Can you tell?"
"I saw more AK-forty-sevens," Joe replied.
"Nothing heavier? No mortars or any kind of artillery?"
"No, just small arms."
Prynne let out a sigh of relief. "Then they can't get up here, and we can't get out. Except we have to get you out of here, somehow."
Clea had been exploring the walls. Now she called out, "Joe! Andreas! Over here. I think I've found a way out, if we can keep those men occupied on the other side."
She pointed down the wall, saying, "Do you see the vines here — the way the stones in the wall are uneven? I am sure we have enough footholds and handholds to get down."
Joe surveyed the immediate area, which was almost halfway around the fort from the road. At the foot of the wall, the ground sloped down, but not too steeply. There were scattered boulders, and stunted trees and bushes.
"Once we're down," he said, "it looks as if there's enough cover to let us work our way clear. I think it's our best shot."
Leaving Phil to patrol the wall, Joe outlined the plan. Prynne listened, and when Joe finished, he thought it through for a second.
"It'll have to do," he muttered. "Are you set to move out?"
"Whenever you say," answered Joe, and Clea and Andreas nodded.
Prynne looked at his watch. "In one minute Phil and I will open up with a heavy covering fire. Give us fifteen seconds to catch the enemy's attention, then make your move. Good luck." Gravely, he shook hands with each of them.
A minute later Prynne and Phil opened up on their side of the fort, firing in frequent, short bursts. The force beneath the walls began firing back. After counting off fifteen seconds, Clea, the most experienced climber, swung herself over the top of the wall.
She made her way carefully, using the tiny crevices between the stones of the wall and the climbing vines. Joe noted the route she took, impressed by her strength and agility, as well as her nerve. He looked over at Andreas.
"Here goes nothing," he said. "See you on the ground floor." Joe swung himself over and began the difficult descent.
Below him Clea had reached a point only three feet from the ground.
But as she dropped, some bushes a few feet from her rustled. Out stepped a man with an old Tokarev pistol — a scout for the attacking party. And he had Clea dead in his sights!
Chapter 11
THE CELLAR WAS dim, musty, and bare. The men who had kidnapped Frank and the others obviously had faith that they couldn't escape because they removed Peter Stamos's gag and ropes and left his friends unbound. The prisoners were alone now.
As soon as the door had closed, Frank began a quick but thorough search of their dark cell. There was a single, small window, set high into a wall, and protected by a thick steel grill. As a source of light, it was too dirty to be of much use; as a possible escape route it was entirely hopeless.
Moreover, there was nothing — no carelessly dropped tool or removable length of pipe — nothing that could conceivably serve as a weapon.
Alma huddled, weeping, in a corner, with Aleko hovering over, trying to comfort her.
"What — what will they do to us?" she asked in a shaky, whispery voice.
Aleko knelt before her and put his hands on her shoulders."
"I will not let them hurt you," he said. "They will have to kill me first."
At this, Alma's tears built into sobs that shook her whole body. Chet approached the terrified girl. He bent down and spoke in a calm, casual voice.
"They're not going to do anything to us, Alma. All they want is to keep us out of the way for a while."
She looked up at Chet, wanting to believe him. "Do you think that we are safe?" she asked.
Somehow Chet managed a comforting smile. "Sure, they'll probably hold us until tomorrow and then let us go. Why don't you try to get a little rest?"
She smiled quickly and leaned her head back against the wall, closing her eyes.
For the first time Aleko looked at Chet without hostility. He muttered in gratitude, then began pacing, smacking one massive
"I saw more AK-forty-sevens," Joe replied.
"Nothing heavier? No mortars or any kind of artillery?"
"No, just small arms."
Prynne let out a sigh of relief. "Then they can't get up here, and we can't get out. Except we have to get you out of here, somehow."
Clea had been exploring the walls. Now she called out, "Joe! Andreas! Over here. I think I've found a way out, if we can keep those men occupied on the other side."
She pointed down the wall, saying, "Do you see the vines here — the way the stones in the wall are uneven? I am sure we have enough footholds and handholds to get down."
Joe surveyed the immediate area, which was almost halfway around the fort from the road. At the foot of the wall, the ground sloped down, but not too steeply. There were scattered boulders, and stunted trees and bushes.
"Once we're down," he said, "it looks as if there's enough cover to let us work our way clear. I think it's our best shot."
Leaving Phil to patrol the wall, Joe outlined the plan. Prynne listened, and when Joe finished, he thought it through for a second.
"It'll have to do," he muttered. "Are you set to move out?"
"Whenever you say," answered Joe, and Clea and Andreas nodded.
Prynne looked at his watch. "In one minute Phil and I will open up with a heavy covering fire. Give us fifteen seconds to catch the enemy's attention, then make your move. Good luck." Gravely, he shook hands with each of them.
A minute later Prynne and Phil opened up on their side of the fort, firing in frequent, short bursts. The force beneath the walls began firing back. After counting off fifteen seconds, Clea, the most experienced climber, swung herself over the top of the wall.
She made her way carefully, using the tiny crevices between the stones of the wall and the climbing vines. Joe noted the route she took, impressed by her strength and agility, as well as her nerve. He looked over at Andreas.
"Here goes nothing," he said. "See you on the ground floor." Joe swung himself over and began the difficult descent.
Below him Clea had reached a point only three feet from the ground.
But as she dropped, some bushes a few feet from her rustled. Out stepped a man with an old Tokarev pistol — a scout for the attacking party. And he had Clea dead in his sights!
Chapter 11
THE CELLAR WAS dim, musty, and bare. The men who had kidnapped Frank and the others obviously had faith that they couldn't escape because they removed Peter Stamos's gag and ropes and left his friends unbound. The prisoners were alone now.
As soon as the door had closed, Frank began a quick but thorough search of their dark cell. There was a single, small window, set high into a wall, and protected by a thick steel grill. As a source of light, it was too dirty to be of much use; as a possible escape route it was entirely hopeless.
Moreover, there was nothing — no carelessly dropped tool or removable length of pipe — nothing that could conceivably serve as a weapon.
Alma huddled, weeping, in a corner, with Aleko hovering over, trying to comfort her.
"What — what will they do to us?" she asked in a shaky, whispery voice.
Aleko knelt before her and put his hands on her shoulders."
"I will not let them hurt you," he said. "They will have to kill me first."
At this, Alma's tears built into sobs that shook her whole body. Chet approached the terrified girl. He bent down and spoke in a calm, casual voice.
"They're not going to do anything to us, Alma. All they want is to keep us out of the way for a while."
She looked up at Chet, wanting to believe him. "Do you think that we are safe?" she asked.
Somehow Chet managed a comforting smile. "Sure, they'll probably hold us until tomorrow and then let us go. Why don't you try to get a little rest?"
She smiled quickly and leaned her head back against the wall, closing her eyes.
For the first time Aleko looked at Chet without hostility. He muttered in gratitude, then began pacing, smacking one massive
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