alistairmaclean.nightwithoutend-第19部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


　be　here　until　midnight　when　Corazzini　had　the　idea…and　a　brilliant　one　it　seemed　at　the　time…of　assembling　the　various　sections　in　the　parative　warmth　and　brightness　of　the　cabin；　sliding　the　plicated　piece　out　vertically　into　the　food　and　fuel　tunnel；　sawing　a　long　narrow　slit　through　the　snow　roof；　which　was　no　more　than　a　foot　thick　in　the　middle；　and　hauling　the　sections　up　from　below。
　
　After　this　we　made　rapid　progress。　By　five　o'clock　the　entire　body　shell　was　pleted　and　with　the　end　in　sight　less　than　a　couple　of　hours　away；　everyone　worked　more　furiously　than　ever。
　
　Most　of　them　were　unskilled；　ham…handed　and　pletely　unused　to　any　physical　work　at　all；　far　less　work　of　this　cruel；　exacting　nature；　but　my　opinion　of　them　was　rising　all　the　time。　Corazzini　and　Zagero　especially；　were　tireless；　and　Theodore　Mahler；　the　silent　little　Jew　whose　entire　conversational　range　so　far　had　been　limited　to　'Yes'；　〃No'；　〃Please'　and　'Thank　you'；　was　indefatigable；　pletely　selfless　and　unplaining；　driving　his　slight　body　to　lengths　of　which　I　would　never　have　believed　it　capable。　Even　the　Senator；　the　Rev。　Smallwood　and　Solly　Levin　did　what　they　could；　as　best　they　could；　trying　their　best　to　hide　their　misery　and　their　pain。　By　this　time　everyone；　even　Jackstraw　and　myself；　was　shaking　almost　uncontrollably　with　the　cold　so　that　our　hands　and　elbows　rat…tat…tatted　like　machine…guns　against　the　wooden　sides　of　the　tractor：　and　our　hands　themselves；　through　constant　contact　with　metal　were　in　a　shocking　state；　puffed　and　bleeding　and　blistered；　the　mittens　continuously　filled　with　lumps　and　slivers　of　ice　that　never　melted。
　
　We　had　just　installed　the　four　collapsible　bunks　and　were　fitting　the　stove…pipe　through　its　circular　hole　in　the　roof　when　someone　called　me。　I　jumped　down　and　all　but　knocked　over　Marie　LeGarde。
　
　〃You　shouldn't　be　out　here；〃　I　scolded。　〃It's　far　too　cold　for　you；　Miss　LeGarde。〃
　
　〃Don't　be　silly；　Peter。〃　I　could　never　bring　myself　to　call　her　'Marie'；　though　she　had　asked　me　to　several　times。　〃I　have　to　get　used　to　it；　don't　I？　Would　you　e　below　for　a　moment　or　two；　ptease？〃
　
　〃Why？　I'm　busy。〃
　
　〃But　not　indispensable；〃　she　retorted。　〃I　want　you　to　have　a　look　at　Margaret。〃
　
　〃Margaret…oh；　the　stewardess。　What　does　she　want？〃
　
　〃Nothing。　It's　I　who　want　it。　Why　are　you　so　hostile　towards　her？〃　she　asked　curiously。　〃It's　not　like　you…at　least；　I　don't　think　it　is。　She's　a　fine　girl。〃
　
　〃What　does　the　fine　girl　want？〃
　
　〃What　in　the　world's　got　into　you？　Why…oh；　forget　it。　I'm　not　going　to　fight　with　you。　Her　back　hurts…she's　in　considerable　pain。　e　and　see　it；　please。〃
　
　〃I　offered　to　see　it　last　night。　If　she　wants　me　now　why　doesn't　she　e　and　ask　me？〃
　
　〃Because　she's　scared　of　you；　that's　why；〃　she　said　angrily。　She　stamped　a　foot　in　the　frozen　snow。　〃Will　you　go　or　not？〃
　
　I　went。　Below；　I　stripped　off　my　gloves；　emptied　the　ice　out　of　them　and　washed　my　blistered；　bleeding　hands　in　disinfectant。　I　saw　Marie　LeGarde's　eyes　widen　at　the　sight　of　my　hands；　but　she　said　nothing：　maybe　she　knew　I　wasn't　in　the　mood　for　condolences。
　
　I　rigged　up　a　screen　in　the　corner　of　the　room　remote　from　the　table　where　the　women　had　been　gathering　and　dividing　out　the　remaining　food　supplies；　and　had　a　look　at　Margaret　Ross's　back。　It　was　a　mess；　all　right；　a　great　ugly　blue　and　purpling　bruise　from　the　spine　to　the　left　shoulder：　in　the　centre；　just　below　the　shoulder　blade；　was　a　deep　jagged　cut；　which　looked　as　if　it　had　been　caused　by　a　heavy　blow　from　some　triangular　piece　of　sharp　metal。　Whatever　had　caused　it　had　passed　clean　through　her　tunic　and　blouse。
　
　〃Why　didn't　you　show　me　this　yesterday？〃　I　asked　coldly。
　
　〃I　…1　didn't　want　to　bother　you；〃　she　faltered。
　
　Didn't　want　to　bother　me；　I　thought　grimly。　Didn't　want　to　give　yourself　away；　you　mean。　In　my　mind's　eye　I　had　a　picture　of　the　pantry　where　we　had　found　her；　and　I　was　almost　certain　now　that　I　could　get　the　proof　that　I　needed。　Almost；　but　not　quite。　I'd　have　to　go　to　check。
