'Then I have to hurry. Anything you can tell me to help?'
She repeated what she had told Newman. She pointed out where the track ran up to the mine. But this time she tried to show where Marler could veer off three-quarters of the way up, cutting across direct to a point just below the mine.
'Got it,' Marler said. 'Do me a favour. Go back to Nick. I think I can make it faster on my own. And I don't want to have to worry about you,'
'I'm popular with the men tonight, aren't I? Marler, why are you waiting? Get there fast…'
Newman had caught the faintest hint of movement high up and out of the corner of his eye. Imagination? He remembered the man he'd only known as Sarge. The time when he'd trained with the SAS – the Special Air Service – Britain's elite strike force, so he could write a series of articles on them. Sarge had put him through the full course. And he'd survived it. Just.
If you even suspect you've seen something, heard something, smelt something – assume the worst. You've been seen. Sarge, the toughest man Newman had ever known, the sergeant who'd put him through his paces, had said something else. Get inside the enemy's mind. Sit in his chair. What would you do if you were him? Out-think the bastard. ..
Newman moved into the shadows out of the moonlight. He paused, took out the compact pair of night glasses he'd bought in Athens. His mouth was parched with thirst, with fear. His boots, his clothes, were coated with limestone dust from his journey up the track. Slinging the glasses from his neck, he took the opportunity to relieve himself against a rock. Then he took a swig from the small bottle of mineral water in his pocket. Now…
He leant against the side of the rock and raised the glasses, aiming them where he thought he'd seen something move at the top of the ridge to the right of the track. He moved the glasses slowly, scanning the whole ridge. He stopped. Silhouetted against the night sky was the outline of a man, a man peering over a rock parapet. Got you. He held the glasses very still. No doubt about it. One of the shepherd guards. And he held the high ground. Time to rethink.
Assume the worst. He'd been spotted. Coming up the track. So what would the enemy do? Wait for him where the track emerged at the top. The solution? Get off the track. Move up to the left. However rough the going. Head diagonally straight for the mine. He put the glasses back into his pocket. Began climbing higher, so long as he kept in the shadow. He nearly missed the defile spiralling up to his left.
It looked pretty steep, but rock projections formed a kind of ladder. He entered the defile, felt safe from observation. It was exactly like climbing a ladder. He placed his boots on each projection, hauled himself higher and higher. He began to feel the strain on his calf muscles. He was sweating litres with the effort. Keep going. He must be close to the top.
His head and shoulders projected above the defile without warning. He remained perfectly still. Listening. Sniffing. For the smell of a mule. The shepherd might well be patrolling on an animal. He turned his head very slowly. He had emerged just below the crest of the ridge. Keep below it. That was the mistake the shepherd had made. He could see the spectral outline of the mine. No more than a hundred yards to his left.
No sign or sound of anyone else. He rubbed the calves of both legs. No time to get cramp. He hefted the Smith amp; Wesson out of the holster, moved towards the mine in a crouch, placing his feet carefully. The ground was powdered dust. Easy to slip on. The mine came closer.
'The bastard has tricked us.'
Dimitrios stood at the top of a huge crag which gave him a view of the whole length of the ridge. Below him Constantine waited, gripping his shotgun. Dimitrios clambered down and joined his brother.
'What do you mean?' Constantine asked.
'I saw him moving. He's nearly reached the mine. We'll have to hurry. He left the track, came up a different way.'
'Then let's get moving. If we lose him Petros will go mad.'
Tetrcs is mad. Maybe we don't tell him what happened. That shaft goes down forever. Who is to know? So long as you keep your big mouth shut. I lead, you follow. We've got him cornered.'
Newman approached the weird structure cautiously. There could be another guard hidden and waiting. Resisting the temptation to peer inside the shaft, he crawled slowly round, pausing at each of the four corners. The structure reminded him of a ruined Greek temple constructed of rusting iron. He peered round the final corner. Nothing.
He had completed one circuit round the mine. He chose the side furthest away from the head of the track, from where he had seen the immobile silhouette on the ridge. Straightening up, he looked into the mine.
No cage. Christina had said there was a cage at the top. But she had never been up here. Someone must have told her about a cage, had lied. He was looking down into an immense bucket made of iron. It was suspended by a chain windlass coiled at the top. He switched on his pencil torch, his hand well below the surface of the mine. At its base he saw remnants of ore. He thought his light reflected off veins of silver, but it could have been his imagination.
Newman was baffled. Why should Petros make such a fuss about no one going near the mine? Between the huge bucket – large enough to hide a crouching man – and the side of the shaft was a wide gap. He shone the torch down the shaft. The light penetrated only a short distance into bottomless blackness. A musty aroma drifted up to his nostrils. He swivelled the light and saw a huge chain dangling beneath the bucket. And something else he couldn't identify…
He heard the shuffle of feet hurrying across rock-strewn ground. He peered through the aperture and saw two men coming, still several hundred yards away. From the direction of the track. They dropped out of view, presumably into a dip in the ground. But he had seen the long barrels perched over their shoulders. Men with rifles. He glanced round quickly.
No cover. Anywhere. The ridge behind him was open, as exposed as the slope which fell away from it. And they could out-range him with those rifles. A handgun was useless except for closer quarters. He went very cold, thinking. He leaned over into the mine, took hold of the rim of the bucket, tried to move it. The bucket was so heavy he couldn't shift it a centimetre He flashed his light on to the windlass chain holding it. The links in the chain were enormous. He recalled it had been built to hold God knew what tonnage of ore.
He slipped on the pair of gloves he had used when scaling the defile. Without them his hands would have been bloodied raw – clutching at razor-edged rocks to heave himself upwards. He gave one more brief glance to where he'd seen the two men approaching. Any moment now and they would climb up out of the dip into view. He lowered himself into the shaft, hanging on to the rim of the bucket. It remained immovable as the Rock of Gibraltar. Now for the tricky part.
Engulfed in the darkness of the shaft, he held on to the rim with his left hand, felt down with his right for the dangling chain attached to the base of the bucket. He was just able to. clutch it. Every muscle in his body strained as he jerked the chain with all his strength, testing it. It held. He took a deep breath, let go of the rim and fell. He whipped his right hand round the huge chain a second before the full weight of his body pulled at him. Now he had two hands gripping the length of chain which continued at least seven feet below him. He could tell that because he'd used both feet to get a hold on the chain lower down. His right foot rested on one of the enormous links. His left foot slipped, dangled in space. He forced it upwards, felt for a foothold, found it opposite the other foot and hung there suspended. The bucket had still not moved. But something light but unyielding had brushed his face. He couldn't identify it. He took another chance.
Holding on with his right hand, he felt for his pencil torch with his left. Sweating like a bull, he switched it on. He estimated the two men would not yet have arrived in the vicinity of the mine. What he saw by the light so frightened him he nearly lost his grip.