Caine froze in his hiding place among the bushes as the troops opened fire. The prisoners dropped en masse, amid screams and groans and a rising cloud of smoke and dust. The reports of the shots echoed around the valley while the soldiers finished them off. It was all over in less than a minute.
In the strange silence that followed, his initial horror gave way to a creeping sense of excitement. He had stumbled across a veritable goldmine. This was a story that would make headlines around the world, and he, Jack Caine, was going to break it.
There was the crunch of a footstep in the brush behind him. Murphy, so soon? For an instant he wondered if he were imagining it. But then the voice barked out, a youthful snarl in a foreign accent.
"You! What the hell's your game? On your feet - now! Hands where I can see 'em. Come on!"
Caine rose slowly and turned to face his captor. The young soldier was crimson with anger. His feet shifted anxiously as he kept his gun trained on the intruder. Observing this, Caine considered his next move. He was off-limits and had witnessed something terrible. They would have to dispose of him, without question. Better to make a break for it now.
Murphy appeared so quickly Caine did not realise what was happening until the soldier lay on the ground in front of him, blood spurting from his mouth, which was oddly twisted.
"Busted his jaw," Murphy grunted, inspecting the knuckles of his big right fist. "Let's empty his gun and get out of here."
"We gotta tie him up,' Caine protested.
"Tie him up hell! He's a kid. They might never find him. He'll be out for an hour, at least, and by then we'll be back in the town."
"You're crazy! You'd rather risk our lives than his! I say tie him up and take the gun with us."
"Crazy I may be, but I just saved your bacon, pal." Murphy started taking the shells out himself. "Go on, head for the car and get the engine running. I'll be right behind you."
Caine offered no further argument. His first instinct now was to get away from the place as quickly as possible, before the soldier came round and gave them any more trouble. But as he scrambled back through the brush, another thought occurred to him. They could not stay in the town. As soon as the youth raised the alarm, the army would be there searching for them. He cursed Murphy beneath his breath.
His companion reached the car a few minutes after him. Caine pushed the accelerator to the floor and worked hastily through the gears.
"We're not gonna be able to get a flight out of here today, and by tomorrow they'll be watching the airport. What's your plan?"
Murphy nodded calmly. "Already thought of that. I know a guy we can stay with just out of the town. The army won't search there. They think he's one of theirs."
"Then what?"
"Tomorrow we start across the mountains for the WY base. We'll be safe among our own people."
Caine raised his eyebrows. That was a hell of a trek, two days at least, and he was not about to trust anyone with his material except the press itself. Murphy was right, however. It was the only viable option.
The sun burned low on the horizon ahead of them. Every movement in the sky startled him. A chopper could easily take them out here. But he saw only the gulls, wheeling away toward the coast.
"How about the pics?" he asked Murphy.
"Got it all."
Caine thought hard as he drove. If he could somehow get his report out that night, his father would publish it the following day. But the photos were what would really sell the story. And only they could give it credibility. He needed Murphy more than Murphy needed him.
"Ease up, Jack. You wanna get there in one piece or what?" "
Ray, don't let on to the boys at WY base."
"Huh?"
"We gotta deliver this directly to the press. Story and photos. It's our ticket to fame."
Murphy gazed back at him. "Okay, I see your point. But we're not going to be delivering this to anyone if you don't ease up on the gas!"
Erdu Venci was a wiry old man with white hair, leathery skin and remarkably white teeth. He told them where to hide the car then welcomed them inside. Murphy needed only explain they were in trouble. Their host was better off not knowing the details.
A shaggy black dog plodded after them as they progressed through to the living room. The scent of coffee beans pervaded the house. One wall of the living room was concealed behind bookshelves. Many of the volumes were of an academic nature. An electric typewriter and a telephone-fax machine sat on a desk in the corner.
"Do not use the phone," Venci warned them. "The lines may be under surveillance. The army do that from time to time."
They were eating supper when they heard the chopper flying overhead. Venci told them he was going into the town to see what was happening. Murphy retired to the sofa with a can of beer and switched the TV on. Caine began typing up his story, chain-smoking as he did.
"Nothing on the news about this place at all," Murphy called out, petting the dog, which had crawled onto the sofa beside him. "Anybody'd think things were under control here."
Caine was inwardly pleased. The less the public knew about what was really going on, the more his story would shock them. He eyed the fax machine and began to think. All he had to do was feed his pages into it and his father would have the story - instantaneously. Surveillance or not, the army would be powerless to stop it running the next day. He could see the headlines already, with his byline beneath them. Murphy's photos would appear a couple of days later, provided they got out, of course.
Venci returned a couple of hours later with news the soldiers were in the town looking for them. It was lucky he had gone there himself and spoken with a few of the officers, or else they might have come to the house during their search.
He paused in front of the telephone-fax machine, then pressed a button which produced a print-out.
"You'll have to leave at once," he told them, drawing an expression of surprise from Murphy and one of resignation from Caine. "And I'm afraid your message did not get through."
Murphy rolled his eyes at Caine and fired off a string of expletives.
"It's very fortunate I visited the town," said Venci. "I'll break a window and, if they come, be able to say the house was entered in my absence. They have no reason to suspect I would help you."
Murphy was still cursing Caine as they left the house, though once they began the trek in earnest he clenched his jaw and focused on the path ahead.
"What's done is done," he said. "But I won't be workin' with you again, pal."
