The Plotters by Alan Caillou

Author:Alan Caillou [Caillou, Alan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 7

Well, the operation went off with surprising smoothness.

At eleven o’clock that night we all trooped over to the improvised dropping ground at B47 E32 on the map, and Trenko and I very carefully set small fires of dry brush that would make a bright blaze, three of them set out in cuneiform, with the point of the wedge facing into the wind.

I felt more than ever conspiratorial, and also hopelessly detached from the whole thing. But the cold presence of DeBries was a comfort. It seemed that nothing could perturb him at all. He even lit a calm cigarette while we waited, and stood there, very dapper and distinguished in the cold darkness, with the dampness of the night rolling down off the hills that rose up, dark and silent, on all sides around us. The blackness that was the forest seemed to make the clearing a little lighter. And I found myself hoping that the aircraft would be able to find us; the open space seemed far too small for a successful drop, but by now I had grown quite used to the idea that DeBries knew exactly what he was doing—although, when he lit his cigarette, I couldn’t help catching Trenko’s eye. We were stooped down over one of the set fires, piling up sand beside them so that we could extinguish them quickly, and in the sudden spurt of the match I could see the alarm leap into Trenko’s eyes. But he said nothing, though I fancied I heard him mutter something under his breath.

The stillness and the silence were unbelievable. We spoke, when we had to, in whispers, knowing that the cold night air would carry our voices a long way on its absolute quiet. Betsa, of course, was with us, prowling all round the field like a predatory wolf, disappearing into the darkness from time to time and then coming unexpectedly back at us with her white teeth gleaming horribly. I was glad that she was on our side. Trenko had deliberately avoided feeding her during the evening so that she would be at her most alert, and I had the unusual feeling that she eyed me hungrily whenever she passed. Once he took some cooked meat scraps from his pocket and gave them to her before she went prowling off again.

A light plane was coming in, DeBries had told us, from up there over the border, with a civilian pilot and no lights. I wondered if they’d found him as they found me, but then I reflected that in this business they probably had quite an organization at hand ready to go to work; there was nothing makeshift about DeBries’ methods. It was scheduled to arrive, DeBries said, at a quarter to twelve, and after the fires and their dampeners were all ready we had nothing to do except sit in nervous impatience and wait. It was the waiting I hated more than anything else; it gave me time to reflect on the dangers that surrounded us.

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