The High Valley Page 7

  The pilot's eyes narrowed, and with sudden deliberation he came forward. “Maybe we have been hasty,” he said, to the others in general. Then he took Morgana's arm. “Are you all right?”

  Morgana shivered. “I – I think so!”

  The pilot shook his head. “We must give you the benefit of the doubt,” he said, slowly. “I'm sorry if we seem hard.”

  Morgana managed a faint smile. “That's all right,” she said. “There was no way I could convince you, you see.”

  Vittorio came forward, his eyes dark and impatient now that his plans had been disrupted. “Come, senhorita,” he said, “we are wasting time. The stewardess has found your cases and O Halcão is waiting for you!”

  Morgana flinched. She was sure he had said Luis's name deliberately. Until this moment she had successfully been able to convince herself that this was a fight against Vittorio but now she knew it was not. She trembled at the thought of Luis's anger when he learned of this incident.

  The pilot took command, thrusting Morgana behind his back. “No, senhor,” he said. “Senhorita Mallory stays here.”

  Vittorio halted in his tracks, his face assuming an enigmatic expression. “Come, senhor,” he said, amiably. “Do not make me lose my temper with you. She is not worth it. Believe me, I know. Did you not notice her expression when I mentioned the name of O Halcão? Did you not see her reaction? What can you gain by keeping her here? A momentary sense of the heroic, that is all. And for what? A woman who cannot deny she knew us long before she boarded this aircraft!”

  Morgana gripped the pilot's arm tightly. “Please,” she begged, “don't believe him. I met them at an embassy reception, that is all.”

  The pilot glanced at her frightened face compassionately. Then he seemed to come to a decision. “Senhorita Mallory stays here,” he reaffirmed.

  Vittorio shrugged. “There are means of making you change your mind, senhor,” he remarked. “I am sure you are a hero at heart, but what about the rest of these people? Would they be prepared to risk their lives for a woman about whom they must still nurture some doubts?”

  Some of the passengers looked appalled at this, but the pilot was not afraid. “I don't believe you would dare to kill any of us without permission from your superior!” he asserted boldly.

  “And how do you know I have not got that permission?” queried Vittorio, icily.

  The pilot clenched his fists. “Then go ahead. Use your guns. We're not afraid.”

  Vittorio compressed his lips and looked furiously at his companion. The other man shrank back under that angry glare, and Morgana realised that he, more than anybody, had attributed to Vittorio's failure. Without attempting to take her by force, Vittorio turned and thrust his way out of the aircraft, and Morgana's legs gave way with the strain and she sank down onto the floor of the aisle.

  Immediately, the pilot sprang forward and before the guard realised what he was about to do he had snatched the gun from his hand and pushed it hard into the man's ribs. “Move!” he said, sharply. “Now!”

  The guard was obviously taken off-guard and his eyes blazed furiously, but there was nothing he could do. He took a step forward and the pilot kept close behind him until they reached the door of the plane. “Out!” said the pilot, menacingly, thrusting open the door, and the man stepped forward into space. The steps had been taken away and he fell heavily down onto the gravelled sweep of the airstrip. They heard his cry as the pilot slammed the door shut again and rammed the locks into position. Then he fell back weakly against the door and excited talking broke out. For the first time since the hijacking they were able to talk freely.

  An hour later nothing had happened.

  After their ordeal the weary travellers had found plenty to talk about, but there was a hopelessness about their discussions that none of them could deny. They might appear for the moment to have control of the situation, but it was a precarious and tenuous thing that could not possibly continue for long. The plane, without the repairs to its undercarriage, was a crippled wreck and even had it not been the plateau was so confined they would need expert ground clearance to assist them to take off. They had no food and hardly any water, and their seige could only last so long as the baby did not begin to go hungry. She had been fed once this morning but soon she would require feeding again, and none of them could conceive of depriving an infant of nourishment. And after a while the passengers began to disagree amongst themselves as to the advisability of the pilot's impulsive actions, there was talk of reprisals and Morgana knew it was all her fault. If she had not attempted to gain these people's confidence, none of this would have happened. She sat in her seat at the front of the plane with the pilot and tried to gain a little comfort by reassuring him. But all she could think about was her eventual confrontation with O Halcão, and the futility of any kind of rebellion.