"Oh, come on, and how about those photos?! They're worth their weight in gold and you know it. I'm the one who brought you here - remember."
"Exactly! And now it seems it's up to me to get us out!"
Caine watched his companion march along in front of him. The square sandy head and broad shoulders. And he felt the first flash of real hatred toward him. He'd persuade his father not to use him again. But right now he needed him to lead the way out, and his story needed those photos.
The rain began about three hours into their journey. They were high among the hills and soon located a shallow cave which offered them just sufficient shelter. It was close to midnight and pitch dark. Murphy, naturally, had a bottle of Scotch among his supplies. With this he drank himself to sleep, cursing their predicament with increasing vehemence along the way. Caine smoked cigarettes and watched the rain.
He awoke some hours later, still in a sitting position with his back against the wall of the cave. His right shoulder-blade ached where a stone had dug into it. The rain had ceased and a new moon shone through the smoky haze of clouds. It was this which had roused him, together with a repetitive sound like a sink draining. Murphy lay snoring with his mouth open at the back of the cave, the half-empty whisky bottle beside him. Caine began to think. How hard could it be to find his way through the mountains? Murphy would not be fit to move for hours. His gaze fell upon the camera.
Before long he began to regret his decision. The shrubbery grew too dense and thorny to penetrate. He was forced to double back time and again. Finally he made a wide arc around it all, only to find himself on a steep path that became perilous when the clouds obscured the moon. A cold breeze carried the scent of damp earth and foliage. He feared the rain would return.
He had walked another two hours or so, a sufficient distance to be confident Murphy could not catch up with him, when a rock gave way beneath his foot. A sense of dread filled him as he tumbled directly through the bushes and found himself in mid-air. He groped in the darkness for something to break his fall, but whatever he managed to seize just came away in his hands. The cold embedded him like an icy clamp, and it was fully two seconds before he realised he was in water. Even as he plunged into its depths his initial relief gave way to profound horror. Everything on him was drenched - including the roll of film!
There was a searing pain in his right ankle as he battled his way toward the river bank, and, indeed, he discovered he was unable to put any weight on it. Caine understood then that he was in big trouble. And he suddenly felt very tired. Murphy was going to overtake him now anyway. He would rest where he lay til dawn.
A rough kick in the backside woke him. He stared up to see Murphy's unshaven face glowering down. It was fully light and there was warmth in the sun. Caine was nonetheless curled up and shivering wildly in his still wet clothes. The rush of the water nearby brought everything back to him.
"You're a thief and a fool!" Murphy yelled at him. "It was a good job I'd changed the film!"
"Lay off me. My ankle's broke. I can't even walk."
"Good! Because you're not coming with me." Murphy started to march away.
Caine's desperation was complete. "Ray, I'll die here!"
The photographer slowed up, then circled around with evident reluctance. "I'll send them back for you. Though God knows why I should! Meanwhile, I suggest you stay put and spread your things out to dry."
A miserable day and more wretched night Caine spent beside the river. Murphy had neglected to leave him any supplies and his own, aside from a plastic bottle of water, were ruined. His ankle ached and he had picked up a chill which did not leave him even when his clothes were dried. Of greater concern to him, however, were the photos. What if Murphy went straight to the media? Why would he wait? Would he even tell the army where he was? Caine began to fear he would not. His very survival was in question, yet he became increasingly fixated on the photos. Murphy was going to take them to the press directly and tell the story himself. That would be his revenge.
Even when the drone of a helicopter reached his ears the following afternoon, a day and a half after his accident, his inner-rage did not subside. His ankle burned with pain and his hunger was more terrible. He caught a glimpse of Murphy up front beside the pilot, though he did not get out as the paramedics lifted Caine onto a stretcher and loaded him into the back.
At the WY base he was treated and fed. He felt an overwhelming desire to sleep afterward, but first he must get an oral report through to his father. Something must go to print before Murphy had chance to publish his photos elsewhere. Caine must be the one to break the story. The phone he requested did not arrive, however. Instead a group of soldiers entered the ward. They had a dejected-looking Murphy with them and told him to take the seat beside the bed.
"Okay, gentlemen," said an overweight, grey-haired officer of obvious high rank, "We wonder why you are on the run. We received intelligence from across the mountains that you are wanted by our allies."
"There was a fight," Caine replied. "One of their men aimed his gun at me and Ray took him out."
"It's no use, Jack," Murphy warned him. "They found the film and are developing it this moment."
Caine stared back at him, registering this latest twist. "We saw them kill unarmed prisoners," he told the officer.
The older man raised his bushy eyebrows, though more in regret than surprise, thought Caine. The scent of his cologne overrode even the sharp reek of disinfectant which pervaded the room. His green jacket was heavy with copious medals and ribbons.
"We can't allow you to go to print with that," he said. "They are our allies, as well you know. We have been supporting them throughout this campaign."
Caine nodded. "I understand." But privately he thought, 'I'll write that story as soon as I'm out of here.'
The officer seemed to read his mind. "Before you leave this base, you are going to write a story describing the incident as a fierce battle in which our allies emerged heroic victors. It will be of equal sensation and more popularly received."
Murphy slammed his fist down on the bedside table, causing a jug of water to topple over. "Christ that's evil! Don't do it, Jack!"
Caine needed only a moment to make his decision, and this time no thoughts of betrayal entered his mind.
end
