Armstrong pointed. ‘Over there.’
O’Hara said to Forester, ‘See that Jenny has a good seat for the performance,’ and went to find Rohde.
As always, Rohde had picked a good spot. O’Hara wormed his way next to him and asked, ‘How much longer do you think they’ll be fixing that plank?’
‘About five minutes.’ Rohde lifted the pistol, obviously itching to take a shot.
‘Hold it,’ O’Hara said sharply. ‘When they come with the next plank give them five minutes and then take a crack. We’ve got a surprise cooking for them.’
Rohde raised his eyebrows but said nothing. O’Hara looked at the massive stone buttresses which carried the cables of the bridge. ‘It’s a pity those abutments aren’t made of timber – they’d have burnt nicely. What the hell did they want to build them so big for?’
‘The Incas always built well,’ said Rohde.
‘You mean this is Inca work?’ said O’Hara, astonished.
Rohde nodded. ‘It was here before the Spaniards came. The bridge needs constant renewal, but the buttresses will last for ever.’
‘Well, I’m damned,’ said O’Hara. ‘I wonder why the Incas wanted a bridge here – in the middle of nowhere.’
‘The Incas did many strange things.’ Rohde paused. ‘I seem to remember that the ore deposit of this mine was found by tracing the surface workings of the Incas. They would need the bridge if they worked metals up here.’
O’Hara watched the men on the other side of the gorge. He spotted the big man with the beard whom Forester thought was the leader, wearing a quasi-uniform and with a pistol at his waist. He walked about bellowing orders and when he shouted men certainly jumped to it. O’Hara smiled grimly as he saw that they did not bother to take cover at all. No one had been shot at while on the other side – only when on the bridge – and that policy was now going to pay off.
He said to Rohde, ‘You know what to do. I’m going to see to the rest of it.’ He slid back cautiously until it was safe to stand, then ran to where the rest were waiting, skirting the dangerous open ground at the approach to the bridge.
He said to Benedetta, ‘I’ll be posted there; you’d better get your stuff ready. Have you got matches?’
‘I have Señor Forester’s cigarette lighter.’
‘Good. You’d better keep it burning all the time, once the action starts. I’m just going along to see Jenny, then I’ll be back.’
Miss Ponsky was waiting with Forester a little farther along. She was bright-eyed and a little excited and O’Hara knew that she’d be all right if she didn’t have to kill anyone. Well, that was all right, too; she would prepare the way and he’d do the killing. He said, ‘Have you had a look?’
She nodded quickly. ‘The gas tank is that big cylinder fastened under the truck.’
‘That’s right; it’s a big target. But try to hit it squarely – a bolt might glance off unless you hit it in the middle.’
‘I’ll hit it,’ she said confidently.
He said, ‘They’ve just about finished putting a plank in. When they start to fasten the next one Rohde is going to give them five minutes and then pop off. That’s your signal.’
She smiled at him. ‘Don’t worry, Tim, I’ll do it.’
Forester said, ‘I’ll keep watch. When they bring up the plank Jenny can take over.’
‘Right,’ said O’Hara and went back to Benedetta. Armstrong was cocking the crossbow and Benedetta had arranged the fire-bolts in an arc, their points stuck in the earth. She lifted a can. ‘This is the last of the kerosene; we’ll need more for cooking.’
O’Hara smiled at this incongruous domestic note, and Willis said, ‘There’s plenty up at the camp; we found two forty-gallon drums.’
‘Did you, by God?’ said O’Hara. ‘That opens up possibilities.’ He climbed up among the rocks to the place he had chosen and tried to figure what could be done with a forty-gallon drum of paraffin. But then two men walked on to the bridge carrying a plank and he froze in concentration. One thing at a time, Tim, my boy, he thought.
He turned his head and said to Benedetta who was standing below, ‘Five minutes.’
He heard the click as she tested the cigarette lighter and turned his attention to the other side of the gorge. The minutes ticked by and he found the palms of his hands sweating. He wiped them on his shirt and cursed suddenly. A man had walked by the truck and was standing negligently in front of it – dead in front of the petrol tank.
‘For Christ’s sake, move on,’ muttered O’Hara. He knew that Miss Ponsky must have the man in her sights – but would she have the nerve to pull the trigger? He doubted it.
Hell’s teeth, I should have told Rohde what was going on, he thought. Rohde wouldn’t know about the crossbow and would fire his shot on time, regardless of the man covering the petrol tank. O’Hara ground his teeth as the man, a short, thick-set Indian type, produced a cigarette and carelessly struck a match on the side of the truck.
Rohde fired his shot and there was a yell from the bridge. The man by the truck stood frozen for a long moment and then started to run. O’Hara ignored him from then on – the man disappeared, that was all he knew – and his attention was riveted on the petrol tank. He heard a dull thunk even at that distance, and saw a dark shadow suddenly appear in the side of the tank, and saw the tank itself shiver abruptly.
Miss Ponsky had done it!
O’Hara wiped the sweat from his eyes and wished he had binoculars. Was that petrol dropping on to the road? Was that dark patch in the dust beneath the truck the spreading stain of leaking petrol, or was it just imagination? The trigger-happy bandits on the other side were letting go with all they had in their usual futile barrage, but he ignored the racket and strained his aching eyes.
The Indian came back and looked with an air of puzzlement at the truck. He sniffed the air suspiciously and then bent down to look underneath the vehicle. Then he let out a yell and waved violently.
By God, thought O’Hara exultantly, it is petrol!
He turned and snapped his fingers at Benedetta who immediately lit the fire-bolt waiting ready in the crossbow. O’Hara thumped the rock impatiently with his fist while she waited until it got well alight. But he knew this was the right way – if the rags were not burning well the flame would be extinguished in flight.
She thrust the bow at him suddenly and he twisted with it in his hands, the flame scorching his face. Another man had run up and was looking incredulously under the truck. O’Hara peered through the crude wire sight and through the flames of the burning bolt and willed himself to take his time. Gently he squeezed the trigger.
The butt lurched against his shoulder and he quickly twisted over to pass the bow back into Benedetta’s waiting hands, but he had time to see the flaming bolt arch well over the truck to bury itself in the earth on the other side of the road.
This new bow was shooting too high.
He grabbed the second bow and tried again, burning his fingers as he incautiously put his hand in the flame. He could feel his eyebrows shrivelling as he aimed and again the butt slammed his shoulder as he pulled the trigger. The shot went too far to the right and the bolt skidded on the road surface, sending up a shower of sparks.
The two men by the truck had looked up in alarm when the first bolt had gone over their heads. At the sight of the second bolt they both shouted and pointed across the gorge.
Let this one be it, prayed O’Hara, as he seized the bow from