alistairmaclean.nightwithoutend-第37部分

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nto　a　pain…filled　unreasoning　anger　and　resentment　and　despair　by　the　agony　she　had　suffered　in　her　shoulder　from　having　had　her　arms　bound　for　so　many　long　hours　in　the　cruel　jolting　disfort　of　the　tractor　cabin。
　
　As　she　passed　by　Smallwood　she　stumbled；　he　put　up　an　arm　either　to　help　her　or　ward　her　off；　and　before　he　had　realised　what　was　happening…it　must　have　been　the　last　quarter　from　which　he　expected　any　show　of　violence　or　resistance…she　kicked　out　blindly　and　knocked　the　gun　spinning　out　of　his　hand　to　land　in　the　snow　beneath。　Smallwood　sprang　after　it　like　a　cat…the　speed　was　unnecessary；　the　low　growl　of　warning　from　an　armed　Corazzini　put　paid　to　any　ideas　we　might　have　had　of　taking　advantage　of　the　situation…picked　up　the　gun　and　whirled　round；　the　gun　lining　up　on　Helene；　his　eyes　narrowed　to　slits　against　the　beam　of　the　searchlight；　his　face　twisted　into　an　unrecognisable　snarl；　the　lips　drawn　far　back　over　the　teeth。　I'd　been　wrong　once　more　about　Smallwood…he　could　kill　without　reason。
　
　〃Helene！〃　Mrs　Dansby…Gregg　was　the　nearest　to　her；　and　her　voice　was　high…pitched；　almost　a　scream。　〃Look　out；　Helene！〃　She　plunged　forward　to　push　her　maid　to　one　side；　but　I　don't　think　Smallwood　even　saw　her：　he　was　mad　with　fury；　I　knew　he　was；　and　nothing　on　earth　was　going　to　stop　him　from　pressing　that　trigger。　The　bullet　caught　Mrs　Dansby…Gregg　squarely　in　the　back　and　pitched　her　headlong　to　fall　face　down　in　the　frozen　snow。
　
　Already　Smallwood's　moment　of　uncontrollable　rage　was　spent　as　if　it　had　never　been。　He　said　not　another　word；　just　nodded　to　Corazzini　and　jumped　up　on　to　the　tail　of　the　tractor　cabin　to　keep　us　covered　with　searchlight　and　gun　as　Corazzini　gunned　the　motor；　engaged　gear　and　lumbered　off　into　the　darkness　to　the　west。　We　stood　in　a　forlorn　huddled　little　group　and　watched　the　train　pass　us　by；　the　tractor；　the　tractor　sled；　the　dog　sledge　and　finally　the　huskies　themselves；　running　on　the　loose　traces　astern。
　
　I　heard　Helene　murmur　something　to　herself；　and　when　I　bent　to　listen　she　was　saying　in　a　strange；　wondering　voice：　〃Helene。　She　called　me　'Helene'。〃　I　stared　at　her　as　if　she　were　mad；　glanced　down　at　the　dead　woman　at　my　feet　then　gazed　unseeingly　after　the　receding　lights　of　the　Citroen　until　both　the　lights　and　the　sound　had　faded　and　vanished　into　the　snow…filled　darkness　of　the　night。
　
　
　CHAPTER　ELEVEN…Friday　6　P。M。…Saturday　12。15　P。M。
　
　The　white　hell　of　that　night；　the　agony　of　the　bitter　dreadful　hours　that　followed…and　God　only　knows　how　many　hours　these　were　…is　a　memory　that　will　never　die。
　
　How　many　hours　did　we　stagger　and　lurch　after　that　tractor　like　drunk　or　dying　men…six　hours；　eight；　ten？　We　didn't　know；　we　shall　never　know。　Time　as　an　independent　system　of　measurement　ceased　to　exist：　each　second　was　an　interminable　unit　of　suffering；　of　freezing；　of　exhausted　marching；　each　minute　an　son　where　the　fire　in　our　aching　leg　muscles　fought　with　the　ice…cold　misery　of　hands　and　feet　and　faces　for　domination　in　our　minds；　each　hour　an　eternity　which　we　knew　could　never　end。　Not　one　of　us；　I　am　sure；　expected　to　live　through　that　night。
　
　The　thoughts；　the　emotions　of　these　hours　I　could　never　afterwards　recall。　Chagrin　there　was；　the　most　bitter　I　have　ever　known；　an　overwhelming　mortification　and　self…condemnation　that　I　had　all　along　been　deceived　with　such　childish　ease；　that　I　had　been　powerless　to　offer　any　hindrance　or　resistance　to　the　endless　resourcefulness　of　that　brilliant　little　man。　And　then　I　would　think　of　Mrs　Dansby…Gregg；　and　of　Margaret　bound　and　hostage　and　afraid　and　looking　at　Smallwood　in　the　dim　light　of　that　lurching　tractor　cabin；　looking　at　Smallwood　and　the　gun　in　Smallwood's　hand；　and　with　that　thought　anger　would　flood　in　to　supplant　the　chagrin；　a　consuming　hatred　and　a　fury　that　flamed　throughout　my　entire　being；　but　even　that　anger　wasn't　all　exclusive：　it　couldn't　be；　not　so　long　as　fear；　a　fear　such　as　I　had　never　before　known；　was　the　dominating　factor　in　my　mind。　And　it　was。
