Power of the Sword - Smith Wilbur (читать книги онлайн регистрации .TXT) 📗
It was midday Friday before Shasa remembered that his grandfather's birthday picnic was the following day and he rang Centaine at Weltevreden from the police operations room.
,oh cheri, that is terrible news, Sir Garry will be so disappointed. He has asked for you every day since he arrived and we are all so looking forward to seeing you. I'm sorry, Mater. Can't you get away to join us, even for an hour? That's just not possible.
Believe me, Mater, I am as disappointed as anyone. You don't have to come up the mountain, Shasa. just drink a glass of champagne with us at Weltevreden before we leave. You can go back immediately and do whatever it is you are doing that is so important. For my sake, cheri, won't you try? She sensed that he was wavering. Blaine and Field-Marshal Smuts will be here. They have both promised. If you come at eight o'clock, just to wish your grandfather a happy birthday, I promise you can leave again before eight-thirty. O all right mater, he capitulated, and grinned into the telephone. 'Don't you find it boring always to get your own way?, It is something I have learned to bear, cheri, she laughed back at him. Until tomorrow. ,Until tomorrow, he agreed.
I love you, cheri. I love you too, Mater. He hung up, feeling guilty at having given in to her, and was about to ring Tara to tell her that he wouldn't be able to escort her to the picnic when one of the sergeants across the room called him.
Squadron Leader Courtney, this call is for you. Who is it? 'She didn't say, it's a woman, and Shasa smiled as he crossed the room.
Tara had anticipated him and called him first.
Hello, is that you Tara? he said into the mouthpiece, and there was silence except for the soft sound of somebody breathing nervously. His nerves snapped tight, and he lowered his voice, trying to make it friendly and encouraging as he switched into Afrikaans.
This is Squadron Leader Courtney speaking. Is that the lady I spoke to before? Ja. It is me. He recognized her voice, young, breathless and afraid.
I am very grateful to you. What you have done has saved many lives, the lives of innocent people. I saw nothing about the guns in the newspapers, the woman whispered.
You can be proud of what you have done, he told her, and then on inspiration added, Many people would have died, perhaps even women and little children. The words little children seemed to decide her and she blurted out, There is still great danger. They are planning something terrible, White Sword is going to do something.
Soon, very soon. I heard him say that it will be the signal, and it will turn the nation on its head-, Can you tell me what it is? Shasa asked, trying not to frighten her, keeping his voice low and reassuring. What is this thing he plans? I don't know. I only know it will be very soon. Can you find out what it is? I don't know, I can try. For the sake of everybody, the women and little children, will you try to find out what it is? Yes, I will try. I will be here at this telephone- then suddenly he remembered his promise to Centaine, or at this other number, and he gave her the number at Weltevreden. Try here first, and the other number if I am not here. 'I understand., Can you tell me who White Sword is? He took a calculated risk. Do you know his real name? Immediately the connection crackled and was broken. She had hung up. He lowered the telephone and stared at it. He sensed that he had frightened her off for good with that last question, and dismay overwhelmed him.
Something that will turn the nation on its head. Her words haunted him, and he was filled with an ominous sense of impending disaster.
Manfred drove sedately along the De Waal Drive past the university buildings. it was past midnight, and the streets were almost deserted except for a few Friday-night revellers wending their unsteady way homeward. The car he was driving was a nondescript little Morris and the rifle was in the boot under a tattered piece of tarpaulin. He was dressed in a railwayman's blue overalls over which he wore a thick fisherman's jersey and a heavy greatcoat.
He was moving into position now to avoid the danger of being seen on the mountain during daylight carrying a rifle.
favoured On a weekend the slopes of Table Mountain were by hikers and rock climbers, birdwatchers and picnickers, boy scouts and lovers.
He passed the forestry station and turned into Rhodes Avenue, then followed the road up past the Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens with the bulk of the mountain blotting out half the starry night sky. The road wound around the bottom slopes through the dark forests. Before he reached the Constantia Nek pass he slowed down, and checked in his rearview mirror to make certain there was no vehicle following him. Then he switched off his headlights and turned off sharply onto the forestry track.
He drove at a walking pace, keeping in low gear until he reached the forestry gate. Then he stopped and, leaving the engine idling, went to the gate and tried his key in the lock.
Roelf had given him the key and assured him that the forester was a friend. it turned easily, and Manfred drove the Morris through and closed the gate behind him. He hooked the staple of the padlock through the chain, but did not lock it.
He was on the bottom stretch of the bridle path now and drove on up the narrow track as it ascended the slope in a series of tight hairpins. He passed the contour path that girdled the mountain three hundred metres above sea level.
A mile further on, just below the summit he reversed the Morris off the bridle path so that it was out of sight of a casual hiker. From the boot he took the Mauser and wrapped it carefully in a light tarpaulin. Then he locked the doors of the Morris and went back down towards the contour path carrying the rifle across his shoulder. He used his flashlight as little as possible and then only for quick glimpses of the pathway, shielding the beam with his body.
Within twenty minutes he intercepted the pathway that climbed directly up Skeleton Gorge and he flashed his light onto the square concrete signpost and read the legend printed on it.
SMUTS TRACK
The concrete block resembled a tombstone rather than a signpost, and he smiled grimly at the appropriateness of the name upon it. The old field-marshal had made this ascent the most famous of all routes to the summit.
Manfred climbed quickly, without resting, 1200 feet up Skeleton Gorge until he came up past Breakfast Rock over the crest, onto the tableland. Here he paused for a moment to look back. Far below him the Constantia valley huddled in the night, lit by only a star dusting of lights. He turned his back upon it and began his final preparations. He had scouted the site two days previously, and he had chosen the stance from which he would fire and paced out the exact range from there to the point on the pathway where a man would become visible as he came out onto the summit.
Now he moved into his stance. It was a hollow between two boulders, lightly screened by mountain scrub. He spread the tarpaulin over the low wiry bracken and then lay full length upon it, flattening the plants into a comfortable mattress under him.
He wriggled into firing position, cradled the butt of the
Mauser into his cheek and aimed at the head of the pathway 250 metres away. Through the Zeiss lens he could make out the individual branches of the bush that grew beside the path starkly silhouetted against the soft glow of light from the valley beyond.
He laid the weapon on the tarpaulin in front of him, ready for instant use. Then he pulled the collar of the greatcoat up around his ears and huddled down. It was going to be a long cold wait, and to pass the time he reviewed all the planning that had led him to this place, and the odds that tomorrow morning, at a little before or a little after ten-thirty, his quarry would come up the path that bore his name and step into the cross hairs of the Zeiss scope.