　
　〃Is　it　very　bad？〃　She　twisted　round；　and　I　could　see　there　were　tears　in　the　brown　eyes　from　the　pain　of　the　disinfectant　I　was　rubbing　on　none　too　gently。
　
　〃Bad　enough；〃　I　said　shortly。　〃How　did　you　get　this？〃
　
　〃I've　no　idea；〃　she　said　helplessly。　〃I　just　don't　know；　Dr　Mason。〃
　
　〃Perhaps　we　can　find　out。〃
　
　〃Find　out？　Why？　What　does　it　matter？〃　She　shook　her　head　wearily。　〃I　don't　understand；　I　really　don't。　What　have　I　done；　Dr　Mason？〃
　
　It　was　magnificent；　I　had　to　admit。　I　could　have　hit　her；　but　it　was　magnificent。
　
　〃Nothing；　Miss　Ross。　Just　nothing　at　all。〃　By　the　time　I　had　pulled　on　my　parka；　gloves；　goggles　and　mask　she　was　fully　dressed；　staring　at　me　as　I　climbed　up　the　steps　and　out　through　the　hatch。
　
　The　snow　was　falling　quite　heavily　now；　gusting　in　swirling　ghostly　flumes　through　the　pale　beam　of　my　torch：　it　seemed　to　vanish　as　it　hit　the　ground；　freezing　as　it　touched；　or　scudding　smoke…like　over　the　frozen　surface　with　a　thin　rustling　sound。　But　the　wind　was　at　my　back；　the　bamboo　markers　stretched　out　in　a　dead　straight　line　ahead；　never　less　than　two　of　them　in　the　beam　of　my　torch；　and　I　had　reached　the　crashed　plane　in　five　or　six　minutes。
　
　I　jumped　for　the　windscreen；　hooked　my　fingers　over　the　sill；　hauled　myself　up　with　some　difficulty　and　wriggled　my　way　into　the　control　cabin。　A　moment　later　I　was　in　the　stewardess's　pantry；　flashing　my　torch　around。
　
　On　the　after　bulkhead　was　a　big　refrigerator；　with　a　small　hinged　table　in　front　of　it；　and　at　the　far　end；　under　the　window；　a　hinged　box　covered　over　what　might　have　been　a　heating　unit　or　sink　or　both。　I　didn't　bother　investigating；　I　wasn't　interested。　What　I　was　interested　in　was　the　for'ard　bulkhead；　and　I　examined　it　carefully。　It　was　given　up　entirely　to　the　small　closed　doors　of　little　metal　lockers　let　in　flush　to　the　wall…food　containers；　probably…and　there　wasn't　a　single　metal　projection　in　the　entire　wall；　nothing　that　could　possibly　account　for　the　wound　in　the　stewardess's　back。　And　if　she　had　been　here　at　the　moment　of　impact；　that　was　the　wall　she　must　have　been　flung　against。　The　inference　was　inescapable…she　must　have　been　elsewhere　at　the　time　of　the　crash。　I　remembered　now；　with　chagrin；　that　I　hadn't　even　bothered　to　see　whether　or　not　she　was　conscious　when　we'd　first　found　her　lying　on　the　floor。
　
　Across　the　passage　in　the　radio　partment　I　found　what　I　was　looking　for　almost　immediately…I'd　a　pretty　good　idea　where　to　look。　The　thin　sheet　metal　at　the　top　left…hand　corner　of　the　radio　cabinet　was　bent　almost　half　an　inch　out　of　true：　and　it　didn't　require　any　microscope　to　locate　or　forensic　expert　to　guess　at　the　significance　of　the　small　dark　stain　and　the　fibres　of　navy　blue　cloth　clinging　to　the　corner　of　the　smashed　set。　I　looked　inside　the　set　itself；　and　now　that　I　had　time　to　spare　it　more　than　a　fleeting　glance　it　was　abundantly　clear　to　me　that　the　wrenching　away　of　the　face…plate　didn't　even　begin　to　account　for　the　damage　that　had　been　done　to　the　set：　it　had　been　systematically　and　thoroughly　wrecked。
　
　If　ever　there　was　a　time　when　my　thoughts　should　have　been　racing　it　was　then；　but　the　plain　truth　is　that　they　weren't。　It　was　abominably　cold　inside　the　chilled　metal　of　that　dead　plane；　and　my　mind　was　sluggish；　but　even　so　I　knew　that　this　time　I　couldn't　be　wrong　about　what　had　happened。　I　could　see　now　why　the　second　officer　had　sent　out　no　distress　messages。　I　could　see　now　why　he　had　almost　certainly　been　sending　out　his　regular　'on　route…on　time'　checks　to　base。　Poor　devil；　he　hadn't　had　much　option　…not　with　the　stewardess　sitting　there　with　a　gun　on　him。　It　must　have　been　a　gun。　It　was　no　consolation　at　all　that　the　crash　had　caught　her　unprepared。
　
　A　gun！　Gradually；　ever　so　gradually；　in　infuriating　slow…motion　process；　thoughts　were　beginning　to　click　into　place　in　my　numbed　mind。　Whoever　had　landed　that　plane；　landed　it　so　skilfully　into　the　blinding　maelstrom　of　last　night's　blizzard；　it　hadn't　been　a　dead　man。　I　straightened；　walked　forward　into　the　control　cabin　and　shone　my　torch　on　the　dead　capt