Free Partisans by Alistair MacLean

childish pleasure from such childishly simply exercises.
    â€˜Maybe he’s never had the chance to learn,’ Petersen said. He relieved Franco of his armoury and had just picked up Cola’s pistol and grenade when George appeared in the cabin doorway. He, too, carried a weapon but had had no expectation of using it: he held his semi-automatic loosely by the stock, its muzzle pointing towards the deck. He shook his head just once, resignedly, but said nothing.
    Petersen said: ‘Mind our backs, George.’
    â€˜You are going to return those unfortunates to the bosom of their family?’ Petersen nodded. ‘A Christian act. They’re not fit to be out alone.’
    Petersen and Alex moved back up the passageway preceded by Franco and Cola, the former supporting his stricken comrade. They had taken only four steps when a door on the port side, just aft of where George was standing, opened and Giacomo stepped out into the passage-way, brandishing a Biretta.
    â€˜Put that thing away,’ George said. His machine-pistol was still pointing at the deck. ‘Don’t you think there has been enough noise already?’
    â€˜That’s why I’m here.’ Giacomo had already lowered his gun. ‘The noise, I mean.’
    â€˜Took your time, didn’t you?’
    â€˜I had to get dressed first,’ Giacomo said with some dignity. He was clad only in a pair of khaki trousers, displaying a tanned chest rather impressively criss-crossed with scars. ‘But I notice you are fully dressed, so I take it you were expecting whatever did happen.’ He looked in the direction of the quartet making their slow way along the passage-way. ‘What exactly did happen?’
    â€˜Alex has just shot Cola.’
    â€˜Good for Alex.’ If Giacomo was moved by the news he hid it well. ‘Hardly worth wakening a man for.’
    â€˜Cola might view matters differently.’ George coughed delicately. ‘You are not, then, one of them?’
    â€˜You must be mad.’
    â€˜Not really. I don’t know any of you, do I? But you don’t look like them.’
    â€˜You’re very kind, George. And now?’
    â€˜We won’t find out just by standing here.’
    They caught up with the others in just a matter of seconds which was easily enough done as the now moaning Cola could barely drag his feet along. A moment afterwards a door at the for’ard end of the passage-way opened and an armed figure came – or lurched – into view. It was Sepp and he wasn’t looking at all like the ruthless killer of a few hours ago. It required no imagination to see the slightly greenish pallor on his face, for slightly green he indisputably was: time and the seaway had wrought its effect. It was not difficult to understand why Alessandro had selected Franco and Cola for the mission.
    â€˜Sepp.’ Petersen’s tone was almost kindly. ‘We have no wish to kill you. Before you can reach us, you would have to kill your two friends, Franco and Cola. That would be bad enough, wouldn’t it, Sepp?’ From Sepp’s pallor and general demeanour of uncertainty it seemed, that for him, things were quite bad enough as they were. ‘Even worse, Sepp, before you could get around to killing the second of your friends, you yourself would be dead. Drop that gun, Sepp.’
    Whatever other parts of Sepp’s physiology were in a state of temporary dysfunction there was nothing wrong with his hearing. His elderly Lee Enfield .303 clattered to the deck.
    â€˜Who fired that shot?’ Carlos, his habitual smile in momentary abeyance, had come limping up behind them, a pistol in hand. ‘What goes on?’
    â€˜It would help if you could tell us.’ Petersen looked at the gun in Carlos’ hand. ‘You don’t require that.’
    â€˜I require it as long as I am the master of this vessel. I asked’ – he broke off with an exclamation of