High Citadel / Landslide by Desmond Bagley Page B

about making camp. There’s no water here, and besides, our main force is too close to the enemy. There’s a pond about half a mile back—I think that’s a good spot.’
    ‘Benedetta, you see to that,’ Aguillar commanded. ‘Miss Ponsky will help you.’ He watched the two women go, then turned with a grave face. ‘There is something we must discuss, together with Miguel. Let us go over there.’
    Rohde was happy. ‘They have not put a plank in the bridge yet. They ran again like the rabbits they are.’
    Aguillar told him what was happening and he said uncertainly, ‘A crossbow?’
    ‘I think it’s crazy, too,’ said Forester. ‘But Armstrong reckons it’ll work.’
    ‘Armstrong is a good man,’ said Aguillar. ‘He is thinking of immediate necessities—but I think of the future. Supposewe hold off these men; suppose we destroy the bridge—what then?’
    ‘We’re not really any better off,’ said O’Hara reflectively. ‘They’ve got us pinned down anyway.’
    ‘Exactly,’ said Aguillar. ‘True, we have plenty of food, but that means nothing. Time is very valuable to these men, just as it is to me. They gain everything by keeping me inactive.’
    ‘By keeping you here they’ve removed you from the game,’ agreed Forester. ‘How long do you think it will be before they make their coup d’état ?’
    Aguillar shrugged. ‘One month—maybe two. Certainly not longer. We advanced our own preparations because the communists showed signs of moving. It is a race between us with the destiny of Cordillera as the prize—maybe the destiny of the whole of Latin America is at stake. And the time is short.’
    ‘Your map, Señor O’Hara,’ said Rohde suddenly.
    O’Hara took out the chart and spread it on a rock, and Rohde traced the course of the river north and south, shaking his head. ‘This river—this gorge—is a trap, pinning us against the mountains,’ he said.
    ‘We’ve agreed it’s no use going for the bridge downstream,’ said Forester. ‘It’s a hell of a long way and it’s sure to be guarded.’
    ‘What’s to stop them crossing that bridge and pushing up on this side of the river to outflank us?’ asked O’Hara.
    ‘As long as they think they can repair this bridge they won’t do that,’ Aguillar said. ‘Communists are not supermen; they are as lazy as other people and they would not relish crossing eighty kilometres of mountain country—that would take at least four days. I think they will be content to stop the bolt hole.’
    Rohde’s fingers swept across the map to the west. ‘That leaves the mountains.’
    Forester turned and looked at the mountain wall, at the icy peaks. ‘I don’t like the sound of that. I don’t think Señor Aguillar could make it.’
    ‘I know,’ said Rohde. ‘He must stay here. But someone must cross the mountains for help.’
    ‘Let’s see if it’s practicable,’ said O’Hara. ‘I was going to fly through the Puerto de las Aguilas. That means that anyone going back would have to go twenty miles north before striking west through the pass. And he’d have to go pretty high to get round this bloody gorge. The pass isn’t so bad—it’s only about fourteen thousand feet.’
    ‘A total of about thirty miles before he got into the Santos Valley,’ said Forester. ‘That’s on straight line courses. It would probably be fifty over the ground.’
    There is another way,’ said Rohde quietly. He pointed to the mountains. ‘This range is high, but not very wide. On the other side lies the Santos Valley. If you draw a line on the map from here to Altemiros in the Santos Valley you will find that it is not more than twenty-five kilometres.’
    O’Hara bent over the map and measured the distance. ‘You’re right; about fifteen miles—but it’s all peaks.’
    ‘There is a pass about two miles north-west of the mine,’ said Rohde. ‘It has no name because no one is so foolish as to use it. It is about five thousand eight hundred