　
　It　was；　too；　I　should　think；　in　Zagero's　mind。　He　hadn't　spoken　a　word　since　Mrs　Dansby…Gregg　had　died；　had　just　flung　himself　uncaringly；　ruthlessly；　into　what　had　to　be　done。　Head　bowed；　he　plodded　on　like　an　automaton。　I　wondered　how　many　times　he　must　have　regretted　that　impetuous　slip　of　the　tongue　when　he　had　betrayed　to　Smallwood　the　fact　that　Solly　Levin　was　his　father。
　
　And　Jackstraw　was　as　silent　as　we　were；　non…mittal；　speaking　only　when　he　had　to；　keeping　his　thoughts　strictly　to　himself。　I　wondered　if　he　was　blaming　me　for　what　had　happened　but　I　didn't　think　so；　Jackstraw's　mind　just　didn't　work　that　way。　I　could　guess　what　he　was　thinking；　I　knew　the　explosive　temper　that　slumbered　under　that　placid　exterior。　Had　we　met　an　unarmed　Smallwood　and　Corazzini　then；　I　do　not　think　we　would　have　stopped　short　of　killing　him　with　our　hands。
　
　I　suppose；　too；　that　we　were　all　three　of　us　exhausted　as　we　had　never　been　before；　frost…bitten；　bleeding；　thirsty　and　steadily　weakening　from　lack　of　food。　I　say　'suppose'；　because　logic　and　reason　tell　me　that　these　things　must　have　been　so。　But　if　they　were　I　do　not　think　they　touched　the　minds　of　any　of　us　that　night。　We　were　no　longer　ourselves；　we　were　outside　ourselves。　Our　bodies　were　but　machines　to　serve　the　demands　of　our　minds；　and　our　minds　so　consumed　with　anxiety　and　anger　that　there　was　no　place　left　for　any　further　thought。
　
　We　were　following　the　tractor。　We　could；　I　suppose；　have　turned　back　in　the　hope　of　stumbling　across　Hillcrest　and　his　men。　I　knew　Hillcrest　well　enough　to　know　that　he　would　know　that　those　who　had　taken　over　our　tractor…he　had　no　means　of　knowing　who　they　were；　for　all　he　knew　Zagero　might　have　suddenly　overpowered　us…would　never　dare　make　for　Uplavnik　but　would　almost　certainly　head　for　the　coast。　The　likelihood　was　that　Hillcrest；　too；　would　head　for　the　Kangalak　fjord…together　with　a　small　bay　beside　it；　the　Kangalak　fjord　was　the　only　break；　the　only　likely　rendezvous　in　a　hundred　miles　of　cliff…bound　coast…and　he　could　go　there　arrow…straight：　on　board　his　Sno…Cat　he　had　a　test　prototype　of　a　new；　pact　and　as　yet　unmarketed　Arma　gyroscope　specially　designed　for　land　use　which　had　proved　to　have　such　astonishing　accuracy　that　navigation　on　the　ice…cap；　as　a　problem；　had　ceased　to　exist　for　him。
　
　But；　even　should　he　be　heading　towards　the　coast；　our　chances　of　meeting　him　in　that　blizzard　did　not　exist；　and　if　we　once　passed　them　by　we　would　have　been　lost　for　ever。　Better　by　far　to　head　for　the　coast；　where　some　patrolling　ship　or　plane　might　just　possibly　pick　us　up…if　we　ever　got　there。　Besides；　I　knew　that　both　Jackstraw　and　Zagero　felt　exactly　as　I　did…under　a　pointless　but　overpowering　pulsion　to　follow　Smallwood　and　Corazzini　until'we　dropped　in　our　tracks。
　
　And　the　truth　was　that　we　couldn't　have　gone　any　other　way　even　had　we　wished　to。　When　Smallwood　had　dropped　us　off　we　had　been　fairly　into　the　steadily　deepening　depression　in　the　ice…cap　that　wound　down　to　the　Kangalak　glacier　and　it　was　a　perfect　drainage　channel　for　the　katabatic　wind　that　was　pouring　down　off　the　plateau。　Although　powerful　enough　already　when　we　had　been　abandoned；　that　wind　was　now　blowing　with　the　force　of　a　full　gale；　and　for　the　first　time　on　the　Greenland　ice…plateau…although　we　were　now；　admittedly；　down　to　a　level　of　1500　feet　…1　heard　a　wind　where　the　deep　ululating　moaning　was　pletely　absent。　It　howled；　instead；　howled　and　shrieked　like　a　hurricane　in　the　upper　works　and　rigging　of　a　ship；　and　it　carried　with　it　a　numbing　bruising　flying　wall　of　snow　and　ice　against　which　progress　would　have　been　utterly　impossible。　So　we　went　the　only　way　we　could；　with　the　lash　of　the　storm　ever　on　our　bent　and　aching　backs。
