Steadman scrambled forward, carefully avoiding the freshly broken earth at the cliff’s edge, and was in time to see the Chieftain bounce off the limestone wall of the cliff and turn over, its gun pointing towards the sky. It bounced again, and again, then the tank seemed to disintegrate. Its tracks tore loose, and ran as streamers behind the main body; its gun caught against the rock-face as the tank turned over, and the turret was ripped from the hull. The fuel tank must have been punctured, for suddenly a bright flame flowered from the body and the blast of the explosion swept back up against the cliff face and hot air seared Steadman’s face. A large, more powerful explosion joined the first almost immediately, and he realized the Chieftain had been carrying live ammunition.
The Chieftain reached the bottom of the quarry in many separate pieces.
Steadman blinked his eyes, moistening them against the scorching heat of the blast, and he saw figures emerging from behind concrete shelters. They were too far away for him to see their expressions, their faces just white blobs, but their shock was apparent in their stance.
He pushed himself away from the edge and scrambled back through the rough gorse towards the sobbing girl.
7
‘But then it is the curse of the great to have to walk over corpses.’
Heinrich Himmler
‘Terrorism is absolutely indispensable in every case of the founding of new power.’
Adolf Hitler
Steadman drew back the covers of the bed and gazed down at Holly’s golden body. The tips of her breasts were pink and alive, protruding from their soft mounds, erect and excited. His eyes followed the curve of her waist and reached the rise of her hip, then travelled inwards along the triangle that dipped into her smooth thighs. Her stomach was flat and had a firmness that told of muscles developed just beneath the skin; her whole body had that firmness to it, soft to look at and to touch, but conditioned to a surprising toughness.
‘Please,’ she said, looking up at him, ‘just hold me.’
He was aware of his hardness as her eyes searched his body too, and he slid in beside her, pulling the sheets up to their shoulders, encircling an arm around her waist, drawing her to him. They stayed that way, their bodies pressed together, enjoying each other’s warmth, relaxing into one another.
The girl had surprised Steadman earlier that day. Army vehicles had arrived at the top of the quarry within seconds of the tank’s descent and questions had been fired at them mercilessly. Holly had recovered from her tear-shedding and remained calm at the barrage, whereas Steadman had soon lost his temper and flayed the curious officers with his tongue. They had been taken into the Aldershot HQ and the questioning had continued. Why had they wandered off the road towards the quarry? Hadn’t they seen the warning signs? Why should a Chieftain chase them? Hadn’t they just driven into the woods into the path of the tank? What had made the Chieftain plunge into the quarry? Had they spoken to the crew at any time?
All through the interrogation, the girl had answered quietly and firmly, showing no sign of the ordeal she had been through, apart from the physical aspect – her clothes were torn in places and scratches showed on her hands and face. Then she had turned the interview about, demanding to know why there was not stronger security on the site, and why they were being treated like offenders when it was they who would be suing the British Army.
The Lieutenant-Colonel in charge of the questioning was taken aback by the sudden onslaught and Steadman had smiled at his confusion. The arrival of Major Brannigan, who vouched for their identities, had brought the hasty inquisition to a close. Reserved apologies and assurances were given that the matter would be fully investigated – the ‘fully’ implying that they were most definitely still under suspicion.
Major Brannigan had organized a limousine to take them back into London and, after they had picked up Holly’s Pentax from the Long Valley guard post, Steadman suggested she return with him to his house for a nerve-steadying drink and to clean herself up after her ordeal. She readily agreed for, at the moment, she was living and working out of an address in North London and felt she could not face the trip across the busy town just yet.
She was quiet on the trip back to London, and the moment of closeness their mutual danger had brought about seemed to have been lost. But when he had settled her in an armchair in his lounge, and before she had even sipped the brandy he had offered her, the tears broke through and she had buried her head into his shoulder. He’d held her and tried to soothe her, knowing it was merely the relief of having survived the nightmare, the fear having gone.
After a while, her trembling had stopped and, again, he forced the brandy on her, urging her to drink. He saw the tension begin to drain away. He drank with her, for she was not alone in having been shaken by the experience. The worst moment for him had been when the tracks of the Chieftain had tried to drag him back by his jacket and crush him. He remembered her hands clutching his wrists, her closed eyes and the effort on her face as she had struggled to pull him towards her. The brandy warmed them both, their senses acute and vulnerable after the shock, and as they looked into each other’s eyes, the understanding – the intangible closeness – returned.
Steadman wasn’t surprised when she asked him to take her to bed and, somehow, both knew the prime purpose was not to make love, but to share physically this closeness they were both feeling. For Steadman it was a feeling he hadn’t experienced for a long, long time; not since Lilla. Strangely, the memory of her gave him no sense of guilt. He had felt it and rejected it when he had made love to other women – even Maggie – but now, when his emotions were beginning to run deep, the guilt hadn’t even appeared. Who was she, this Holly Miles? And why were they reacting so strangely towards each other?
