CHAPTER1

helayflatonthebrown,pine-needledflooroftheforest,hischinonhisfoldedarms,andhighoverheadthewindblewinthetopsofthepinetrees.themountainsideslopedgentlywherehelay;butbelowitwassteepandhecouldseethedarkoftheoiledroadwindingthroughthepass.therewasastreamalongsidetheroadandfardownthepasshesawamillbesidethestreamandthefallingwaterofthedam,whiteinthesummersunlight.

“isthatthemill?”heasked.

“yes.”“idonotrememberit.”

“itwasbuiltsinceyouwerehere.theoldmillisfartherdown;muchbelowthepass.”

hespreadthephotostatedmilitarymapoutontheforestfloorandlookedatitcarefully.theoldmanlookedoverhisshoulder.hewasashortandsolidoldmaninablackpeasant’ssmockandgrayiron-stifftrousersandheworerope-soledshoes.hewasbreathingheavilyfromtheclimbandhishandrestedononeofthetwoheavypackstheyhadbeencarrying.

“thenyoucannotseethebridgefromhere.”

“no,”theoldmansaid.“thisistheeasycountryofthepasswherethestreamflowsgently.below,wheretheroadturnsoutofsightinthetrees,itdropssuddenlyandthereisasteepgorge—”

“iremember.”

“acrossthisgorgeisthebridge.”

“andwherearetheirposts?”

“thereisapostatthemillthatyouseethere.”

theyoungman,whowasstudyingthecountry,tookhisglassesfromthepocketofhisfaded,khakiflannelshirt,wipedthelenseswithahandkerchief,screwedtheeyepiecesarounduntiltheboardsofthemillshowedsuddenlyclearlyandhesawthewoodenbenchbesidethedoor;thehugepileofsawdustthatrosebehindtheopenshedwherethecircularsawwas,andastretchoftheflumethatbroughtthelogsdownfromthemountainsideontheotherbankofthestream.thestreamshowedclearandsmooth-lookingintheglassesand,belowthecurlofthefallingwater,thesprayfromthedamwasblowinginthewind.

“thereisnosentry.”

“thereissmokecomingfromthemillhouse,”theoldmansaid.“therearealsoclotheshangingonaline.”

“iseethembutidonotseeanysentry.”

“perhapsheisintheshade,”theoldmanexplained.“itishottherenow.hewouldbeintheshadowattheendwedonotsee.”

“probably.whereisthenextpost?”

“belowthebridge.itisattheroadmender’shutatkilometerfivefromthetopofthepass.”

“howmanymenarehere?”hepointedatthemill.

“perhapsfourandacorporal.”

“andbelow?”

“more.iwillfindout.”

“andatthebridge?”

“alwaystwo.oneateachend.”

“wewillneedacertainnumberofmen,”hesaid.“howmanymencanyouget?”

“icanbringasmanymenasyouwish,”theoldmansaid.“therearemanymennowhereinthehills.”

“howmany?”

“therearemorethanahundred.buttheyareinsmallbands.howmanymenwillyouneed?”

“iwillletyouknowwhenwehavestudiedthebridge.”

“doyouwishtostudyitnow?”

“no.nowiwishtogotowherewewillhidethisexplosiveuntilitistime.iwouldliketohaveithiddeninutmostsecurityatadistancenogreaterthanhalfanhourfromthebridge,ifthatispossible.”

“thatissimple,”theoldmansaid.“fromwherewearegoing,itwillallbedownhilltothebridge.butnowwemustclimbalittleinseriousnesstogetthere.areyouhungry?”

“yes,”theyoungmansaid.“butwewilleatlater.howareyoucalled?ihaveforgotten.”itwasabadsigntohimthathehadforgotten.

“anselmo,”theoldmansaid.“iamcalledanselmoandicomefrombarcodeavila.letmehelpyouwiththatpack.”

theyoungman,whowastallandthin,withsun-streakedfairhair,andawind-andsun-burnedface,whoworethesun-fadedflannelshirt,apairofpeasant’strousersandrope-soledshoes,leanedover,puthisarmthroughoneoftheleatherpackstrapsandswungtheheavypackupontohisshoulders.heworkedhisarmthroughtheotherstrapandsettledtheweightofthepackagainsthisback.hisshirtwasstillwetfromwherethepackhadrested.

“ihaveitupnow,”hesaid.“howdowego?”

“weclimb,”anselmosaid.

bendingundertheweightofthepacks,sweating,theyclimbedsteadilyinthepineforestthatcoveredthemountainside.therewasnotrailthattheyoungmancouldsee,buttheywereworkingupandaroundthefaceofthemountainandnowtheycrossedasmallstreamandtheoldmanwentsteadilyonaheaduptheedgeoftherockystreambed.theclimbingnowwassteeperandmoredifficult,untilfinallythestreamseemedtodropdownovertheedgeofasmoothgraniteledgethatroseabovethemandtheoldmanwaitedatthefootoftheledgefortheyoungmantocomeuptohim.

“howareyoumakingit?”

“allright,”theyoungmansaid.hewassweatingheavilyandhisthighmusclesweretwitchyfromthesteepnessoftheclimb.

“waitherenowforme.igoaheadtowarnthem.youdonotwanttobeshotatcarryingthatstuff.”

“noteveninajoke,”theyoungmansaid.“isitfar?”

“itisveryclose.howdotheycallthee?”

“roberto,”theyoungmananswered.hehadslippedthepackoffandlowereditgentlydownbetweentwobouldersbythestreambed.

“waithere,then,roberto,andiwillreturnforyou.”

“good,”theyoungmansaid.“butdoyouplantogodownthiswaytothebridge?”

“no.whenwegotothebridgeitwillbebyanotherway.shorterandeasier.”

“idonotwantthismaterialtobestoredtoofarfromthebridge.”

“youwillsee.ifyouarenotsatisfied,wewilltakeanotherplace.”

“wewillsee,”theyoungmansaid.