Part 29 (1/2)

Canidy jerked his thumb upward to the c.o.c.kpit of the B- 25G.

”Commander Dolan's the aircraft commander,” he said.

”With his permission, of course,” Captain Hughson said, ”I would suggest the thing to do is get the aircraft under cover.”

”How do we do that?” Canidy asked.

Hughson gestured toward the hillside. Darmstadter saw there was a short, steep-sided indentation in the rocky hillside, a natural revetment, and that above it were rolls of camouflage netting.

As if reading his mind, the British officer said, ”Except as netting, the camouflage isn't worth a d.a.m.n. Unless, of course, we wish to give the impression that a North Africa wadi has been miraculously transplanted to the island.”

”What do you do?” Canidy asked, chuckling.

”We artistically arrange local evergreens atop the netting, ” Hughson said. ”And devoutly pray that it works.”

”Let's get at it, then,” Canidy said.

Capt. Hughson raised his hand above his head and snapped his fingers.

Eight Englishmen, in various combinations of uniform, trotted up. One of them, with sergeant's chevrons sewn to his rough woolen jacket, stamped his foot and gave the captain a quivering-hand salute.

”Sir!” he barked.

Darmstadter saw Canidy's eyebrows go up at the non-com's parade-ground behavior.

”Would you have the chaps roll the aircraft into the revetment?” the British officer asked conversationally.

”Sir!” the sergeant barked, and stamped his boot again.

The English soldiers, without further orders, went to the B-25G and started to push it. When they had trouble getting it moving, Canidy went to the left wheel, put his back against it, and tried to help. Darmstadter went to the other wheel and did the same thing. As he heaved, he saw that neither the British officer nor the civilian was helping. They even seemed surprised that Canidy and Darmstadter were lending a hand.

Once the initial inertia was overcome, their help was no longer needed, and they walked back to where the captain and the civilian stood.

Darmstadter saw Dolan finally drop through the access hatch, and then, taking a quick look around to see what was going on, begin to give directions to the pushers.

”Commander Dolan, Dolan, you say?” the British captain asked. you say?” the British captain asked.

”Right,” Canidy said, ”and this is Lieutenant Darmstadter. ”

The two shook Darmstadter's hand.

”I didn't catch your name,” Canidy said to the civilian.

”Ferniany,” the civilian said.

”Yachtsman,” Canidy said, confirming his suspicion that the civilian was the OSS agent.

”We try not to use that identification unless we have to,” Ferniany said.

”We're among friends, I think,” Canidy said.

They all watched as the B-25G was turned and then rolled backward into the natural revetment. And they continued watching as the British soldiers, with a skill that could only have come from practice, unrolled the camouflage net and propped it up over the airplane with trunks of young pine trees, then covered the camouflage netting with branches.

Then Dolan walked over to them, and there was an exchange of salutes between Dolan and the British officer. Darmstadter saw that Dolan was as surprised by the display of parade-ground military courtesy as Canidy had been.

”This is Yachtsman,” Canidy said.

Dolan smiled and shook Ferniany's hand.

”Where's Fulmar?” Dolan asked. He chuckled. ”Or what is it we're calling him, 'Ex-Lax'?”

”I was about to ask,” Canidy said.

”There is a minor problem with Fulmar,” Ferniany said. ”Actually, it's almost funny.”

”What's almost funny?” Canidy snapped.

”He's doing ninety days in the coal mine at Pecs,” Ferniany said. ”For black marketing. He and the professor. The girl is here.”

”Go over that again,” Canidy snapped. ”Spare me the humor.”

”The barge we were to travel on was boarded, just before we were supposed to leave Pecs,” Ferniany said. ”That happens sometimes. They found a lot of money on Fulmar. They naturally concluded that he was a black marketeer and hauled him and the professor off.”

Darmstadter saw that the B-25G was now well hidden from where they stood; from the air, it would be invisible. And the soldiers who had erected the netting over it were now walking down the ”runway” where they had landed, sweeping the tire tracks with pine branches. Then he saw something that for a moment baffled him.

Two of the soldiers were rolling a boulder onto the center of the ”runway.” The boulder was taller than they were. There was no way that a bulldozer, much less two men, could move a boulder that size with such ease. Unless, of course, it was phony, like the boulders that careen down a mountain in the movies. That's obviously what it had to be, Darmstadter realized, and then saw three more boulders farther down the field on the far side of the stream that cut the runway in half.

”May I suggest, gentlemen,” Captain Hughson said, ”that we go to our digs? Every once in a while, Jerry flies a Storch over for a look. It would probably arouse his curiosity to see us all standing about in this deserted meadow.”

They followed him toward the hillside, where, hidden behind a bush, was the start of a narrow, steep path that wound its way up through the boulders and stunted trees. After they had climbed for five minutes, they came to the first of what turned out to be a series of caves in the side of the hill.

Captain Hughson led them into one of them.

A hissing Coleman lantern inside illuminated a small stone altar and crude paintings of people with halos on the cave walls.

They don't look like Jesus, Canidy thought. Canidy thought. They must be saints They must be saints.

He thought that his father would know whom the paintings depicted, what sort of Christian had painted them on the wall here, and when. The Reverend Dr. George Crater Canidy was an expert on early Christianity. It was the first time he had thought of his father recently. Whenever he did, he thought that his father would disapprove, if he knew what his son was doing.

The British SOE captain saw his interest.

”Orthodox,” Hughson said. ”I don't know what what orthodox, but orthodox. They tell me that they came here after training in a monastery, and they carved out these caves, and then spent the rest of their lives in silence and prayer. Communal farm, that sort of thing, but all they did otherwise was think and pray. Rather unsettling, what, to think about it?” orthodox, but orthodox. They tell me that they came here after training in a monastery, and they carved out these caves, and then spent the rest of their lives in silence and prayer. Communal farm, that sort of thing, but all they did otherwise was think and pray. Rather unsettling, what, to think about it?”

”Well, at least they left us their bomb shelters,” Canidy said, and then looked for Ferniany. When he had his attention, he went on, ”Who carried Fulmar off where?”

”The Black Guard and some local police,” Ferniany said. ”To the munic.i.p.al jail in Pecs. That happens all the time, with legitimate black marketeers, I mean . . . how about that? A 'legitimate' black marketeer . . . ”

”Hey!” Canidy said sharply. ”I've had about all of your scintillating wit I can handle.”

”Just who the h.e.l.l do you think you are?” Ferniany said.