He led her upstairs and watched her undress. She had showered and reappeared, her hair now darkly wet and clinging. Her legs were long and the curve of her calves graceful, her thighs swelling just enough to give them shape. Her shoulders were wide for a girl, but only noticeably so when they were compared to her slim hips. Her breasts were full, and firm with youth.
She had climbed into bed, water from her hair dampening the pillow and, resting on one elbow, had watched him undress. His body was still lean and well-muscled enough to be pleasing; he felt no self-consciousness under her gaze. He caught her look of concern when she saw the old scars scattered across his back, but she made no comment. He showered, then returned to the bedroom, finding a peacefulness in her he wanted to share.
Now he held her close and, for a fleeting second as her eyes opened, he thought he glimpsed something. Not fear, not confusion, but anguish. It was gone in a moment, yet he knew it wasn’t imagined.
‘Why did they try to kill us, Harry?’ she asked, drawing slightly away so she could see more of his face. ‘Why would the men in the tank want to do that?’
‘I don’t know, Holly,’ he lied. ‘You make enemies in this business. Maybe someone was trying to get at me. We don’t know that there was a complete crew in the tank.’
‘Hijack a tank just to kill you?’
Steadman shrugged. ‘Like I said: you make enemies.’
‘Unless whoever it was was trying to kill me.’
Steadman looked at her sharply. ‘Kill you? Why should anyone want to do that?’
‘I don’t know. I just felt the menace there. Didn’t you feel it? It was somehow – evil. As if the tank were a living thing.’
She had experienced it too. It had been uncanny.
Her body shivered and he drew her close again.
‘Put it out of your mind for now,’ he told her. ‘They’ll find the bodies – or body – in the tank and maybe their identities will tell us why they were trying to kill us.’
She pressed against him. ‘There’s more isn’t there? You’re not telling me everything.’
He suddenly felt the overwhelming desire to tell her all – about Maggie, Mossad, British Intelligence, this man Edward Gant. He wanted to confide. After all th
ese years of introversion, he now felt the need to talk to someone, maybe not to share in the problems he faced, but at least to know of them. But something held him back.
Was it years of discretion as a private detective, as a Mossad agent, as a member of Military Intelligence? Had years of never trusting anyone been ingrained into his character? He felt he knew the girl so well, yet common sense told him she was still a stranger. Maybe it was that which held him back.
‘Yes,’ he said to her, ‘there is more, but it’s better that you’re not involved.’
She was silent for a while, then said, ‘Who are you really, Harry? Why are you involved in weapons? Can’t you tell me that?’
‘I’ve told you who I am.’
‘You’ve told me what you are.’
He grinned at her. ‘What I am is who I am.’
She shook her head. ‘No that’s too easy. It doesn’t explain anything. Why do you deal in armaments, Harry?’
‘If it wasn’t me, it’d be somebody else,’ came the stock reply.
‘You’re still evading.’
His hand touched her cheek. ‘Give it time, Holly,’ he said quietly. ‘We’ve been thrown together by mutual danger. Tomorrow, our feelings could be different. So let’s be patient, eh?’
She nodded and silently reached behind his neck to touch his damp hair. ‘You feel it too, then?’ she asked.
He smiled back, then kissed her softly. ‘I feel it,’ he said.
‘Then let it happen.’
She kissed him fiercely and quietened nerves became alive again, this time responding to a far different sensation than fear. His hand swept down her back and found her buttocks. Pulling her tight against him, he grew erect once more against the softness of her stomach.
He heard her sigh as their bodies filled each other’s, their skin joining, its coolness turning to heat. His fingers fondled the sensitive base of her spine, and her long fingers reached down to touch him in the same place, then travelled further to the back of his legs. He could feel her stretching against him and suddenly her legs parted and his thigh filled the gap. He ran his hand down the smoothness of her skin and pulled her leg up slightly so that it rested over his own; then he caressed the back of her leg from the top to the sensitive area behind her knee.
Holly reached up again, laying her hand flatly against his back, exerting pressure so that his lips bore down hard against hers. The softness of her mouth aroused him further and her teeth bit down gently on his probing tongue. He felt her hand reach around to his chest and their bodies parted slightly to give it access. She touched him easily at first, then squeezed the firm skin of his chest hard, not to hurt, but to excite. Her fingers slid down towards his stomach and the muscles there quivered at her touch. He pushed himself towards her searching hand, demanding to be touched at his most sensitive area. Her fingers ignored his demands and passed that point, reaching below and encircling his testicles. She squeezed them and he groaned aloud at the warmth of the touch.
His own hand swept back upwards, never losing contact with her body, heightening her sensations as it journeyed towards her breasts. He covered a breast with his hand and moved his fingers gently to find her nipple, stroking it delicately, controlling the passion he felt.
They paused in their movements for a moment and kissed softly, both afraid to talk of love for it was too soon, but allowing their kiss to express feelings that ran deep, feelings that surprised them both. Only then did they allow their passions to rise uncontrolled.
