Free Twelve Hours To Destiny by John Glasby Page B

sheer from the water.
    “We take the small boat. Then we shall have to climb.” She pointed. “I’ll lead the way. There is a route up the cliff which I’ve followed several times. The patrols will not be expecting anyone to climb at that point.”
    “All right. If you say so.” He felt a little dubious, but the die had now been cast and he had no alternative but to go through with this. Checking that the Luger was firmly fastened inside the holster, he made his way along the deck, helped the girl lower the small boat over other side. Twenty seconds later, they had cast off, the tide carrying the frail boat shoreward at an alarming rate. He heard the girl shout something over the crashing roar of the breakers, then they had slid miraculously between two gaping teeth of rock which trusts themselves out of the water on either side of them, either pinnacle capable of tearing the bottom out of the boat in a single instant. Moments later, they had entered an area of calm water and he let his breath sigh out in a long, heavy exhalation of relief—he had been quite unaware that he had stopped breathing—and hurriedly pulled hard on the oar, sending the boat towards the narrow inlet towards which the girl pointed.
    “Once we’re in there, I’ll go first” she called to him, her head close to his. “Then follow me up.”
    There was no time for any more. The boat was swinging almost broadside on against the rocky bastion of the cliff. From the corner of his eye, he saw Ts’ai Luan climb nimbly on to the edge of the boat, then jump for the stretch of smooth rock, scarcely three feet in width. Almost at once, she began to climb. Without waiting, he jumped, staggered a little, then caught his balance, felt for the surface of the narrow ledge immediately above him and pulled himself up onto it, beside the girl.
    Lifting his head, he stared above him, gauged the distance to the top, estimating it to be about a hundred feet, possibly a little more. In places, it appeared to be a sheer climb with neither handhold nor foothold in sight, yet the girl did not seem unduly disturbed by the prospect. She smiled up at him in the pale moonlight. “Once we reach the top, the going is much easier,” she said philosophically.
    “I certainly can’t imagine it being any worse,” he agreed.
    The first twenty feet were relatively easy. Out-thrusting boulders provided excellent handholds, but after that the going was much harder. He could understand how the girl had been so sure that the patrol would not be anticipating anyone to climb this way. How the girl was managing he did not know. As surely as a mountain goat, she found the almost invisible holds, waiting for him as he struggled up. There was a broader ledge some twenty feet from the top where they rested for a little while. From below, it had been completely invisible.
    Ts’ai Luan gestured towards a rock at their backs, then up to where the shadowy edge was lined in the blurred outline against the faint glimmer of the night sky. She leaned forward, mouth close to his ear, faint perfume of her dark hair in his nostrils. “There is another ledge, about five feet from the top, narrower than this. I will go up first. Keep close behind me.”
    He nodded to show that he had understood. Stretching up, she hooked her fingers around a narrow out-thrust of rock, climbing easily. Carradine waited until she had reached the ledge she had indicated, then began the final ascent. He felt like a fly on a window pane, hanging there suspended more than a hundred feet above the frothing water. Ts’ai Luan had made the ledge. Dimly, he made out the pale blur of her face looking down at him. She had grasped a thick root which grew out of the solid rock with her left hand. Now she bent her knees, held her right hand down to him.
    “Give me your hand,” she said urgently.
    Feeling a trifle foolish, thinking incongruously that the positions should have been reversed, yet knowing that she had