Free Partisans by Alistair MacLean Page B

as he glanced at George who immediately opened the clip. Petersen jerked open the door the requisite few inches, dropped the grenade inside and banged shut the door as George closed the clip again. They could have rehearsed it a hundred times.
    â€˜Jesus!’ Carlos’ face was white. ‘In that confined space –’ He stopped, his face puzzled now, and said: ‘The explosion. The bang.’
    â€˜Gas-grenades don’t go bang. They go hiss. Reactions, George?’ George had taken his hand away from the clip.
    â€˜Five seconds and then whoever it was gave up. Quick-acting stuff, is it not?’
    Carlos was still almost distraught. ‘What’s the difference? Explosives or poison gas –’
    Petersen spoke with patience. ‘It was not poison gas. George.’ He spoke a few words in the ear of his giant Lieutenant, who smiled and moved quickly aft. Petersen turned to Carlos. ‘Is it your intention to let your friend Cola die?’
    â€˜He’s not my friend and he’s in no danger of dying.’ He turned to the elder Pietro who had just arrived on the scene. ‘Get my medicine box and bring along two of your boys.’ To Petersen he said: ‘I’ll give a sedative, a knockout one. Then a coagulant. A few minutes later and I’ll bandage him up. There’ll be a broken bone or bones. It may be that his shoulder is shattered beyond repair, but whatever it is there’s nothing I can do about it in this seaway.’ He glanced aft, passed his hand over his forehead and looked as if he would like to moan. ‘More trouble.’
    Michael von Karajan was approaching them, closely followed by George. Michael was trying to look indignant and truculent but succeeded only in looking miserable and frightened. George was beaming.
    â€˜By heavens, Major, there’s nothing wrong with this new generation of ours. You have to admire their selfless spirit. Here we are with the good ship Colombo trying to turn somersaults but does that stop our Michael in the polishing of his skills? Not a bit of it. There he was, crouched over his transceiver in this appalling weather, headphones clamped over his ears –’
    Petersen held up his hand. When he spoke his face was as cold as his voice. ‘Is this true, von Karajan?’
    â€˜No. What I mean is –’
    â€˜You’re a liar. If George says it’s true, it’s true. What message were you sending?’
    â€˜I wasn’t sending any message. I –’
    â€˜George?’
    â€˜He wasn’t transmitting any message when I arrived.’
    â€˜He would hardly have had time to,’ Giacomo said. ‘Not between the time I left our cabin and when George got there.’ He eyed the now visibly shaking Michael with open distaste. ‘He’s not only a coward, he’s a fool. How was he to know that I wasn’t going to return at any moment? Why didn’t he lock his door to make sure that he wasn’t disturbed?’
    Petersen said: ‘What message were you going to transmit?’
    â€˜I wasn’t going to transmit any –’
    â€˜That makes you doubly a liar. Who were you transmitting to or about to transmit to?’
    â€˜I wasn’t going to –’
    â€˜Oh, do be quiet. That makes you three times a liar. George, confiscate his equipment. For good measure confiscate his sister’s as well.’
    â€˜You can’t do that.’ Michael was aghast. ‘Take away our radios? They’re our equipment.’
    â€˜Good God in heaven!’ Petersen stared at him in disbelief. Whether the disbelief were real or affected didn’t matter. The effect was the same. ‘I’m your commanding officer, you young fool. I can not only lock up your equipment, I can lock you up too, on charges of mutiny. In irons, if need be.’ Petersen shook his head. ‘ “Can’t”, he says, “can’t”. Another