  “I have heard that President Queras is a dictator,” remarked the pilot now. “There are many people in Monteraverde who would like to see him deposed. But he controls the army and his military strategy must be greater than these guerillas.”

  Morgana listened intently. “Who is likely to succeed him?”

  The pilot shrugged. “Who knows? And who knows whether such a change would be for the better?” He glanced round. “All I am concerned about is what is to become of us? Earlier they said we would be taken from the plane to some place of safety, but what truth is there in that. Possibly I have succeeded in achieving what they have wanted all along. The destruction of us all!”

  “How?” Morgana swallowed hard.

  “In two ways. Either by setting alight to the plane, or by starving us out. One way or the other – the result is just as satisfying.”

  “I don't believe they mean to kill us!” Morgana shook her head.

  “Why? How can you be sure? This morning's little fiasco must have proved to them how unreliable as hostages we are. Fifty-seven is a lot of people to control.”

  Morgana sighed. “They won't kill us in the plane. They need it!” she exclaimed.

  The pilot frowned. “Is that so? Do they also need the pilot?”

  Morgana shrugged. “I don't know.”

  “We must just wait and see. Sooner or later they are bound to contact us.”

  But the morning wore into burning noon, and the plane became like a furnace, the heat melting their confidence, reducing them to a bickering mass of humanity. The young couple with the baby had the most difficult task: that of comforting a child without any means of sustenance. She cried continually in the moist atmosphere and several of the women began to cry. Morgana felt like crying herself but she knew it would achieve nothing. Whatever was to happen to them this period of isolation was achieving more than any amount of threatening would have done.

  She stared continually out of the port, looking towards the collection of huts, but there was never anything to be seen. The Land Rover which had brought her here was parked out of sight of the plane and there was no way of knowing whether it was still there. None of them were so foolish as to believe the men had left the plateau unguarded, but whether contact had been made with O Halcão was difficult to guess. Her eyes ached, looking against the sun's glare, and she felt an overwhelming sense of despair.

  She thought of her father and the relatives of all these people waiting futilely in Los Angeles for the plane to arrive. She thought of the officials trying frantically to make contact, and the search planes that would be sent out to look for them. But how impossible for anyone to find them among these mountains where one valley succeeded another, and one range marched beside another. It would be a lucky chance indeed that any pilot could fly low enough to distinguish this plateau particularly as they were miles off course without any indication of being so. Besides, even if they were spotted, what could anybody do to save them? It was an entirely disastrous situation.

  The baby fell into a fitful sleep in the early afternoon, exhausted by its weeping, and its father came forward to speak to Morgana and the pilot. He
was a man of perhaps twenty-five or six, young and anxious about his wife and child.

  “Please,” he said, speaking with an American accent. “How much longer are we expected to hold out? Our baby daughter can't survive long in this heat without boiled water or milk. She's only three months old! Something has got to be done before she wakes up again. This is a pointless vigil. You know you can't take off, and we can't remain in the plane indefinitely, none of us, without food or water!”

  Morgana looked up at him compassionately. “It's all my fault,” she said, sighing. “I got you all into this, now I've got to get you out again.”

  “How?” The pilot stared at her. “What chance have you got any more than another woman?”

  The young American frowned. “How well do you know this O Halcão?” he enquired, rather pointedly. “Have you any influence with him?”

  “What are you trying to say?” Morgana's eyes were bright.

  The American shook his head. “Oh, nothing, I guess,” he muttered, off-handedly. “It's just that – well – I guess I'm feeling pretty low. Exactly how can you help?”

  Morgana considered. “I suppose I could go and give myself up,” she suggested. “Maybe if they have me they'll let you all go to the quarters they have been preparing for you.”

  The pilot smote his fist into the palm of his hand. “What a mess!” he exclaimed, angrily. “We have the gun, of course.”

