High Citadel - Desmond Bagley

DESMOND BAGLEY

High Citadel

COPYRIGHT

HARPER

an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by Collins 1965

Copyright © Brockhurst Publications 1965

Desmond Bagley asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this works.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the authors imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008211141

Ebook Edition © January 2017 ISBN 9780008211424

Version: 2016-11-23

CONTENTS

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

High Citadel

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

About the Author

By the Same Author

About the Publisher

DEDICATION

To John Donaldson and Bob Knittel

ONE

The bell shrilled insistently.

OHara frowned in his sleep and burrowed deeper into the pillow. He dragged up the thin sheet which covered him, but that left his feet uncovered and there was a sleepy protest from his companion. Without opening his eyes he put his hand out to the bedside table, seized the alarm clock, and hurled it violently across the room. Then he snuggled into the pillow again.

The bell still rang.

At last he opened his eyes, coming to the realization that it was the telephone ringing. He propped himself up on one elbow and stared hatefully into the darkness. Ever since he had been in the hotel he had been asking Ramón to transfer the telephone to the bedside, and every time he had been assured that it would be done tomorrow. It had been nearly a year.

He got out of bed and padded across the room to the dressing-table without bothering to switch on the light. As he picked up the telephone he tweaked aside the window curtain and glanced outside. It was still dark and the moon was setting he estimated it was about two hours to dawn.

He grunted into the mouthpiece: OHara.

Goddammit, whats the matter with you? said Filson. Ive been trying to get you for a quarter of an hour.

I was asleep, said OHara. I usually sleep at night I believe most people do, with the exception of Yankee flight managers.

Very funny, said Filson tiredly. Well, drag your ass down here theres a flight scheduled for dawn.

What the hell I just got back six hours ago. Im tired.

You think Im not? said Filson. This is important a Samair 727 touched down in an emergency landing and the flight inspector grounded it. The passengers are mad as hornets, so the skipper and the hostess have sorted out priorities and weve got to take passengers to the coast. You know what a connection with Samair means to us; it could be that if we treat em nice theyll use us as a regular feeder.

In a pigs eye, said OHara. Theyll use you in an emergency but theyll never put you on their timetables. All youll get are thanks.

Its worth trying, insisted Filson. So get the hell down here.

OHara debated whether to inform Filson that he had already exceeded his months flying hours and that it was only two-thirds through the month. He sighed, and said, All right, Im coming. It would cut no ice with Filson to plead regulations; as far as that hard-hearted character was concerned, the I.A.T.A. regulations were meant to be bent, if not broken. If he conformed to every international regulation, his two-cent firm would be permanently in the red.

Besides, OHara thought, this was the end of the line for him. If he lost this job survival would be difficult. There were too many broken-down pilots in South America hunting too few jobs and Filsons string-and-sealing-wax outfit was about as low as you could get. Hell, he thought disgustedly, Im on a bloody escalator going the wrong way it takes all the running I can do to stay in the same place.

He put down the hand-set abruptly and looked again into the night, scanning the sky. It looked all right here, but what about the mountains? Always he thought about the mountains, those cruel mountains with their jagged white swords stretched skywards to impale him. Filson had better have a good met. report.

He walked to the door and stepped into the corridor, unlit as usual. They turned off all lights in the public rooms at eleven p.m. it was that kind of hotel. For the millionth time he wondered what he was doing in this godforsaken country, in this tired town, in this sleazy hotel. Unconcernedly naked, he walked down towards the bathroom. In his philosophy if a woman had seen a naked man before then it didnt matter if she hadnt, it was time she did. Anyway, it was dark.

He showered quickly, washing away the night sweat, and returned to his room and switched on the bedside lamp wondering if it would work. It was always a fifty per cent chance that it wouldnt the towns electricity supply was very erratic. The filament glowed faintly and in the dim light he dressed long woollen underwear, jeans, a thick shirt and a leather jacket. By the time he had finished he was sweating again in the warm tropical night. But it would be cold over the mountains.

From the dressing-table he took a metal flask and shook it tentatively. It was only half full and he frowned. He could wake Ramón and get a refill but that was not politic; for one thing Ramón did not like being wakened at night, and for another he would ask cutting questions about when his bill was going to be paid. Perhaps he could get something at the airport.

OHara was just leaving when he paused at the door and turned back to look at the sprawling figure in the bed. The sheet had slipped revealing dark breasts tipped a darker colour. He looked at her critically. Her olive skin had an underlying coppery sheen and he thought there was a sizeable admixture of Indian in this one. With a rueful grimace he took a thin wallet from the inside pocket of his leather jacket, extracted two notes and tossed them on the bedside table. Then he went out, closing the door quietly behind him.