　
　And　ache　our　backs　did。　Only　three　people…Zagero；　Jackstraw　and　myself…were　able　to　carry　anything　more　than　their　own　weight：　and　we　had　among　us　three　people　pletely　unable　to　walk。　Mahler　was　still　unconscious；　still　in　a；　but　I　didn't　think　we　would　have　him　with　us　very　much　longer：　Zagero　carried　him　for　hour　after　endless　hour　through　that　white　nightmare　and　for　his　self…sacrifice　he　paid　the　cruellest　price　of　all　for　when；　some　hours　later；　I　examined　the　frozen；　useless　appendages　that　had　once　been　his　hands；　I　knew　that　Johnny　Zagero　would　never　step　into　a　boxing　ring　again。　Marie　LeGarde　had　lost　consciousness　too；　and　as　I　staggered　along　with　her　in　my　arms　I　felt　it　to　be　no　more　than　a　wasted　token　gesture：　without　shelter；　and　shelter　soon；　she　would　never　see　this　night　out。　Helene；　too；　had　collapsed　within　an　hour　of　the　tractor's　disappearance；　her　slender　strength　had　just　given　out；　and　Jackstraw　had　her　over　his　shoulder。　How　all　three　of　us；　exhausted；　starved；　numbed　almost　to　death　as　we　were；　managed　to　carry　them　for　so　long；　even　though　with　so　many　halts；　is　beyond　my　understanding：　but　Zagero　had　his　strength；　Jackstraw　his　superb　fitness　and　I　still　the　sense　of　responsibility　that　carried　me　on　long　hours　after　my　legs　and　arms　had　given　out。
　
　Behind　us　Senator　Brewster　blundered　along　in　a　blind　world　all　of　his　own；　stumbling　often；　falling　occasionally　but　always　pushing　himself　up　and　staggering　gamely　on。　And　in　those　few　hours　Hoffman　Brewster；　for　me；　ceased　to　be　a　senator　and　became　again　my　earliest　conception　of　the　old　Dixie　Colonel；　not　the　proud；　rather　overbearing　aristocrat　but　the　embodiment　of　a　bygone　southern　chivalry；　when　courtesy　and　a　splendid　gallantry　in　the　greatest　perils　and　hardships　were　so　routine　as　to　excite　no　ment。　Time　and　time　again　during　that　。bitter　night　be　insisted；　forcibly　insisted；　on　relieving　one　of　the　three　of　us　of　our　burdens　and　would　stagger　along　under　the　load　until　he　reached　the　point　of　collapse。　Despite　his　age；　he　was　a　powerful　man：　but　he　had　no　longer　the　heart　and　the　lungs　and　the　circulation　to　match　his　muscles；　and　his　distress；　as　the　night　wore　on；　became　pitiful　to　see。　The　bloodshot　eyes　were　almost　closed　in　exhaustion；　his　face　deep…etched　in　grey　suffering　and　his　breath　ing　in　painful　whooping　gasps　that　reached　me　clearly　even　above　the　thin　high　shriek　of　the　wind。
　
　No　doubt　but　that　Small　wood　and　Corazzini　had　left　us　to　die；　but　they　had　made　one　mistake：　they　had　forgotten　Balto。　Balto；　as　always；　had　been　running　loose　when　they　had　left　us；　and　they　had　either　failed　to　see　him　or　forgotten　all　about　him。　But　Balto　hadn't　forgotten　us；　he　must　have　known　something　was　far　wrong；　for　all　the　hours　we　had　been　prisoners　on　the　tractor　sled　he　had　never　e　within　a　quarter…mile　of　us。　But　as　soon　as　the　tractor　had　dumped　and　left　us；　he　had　e　loping　in　out　of　the　driving　snow　and　settled　to　the　task　of　leading　us　down　towards　the　glacier。　At　least；　we　hoped　he　was　doing　that。　Jackstraw　declared　that　he　was　following　the　crimp　marks　of　the　Citroen's　caterpillars；　now　deep　buried　under　the　flying　drift　and　new…fallen　snow。　Zagero　wasn't　so　sure。　Once；　twice；　a　dozen　times　that　night；　I　heard　him　muttering　the　same　words：　〃I　hope　to　hell　that　hound　knows　where　it's　goinV
　
　But　Balto　knew　where　he　was　going。　Sometime　during　the　night…it　might　have　been　any　time　between　midnight　a