  “And how many bullets?” asked another voice, and Morgana turned to see that the two stewardesses had come forward, too.

  “You see!” said the American. “It's hopeless! Hopeless!”

  Morgana sighed, and got to her feet. “It's no good,” she said as the pilot would have detained her. “It's got to be me!”

  She looked through the port towards the huts and then drew back jerkily. “Look!” she said, weakly. “Reinforcements!”

  Everyone crowded to the ports on that side of the plane, peering out apprehensively. Two Land Rovers had driven onto the plateau and were approaching the plane. One of them was an open vehicle, in the back of which half a dozen men were sitting, each supporting a rifle on his knees.

  Immediately panic broke out on the plane. Women were shouting and screaming hysterically while the men with them tried unsuccessfully to calm them. The stewardesses tried frantically to prevent one woman from swallowing a bottle of sleeping tablets she had in her handbag, and some of the older passengers, men as well as women, lay prostrate in their seats, semi-conscious with the heat and the terror that gripped them all.

  Morgana's palms were damp with sweat, while a trickle of moisture ran down her back. Fear gripped her, too, and it took an immense amount of will power not to give in to her emotions.

  “This is all your fault,” one woman shouted at her shrilly, her face contorted with frightened rage, and several others nodded their agreement, regarding her contemptuously.

  Without a word, Morgana turned away and walked the few feet to the exit. Struggling with the lock she found the pilot beside her. “Don't go like this,” he exclaimed, impatiently. “These people are panic-stricken. Don't let anything they say influence you. They need a scapegoat and you are it!”

  Morgana shook her head. “It's no good, can't you see?” she said, dully. “I have to go. I – I must try and prevent this – whatever it is!”

  The pilot stared at her helplessly. “And if you're killed!” he said, passionately. “What will that prove?”

  Morgana lifted her shoulders. “Why should they kill me?” she asked, but her tone was less than convincing.

  The door gave suddenly beneath her hands, and she thrust it wide, stepping back from the sudden draught of air that almost unbalanced her. Then she sat down on the edge of the threshold, turning and lowering herself slowly, so that she only had to drop several feet to the ground. Even so, she lost her balance, and grazed her legs on the hard gravelled surface of the plateau. But the steps had been pushed aside by Vittorio and there was no one to put them back into position.

  She got to her feet just as the first Land Rover skidded to a halt beside the tail of the plane and two men got out. Morgana blinked in the brilliant light, unable at first to distinguish their faces, and then her heart pounded uncontrollably as she recognised Manoel and O Halcão.

  Luis came striding towards her, his face dark with anger and contempt, and caught her wrist in a vice-like grip. His eyes searched her face for a long moment, taking in the darkening bruise on her cheekbone where his henchman had hit her and the streaks of dirt where she had wiped her tears away. He was breathing swiftly, and a pulse jerked in his cheek.

  “So, senhorita,” he muttered softly, “you are prepared to be reasonable now, is that it?”

  Morgana struggled to free herself, aware of the eyes of the whole plane upon them. “Yes, yes, yes,” she cried, wearily. “Just leave these people in the plane alone. Do what you like with me!”

  He studied her face for a moment longer, and then thrust her towards Manoel. “Put her in the vehicle!” he commanded, harshly. “And stay with her.”

  “Sim, patron!” Manoel nodded, and taking Morgana by the arm urged her towards the Land Rover.

  Luis strode towards the plane's entrance, and Morgana hung back wishing she knew what he intended to do, but Manoel pressed her forward and she was forced to go with him. Sitting in the back of the Land Rover she saw the steps being pushed into position by the plane and Luis and some of his armed guards climbing them and entering the plane. She looked at Manoel, but he looked away, obviously not intending to speak with her.

  There was a long silence while the men were in the plane, but no shots were fired, and eventually Luis emerged again and came down the steps towards them. The wind lifted the thick darkness of his hair and he raked it back with a careless hand before climbing into the Land Rover, at the front beside the driver. Morgana felt her senses stir at the sight of him and hot colour burned her cheeks. What was there about him that disturbed her so? And why was a traitorous feeling of relief growing inside? Surely she couldn't be glad to be back among these men!

