I must have thrown up my right arm in front of my face when she fired again. Stupid – how can you ward off bullets with an arm? It was a better shot this time, kissed my raised forearm in the fleshy part below my elbow, and spun me half round. Her pistol made heavy, deep booms as it fired: one of those horrible Russian things I think. As the bullet turned me, I suppose I reacted instinctively myself. I drew my small pistol with my left hand, aimed it and fired. Grace sort of twitched, lowered her pistol and nipped back out of sight. Maybe she staggered. How long had this taken? Five seconds? Ten? No more. How many ways did that American guy say there were to leave your lover?
I leaned back against the wall to keep myself upright, dropped my chin on my chest and breathed deeply. My sleeve was cut and wet. Grace didn’t reappear. A light went on in a house across the road and, when I looked towards it, I saw a little girl of about six staring curiously at me. She waved. I gave her a weak smile, and pocketed my gun. Another light went on further down the road, and I heard a voice calling. Time to go, Charlie.
I got back to the English House after about ten more minutes of hobbling, using my good leg, and the walls of houses as a crutch . . . and taking several breathers. I pounded on Weir’s door, and when he answered it, grumbling, fell into his arms.
‘Tell Hudd we gotta get out of here,’ I told him.
It wasn’t yet light when I passed out, and it was dark again when I awoke twelve hours later.
‘Keep your voice down,’ Hudd said. ‘We don’t have to wait long.’
‘What for?’
‘Getting out of here, o’ course. How d’ye feel?’
‘Groggy, and my knee hurts.’
‘It’s got a bullet in it, that’s why. But it’s only just beneath the skin so it may not have done too much damage. Alan gave you a hefty jab, and knocked you out.’
‘Where are we?’
‘In a warehouse owned by your friendly smuggler. You gave me his name and address. How come you know people in this town that I don’t?’
‘Long story. Are we safe?’
‘For the time being, I think. He won’t take any money for helping us. He says he’s doing it for a friend of yours . . . and that I owe him a favour. I’ve got a feeling I might regret this one day.’ There was a smile in his voice. Hudd seemed to have kept things together in my absence, but I would have expected nothing less. I wondered when he would begin to mourn his man Freddy, or whether he was simply too professional for that. The place smelt of old fish, tar and ropes – that smell of tarred string I’ll always associate with my childhood. Dad used to make me a bow with arrows every year: the tarred string lasted all summer.
‘Have I been asleep all day?’
‘Most of it. I had to gag you when you began to talk – it was a load of garbage by the way: something to do with the smell of fish being silver . . . what did that mean?’
‘Don’t worry about it – it was just an idea I’m trying out.’ I moved my head from side to side, and could see, even in the gloom, that I was lying on the flatbed of a handcart with two big wheels. ‘Can I sit up now? I’m thirsty.’
‘Do it slowly, an’ don’t tip this thing over. Goat’s milk or water?’
‘I’d kill for a cold beer.’
‘You may have to, buddy.’
It seemed to me that our whispers filled the vast shed with ghosts. I could almost see some of my old crew standing in the shadows. Toff, our mid-upper gunner, grinned at me and pointed at his right knee. He knew I was hurting. What was he doing there? He wasn’t supposed to be dead yet. When I shook my head to clear my vision they faded back into the shadows.
Later I asked Hudd,
‘What’s that Israeli bunch doing?’
‘Running about like blue-arsed flies. Apparently they’ve lost someone, and they’re turning the town upside-down looking for her. You can tell me about that on the boat . . . it would probably scare me too much in here.’ I couldn’t actually imagine Hudd being scared of anything. ‘They’ve already upset the local rozzers and the town council, which should slow them down quite a bit, but I’d still like to get out of here before they come looking for us.’
‘I’m not good on boats, Hudd: I get seasick.’
‘That could be the least of your worries.’
Just before midnight, Hudd and a great moustachioed Turk wheeled me down to a small harbour of fishing boats. Every jolt over every stone sent fire shooting from my knee to my brain. I bit my lip until I could taste blood in my mouth. My arm didn’t feel that bad – just tight, so I knew they’d bandaged me. I felt helpless lying on my back on that bloody fish cart. Weir trundled behind us with another cart bearing the three boxes.
‘What’s the opposition doing?’ I ground the words out from behind clenched teeth.
Weir consulted the Turk in rapid-fire Turkish. Then he told me, ‘They shot someone, stole his lorry and have driven off to Tatvan in it because an inventive liar told them you’d be heading in that direction. That road is absolutely terrible. If they get back here before morning, all they’ll get is a shoot-out with the local militia. Happy days.’
I thought that the inventive liar had better keep his head down for a few weeks, and next asked, ‘What happened to the woman they lost?’
His exchange with the Turk took longer this time. In fact
