Marty saw the winking, on and off, of the light.

'.. If you try to bring your prisoner across, you will be identified

by flashlight. We have authority to shoot if you attempt to cross

with

your prisoner. Release him immediately ..."

He had snapped off the torch. The amplified voice bayed across the

river. '.. . You have to take your chance in the river, just you

and

the German woman. For fuck's sake, Penn, move yourself. Penn, are

you

coming? We are forbidden to give covering fire .. . Just you and

the

German woman, not the prisoner, get into the water .. . Penn, you

don't

have time .. . Do it ..." He could let the man go. He could walk

away

from the man. He could turn the man loose. To turn the man loose,

to

permit the man to walk away, might save her life, Penn's life .. .

She

could hear the voices now, behind her, carried towards the bank by

the

amplification of the megaphone. He had a hold of Milan Stankovic,

and

he seemed to look into her face, and she did not challenge him, and

she

felt no fear. She wriggled clear of the straps of the backpack, let

it

fall. He pulled Milan Stankovic down the bank and she slithered

after

them. They splashed into the cold of the water, and she clung to

the

man and tried to hold the knife blade steady against his beard and

his

throat. He never turned to her, never asked it of her, just assumed

it, that she would follow him. The mud of the river's edge was over

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her boots, the slime was round her feet. The water was at her waist,

the cold groping at her groin. There were three, four, metres of

reeds

at the side of the river, in mud against the bank. She had her free

hand, not the hand with the knife blade against Milan Stankovic's

throat, tight on the mouth of the man. They made strong waded steps

through the reeds, each step sinking in the mud bed. They were going

away from the flares, away from the megaphone that was silenced, away

from the closing crash of the pursuit. He was, to her, a simple and

decent and ordinary and obstinate man, and she felt a love of him.

They went down river, they went with the flow goading them on, and

once

they foundered and the chill of the water was at her shoulders and

the

water was in Milan Stankovic's nostrils and the water was over Penn's

head. She wanted so much to tell her father of Penn, tell her father

how she had known always that he was a man, Penn, of principle ..

.

tell her father how they had gone down the river bank, hidden by the

first summer growth of the reeds. Low against the water's surface,

the

power of the current restrained by the reeds, she could see across

the

full width of the river, and it did not seem possible to her that

she

could ever get to tell her father of the man she loved. On and on,

more mud, more slips, putting further behind them the flares and the

shouting and the chasing pack. She wanted so badly to tell her father

... if he freed the man, if he left the man, then the chance to cross

was theirs, but he would not, and she did not ask it. A long distance gone. There was a cacophony of flapping movement in the trees above.

A heron flew across the face of the moon. There was a pallet held

by

the reeds. Across the river a small light burned. The light was in

a

window. The pallet was one that would have had stacked on it

fertilizer bags, or seed sacks. The pallet of coarse wooden strips

must have been discarded in a field, upstream, and taken by the

winter's flood water. It was for the principle, and he did not speak

to

her, made no effort to strengthen her, but she saw that he took in

his

fingers the man's beard, the hair on his cheek, and he gave the hair

a

small pull as if to reassure the man, as if to give him his protection.

He dragged the pallet out from the reeds and held it against the flow

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of the current, and he levered the torso of the man up onto the surface

of the pallet. He kicked off from the mud bed in which the reeds grew.

She swam beside him. They pushed the pallet clear from the bank.

The

current caught them. Milan Stankovic flailed with his legs and Penn

was one side of the pallet and she was the other, and they tried to

steer a course against the power. A small light burned in the window

that was downstream across the river. They were crouched behind the

wheels and body work of the jeeps because the Intelligence Officer

had

said that from the Serb side they might shoot. And he had the grim

dry

smile on his face, washed in the moonlight, of a man who enjoys a

fucked-up failure. Beside him was the First Secretary, behind him

were

Marty Jones and Mary Braddock, ahead of him and lying prone were the

Special Forces troops.

Marty Jones trembled.

Mary Braddock gazed ahead, without voice, without feeling.

They watched the torch beams cavort on the far bank, up into the trees,

onto the path, down among the reeds, and out across the darkness and

silver lines of the river.

Far down the river bank, way too far, the First Secretary saw a single

light, steady like a beacon.

He fought to drive the pallet forward.

He no longer felt the cold of the water.

He seemed to hear Dome's mocking and Dome's laughter.

The man no longer kicked with his legs as if the weight of his

river-logged boots was too great. Penn thought that Milan Stankovic

had surrendered to the power of the river. He no longer had the

support of Ulrike, knew that she was beaten by the pressure of the

current. They were lower in the water than they had first been, and

the level of the water was above his shoulders and washed over the

wood

strips of the pallet, and the water lapped on the hips of Milan

Stankovic.

They were not halfway across.

385

He could see the small, constant light ahead.

Beneath them was the great dark depth of the river, pulling at them,

tugging at them to take them down. If they were no longer able to

drive the pallet forward, if they drifted, then the river would take

them down. They went slower, and the current was greater, and the

small light ahead did not seem closer. He kicked harder, kicked from

the last of his strength, and when he tried to drag the night air

into

his lungs then he was sucking in the foulness of the river. Her body

was beside him, but she could only paddle her feet, could not kick.

Penn spluttered, Tell them that we tried .. . Tell them someone had

to

try .. ."

He had a hold of her hand. It was not difficult for Penn to break

her

grip on the pallet. He seemed to show her the small light that did

not

waver. He did it quickly. He broke her grip on the pallet, and he

pushed her away from him, from the sinking pallet, from the motionless

weight of Milan Stankovic. He saw that she was clear in the water.

He

saw the whiteness of her face and the brightness of her eyes and the

slicked hair of her head. The man was sliding back from the pallet.

She had tried to teach him to be cruel, and she had failed. He held

the man as best he could, and he kicked. The power of the current

hacked at his strength. Penn did not see her again. The water was

rising around him. Penn did not see the light again. "It was what I

saw from my window. Because it was a full moon I saw them very easily.

I saw them from the time that they made the heron fly, when they came

out of the reed bed with their raft thing. They made good speed at

first, and they would have felt that it was possible, but if you think