  The driver started the Land Rover and swung it round in a circle to drive back across the plateau. Morgana saw the faces at the aeroplane's windows and looked back helplessly, but no one waved and she turned her head again.

  They did not stop at the huts at the edge of the plateau but drove on down the winding track into the valley, taking the hairpin bends with careless regard for caution. The wheels of the Land Rover spun wildly at every curve, and Morgana clung to her seat sickly, sure they were about to plunge over the edge to their deaths. But nothing happened, the driver knew the road minutely, and presently they swept into the village, accelerating to the steps below the verandah of the hacienda of O Halcão.

  The sun was already sinking behind the mountain, and the faint breeze, which stirred the feathery fronds of a fernlike growth below the verandah, was cool now. Luis climbed out of the Land Rover lithely, and gestured for Morgana to do the same. But when Manoel got down too, Luis shook his head.

  “Esta bom, Manoel,” he said, calmly. “I can handle this.”

  “You are sure, meu capitão?”

  “Sim, gracas!”

  Manoel saluted, and climbed back into the vehicle, taking the seat Luis had previously occupied and raising his hand in farewell as the driver started away. Luis nodded in return, and then turned, indicating that Morgana should enter the house.

  Morgana walked up the steps to the verandah and crossed it to enter the hacienda. They went down the passage and halted outside the room Morgana had been interviewed in the night before. Luis opened the door and pushed her inside, closing the door securely behind them. Morgana's legs were a little shaky now and she wished he would say she should sit down, but he did nothing for a few moments but regard her sombrely, his tawny eyes dark with his impatience.

  Finally, he said: “Well, senhorita, so you would try to make a fool of O Halcão?”

  Morgana's eyes were wide. “No, I –”


  “Don't bother to try and deny it. Vittorio has spoken to me about what happened this morning. You are the fool, Morgana. I trusted you. Sufficiently at least to believe you when you said you wanted to assure yourself that the other passengers were safe.”

  Morgana twisted her hands behind her back. “But you didn't tell me that they had been told I was not to be trusted. That I was a willing accessory to your cause.”

  Luis uttered an angry exclamation. “That was a reasonable precaution,” he snapped shortly. “There is much at stake here.”

  “And I am not allowed to take any precautions myself, is that it?” she demanded, hotly, anger overriding her fears for a moment. “You would have me in that unhappy position of being on neither side. Trusted by no one!”

  “I have told you,” he exclaimed, fiercely. “I trusted you.”

  “And is that supposed to be enough” she cried, angrily. “That the great O Halcão should put his trust in me!”

  His eyes darkened menacingly. “Have a care, Morgana. I am only a man whose patience is wearing very thin.”

  Morgana's nails bit into the palms of her hands. “Oh, but you are considered more than a man by these people!” she taunted him, contemptuously. “And you have listened to them for so long, that you are beginning to believe them!”

  His brows drew together angrily, and he stepped forward, grasping her shoulders cruelly. “Mãe de deus!” he swore. “How dare you criticise me like this!”

  Morgana quivered in his hold, conscious of the heat of his body that was only inches away from her own. In a moment she sensed that there was torment in him, and his control was slipping dangerously low. Whatever his beliefs he was aware of her as a man is aware of a woman, and the breath that fanned her cheek was hot and passionate. His thumbs moved against the soft flesh of her shoulders almost involuntarily and his eyes burned hungrily down into hers. Morgana put up her hands to push him away but they encountered the silky material of his shirt which was unfastened almost to his waist and came apart between her fingers to reveal the dark hairs on his tanned muscular chest. Experimentally, she touched his body and as her fingers lingered against his smooth flesh she knew why she had taunted him deliberately about his ambitions. But it was all wrong, she thought, horrified. Apart from anything else he was her enemy, he was the leader of these ruthless men, and he would not hesitate to dispose of anybody should it suit his purpose.