Free The Angry Mountain by Hammond Innes Page A

to go and see Sismondi.”
    â€œNo,” I said quickly. “I don’t want anything to do with it. It’s none of my business and—”
    â€œI know it’s none of your business. But Tu č ek was a friend of yours, wasn’t he? You were in the Battle of Britain together.”
    I thought again of that shattered windshield with the black oil smoke pouring through it, the flames fanning out from the engine cowling and a voice in the headphones saying:
Okay
,
I get him for you, Dick
. Jan had probably saved my life that day. “Yes,” I said.
    â€œVery well then. You can’t just abandon the poor devil because you’re afraid of getting involved in something unpleasant. All I want you to do is go and see Sismondi. Find out what he knows. Evidentally he thinks you’ve got something he wants. Play on that.”
    I remembered the silky tone in which Sismondi had offered me that bribe. Hell! It wasn’t my pigeon. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t want to get mixed up—”
    â€œDamn it, Farrell, don’t you realise Tu č ek’s life may be in danger. Listen! This is the second time in two months that somebody important has come through from the other side and then disappeared here in Italy. There have been others, too. Our people have been offered information that could only have been brought through by people who have completely disappeared. They’ve had to pay through the nose for it. Now do you understand? The man’s life is at stake.”
    â€œThat’s your affair,” I answered. “You and Maxwell were organising the thing. It’s up to you to see that he’s safe.”
    â€œAll right,” he answered in a tone of sudden anger. “I’ve slipped up. I admit it. Now I’ve come to you. I’m asking you to help me.” He was forcing his voice under control, suppressing his anger, trying desperately to assume humility
    â€œI’ve given you all the help I can,” I answered. “I’ve told you everything that’s happened. I’ve given you a complete account of my telephone conversation with Sismondi. It’s up to you now. Go and see him. Batter the truth out of him.”
    But he shook his head. “I’ve thought of that. It wouldn’t work. Sismondi won’t be the man we’re looking for. He probably knows very little. But if you were to suggest that you had the papers they’re after—”
    â€œNo,” I said. “I’m through with that sort of game. You should know that better than any one,” I added in a tone of sudden bitterness.
    â€œThen you won’t help?”
    â€œNo.” I felt obstinate. Maxwell could probably have persuaded me. But not Reece. There was a personal barrier. I finished my drink and got to my feet.
    Reece got up also and came round the table. He didn’t make any further attempt to play on my friendship with Tu č ek. He didn’t even try to tell me it was my duty as an Englishman to help him. He just said, “All right. I was afraid you might feel like that so I brought someone with me. I think you’ll find it more difficult to say No to her.”
    For an awful moment I thought he’d got Alice with him. But he must have realised what was in my mind, for he said quickly, “It’s someone you’ve never met before. Let’s go through into the lounge.” He had hold of my arm then and I had no option but to go with him.
    She was sitting in the far corner—a small, red-haired girl with her head bent over a newspaper. As we approached she looked up, and I knew her at once. She was Jan Tu č ek’s daughter. Reece introduced us. “I have heard of you from my father,” she said. The grip of her hand was firm. The set of the chin was as determined as her father’s, and her eyes, set rather wide on either side of the small upturned nose, looked straight at