He reached down, still keeping his fingers against her skin, tantalizing her with the direction his hand was taking. Over her stomach, staying there briefly to explore and awaken, then down into her hair, stroking and kneading, firm enough to reach deeper nerve cells, but soft enough to excite rather than fulfil. She could wait no longer and grabbed his wrist, forcing his hand lower, down between her thighs, into the aroused wetness there.
Her moan of pleasure mingled with his, for the sensation of probing her sweet dampness was almost as great as the exhilaration she felt at his touch. His fingers entered her, careful not to hurt, but she pushed against him and her wildness incited him further. His touch was hard now and her motion was rapid. Her whole body squirmed as she reached for his penis, reluctant to lose the excitement of his hand, but eager for something more fulfilling, more satisfying.
She turned on to her back and he rose above her, kissing her face and neck, her closed eyes. Her smile was inward, but she suddenly put an arm around his neck to pull his cheek against hers, to let him know she was sharing their pleasure, not retreating into her own. Her other hand was gently insistent, drawing him into her. He paused, then advanced slowly so there would be no pain, no sharpness; he sank further, pausing again when she gasped. But pain meant little to her now and she urged him on, pushing upwards with her hips to help him complete his journey.
His weight bore down on her and their mutual desire became exquisitely intolerable. It was no time to linger, no time to tease; that could come later when they were used to each other. Now they needed to climb and reach their peak, to find release from screaming sensations. He thrust into her and she met and countered his movements with equal force, her fingers crooked and pressing into his skin, her knees raised slightly, her thighs squeezing against him.
She surprised him by reaching down between their bodies, her hand desperately feeling underneath him, finding the area between his legs and pulling upwards as though to force him further into her. His passion grew even more and he felt the nerve-tingling tension begin its ascent, all the senses in his body drawn to that one region as though through a vortex. The same was happening to Holly. Her mouth was open, lips drawn back from her teeth. Her eyes were tightly shut and short gasps escaped her as she twisted her head against the pillow. Her muscles stiffened and juices inside her began to flow as though being squeezed through tiny apertures, faster, faster, until they burst through and flowed freely.
And Steadman’s juices flowed to mingle with Holly’s at the same time.
Even as the sensations subsided they still murmured their delight, Steadman resting against her, unwilling to relinquish the physical closeness. Holly kissed his neck, slowly stroking his back with gentle fingertips, happy at what had passed, but confused at the strength of her feelings for him. She was giving too much too soon.
She was unaware that the same confusion was running through Steadman. When he finally withdrew and lay by her side, they regarded each other with curious eyes.
‘What’s happening to us?’ she asked, and she seemed nervous.
He put a finger to her lips. ‘It’s too uncertain to say.’
Holly seemed about to speak again, then changed her mind. She pulled her head away, but not before Steadman had seen the troubled look on her face. He turned her head back towards him and kissed her lips. ‘Don’t worry about it, eh?’
Her eyes were misted and damp as she pulled his head down and kissed his lips.
‘I don’t want to be involved with you,’ she said.
‘What are you afraid of, Holly? Are you really that scared of giving yourself to someone?’
‘You don’t understand . . .’
Her words were cut off by the insistent ringing of the telephone downstairs. She suddenly felt Steadman’s whole body go rigid and a distant look came into his eyes.
‘Harry, what’s wrong?’
There was no recognition when he looked at her; his mind had travelled back to another time, in another country. The phone had rung there too, in their apartment in Brussels, when he and Lilla had just finished making love. It was to be the last time for them.
Lilla had urged him to ignore the ringing, had clung to him, demanding more, more love. Laughing, he’d smothered her face with a pillow, telling her the call might be important, perhaps a new mission. He was becoming too used to the inactivity, getting to like it. All the more reason to let it ring, she had called after him as he leaped away from her and went through to the lounge
.
The pillow had sailed through the air after him and struck the side of the open door, her pretended anger making him smile as he headed towards the phone. As he picked up the receiver he saw she had followed him and was standing in the doorway, a mischievous grin on her face, one hand cupping her breast, the other reaching between her legs, as if to say if he wouldn’t stay to please her, she would amuse herself.
He turned his eyes away from the provocative sight and said hello into the mouthpiece.
A voice, in French, asked if it was Monsieur Clement speaking, and he had answered yes – Clement was the name he used at that time.
He knew immediately what the high-pitched whine from the earpiece meant, for the Israelis had used the same device against the Chief PLO representative in France, Dr Mahmoud Hamshari. The sound was an electronic signal transmitted through the telephone, to trigger off a bomb hidden somewhere in the apartment, probably near the phone itself.
As he dived towards Lilla he knew he was already too late.
The sudden searing flash which lit up the horror on her face told him there was no escape.
Not for Lilla. But he had survived.
They told him later it must have been the angle of his body as he had dived for Lilla. Shrapnel had embedded itself in his feet and legs, but the rest of his body had been spared from the worst of the blast. A miracle they had called it, but for him there was no mercy in his salvation. He had no desire to live if Lilla was to die.
It had taken her three days to do so, this young, once vivacious, Israeli, her face torn away and her body lacerated and burnt. Three hideously pain-filled days. Never fully conscious, but her shredded lips constantly moving in her agony.