II

When he pulled his battered car into the parking bay he looked with interest at the unaccustomed bright lights of the airport. The field was low-grade, classed as an emergency strip by the big operators, although to Filson it was a main base. A Samair Boeing 727 lay sleekly in front of the control tower and OHara looked at it enviously for a while, then switched his attention to the hangar beyond.

A Dakota was being loaded and, even at that distance, the lights were bright enough for OHara to see the emblem on the tail two intertwined As, painted artistically to look like mountain peaks. He smiled gently to himself. It was appropriate that he should fly a plane decorated with the Double-A; alcoholics of the world unite it was a pity Filson didnt see the joke. But Filson was very proud of his Andes Airlift and never joked about it. A humourless man, altogether.

He got out of the car and walked around to the main building to find it was full of people, tired people rudely awakened and set down in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night. He pushed his way through the crowd towards Filsons office. An American voice with a Western twang complained loudly and bitterly, This is a damned disgrace Im going to speak to Mr Coulson about it when I get back to Rio.

OHara grinned as he pushed open the door of the office. Filson was sitting at his desk in his shirt-sleeves, his face shiny with sweat. He always sweated, particularly in an emergency and since his life was in a continual state of crisis it was a wonder he didnt melt away altogether. He looked up.

So you got here at last.

Im always pleased at the welcome I get, observed OHara.

Filson ignored that. All right; this is the dope, he said. Ive contracted with Samair to take ten of their passengers to Santillana theyre the ones who have to make connections with a ship. Youll take number one shes being serviced now. His voice was briskly businesslike and OHara could tell by the way he sonorously rolled out the words contracted with Samair that he saw himself as a big-time air operator doing business with his peers instead of what he really was an ageing ex-pilot making a precarious living off two twenty-five-year-old rattling ex-army surplus planes.

OHara merely said, Whos coming with me?

Grivas.

That cocky little bastard.

He volunteered which is more than you did, snapped Filson.

Oh?

He was here when the 727 touched down, said Filson. He smiled thinly at OHara. It was his idea to put it to Samair that we take some of their more urgent passengers, so he phoned me right away. Thats the kind of quick thinking we need in this organization.

I dont like him in a plane, said OHara.

So youre a better pilot, said Filson reluctantly. Thats why youre skipper and hes going as co-pilot. He looked at the ceiling reflectively. When this deal with Samair comes off maybe Ill promote Grivas to the office. Hes too good to be a pilot.

Filson had delusions of grandeur. OHara said deliberately, If you think that South American Air is going to give you a feeder contract, youre crazy. Youll get paid for taking their passengers and youll get their thanks for what theyre worth and theyll kiss you off fast.

Filson pointed a pen at OHara. Youre paid to jockey a plane leave the heavy thinking to me.

OHara gave up. What happened to the 727?

Something wrong with the fuel feed theyre looking at it now. Filson picked up a sheaf of papers. Theres a crate of machinery to go for servicing. Heres the manifest.

Christ! said OHara. This is an unscheduled flight. Do you have to do this?

Unscheduled or not, youre going with a full load. Damned if I send a half empty plane when I can send a full one.

OHara was mournful. Its just that I thought Id have an easy trip for a change. You know you always overload and its a hell of a job going through the passes. The old bitch wallows like a hippo.

Youre going at the best time, said Filson. Itll be worse later in the day when the sun has warmed things up. Now get the hell out of here and stop bothering me.

OHara left the office. The main hall was emptying, a stream of disgruntled Samair passengers leaving for the antiquated airport bus. A few people still stood about those would be the passengers for Santillana. OHara ignored them; passengers or freight, it was all one to him. He took them over the Andes and dumped them on the other side and there was no point in getting involved with them. A bus driver doesnt mix with his passengers, he thought; and thats all I am a bloody vertical bus driver.

He glanced at the manifest. Filson had done it again there were two crates and he was aghast at their weight. One of these days, he thought savagely, Ill get an I.A.T.A. inspector up here at the right time and Filson will go for a loop. He crushed the manifest in his fist and went to inspect the Dakota.

Grivas was by the plane, lounging gracefully against the undercarriage. He straightened when he saw OHara and flicked his cigarette across the tarmac but did not step forward to meet him. OHara crossed over and said, Is the cargo aboard?

Grivas smiled. Yes.

Did you check it? Is it secure?

Of course, Señor OHara. I saw to it myself.

OHara grunted. He did not like Grivas, neither as a man nor as a pilot. He distrusted his smoothness, the slick patina of pseudo good breeding that covered him like a sheen from his patent leather hair and trim toothbrush moustache to his highly polished shoes. Grivas was a slim wiry man, not very tall, who always wore a smile. OHara distrusted the smile most of all.