A Woman Involved. John Davis Gordon

a few hours this Mickey Mouse war is going to be over. And the Yanks are going to airlift us out of here. What are you going to do? You’ll have no choice but to go with them –’

      ‘And then the CIA start questioning me!’ She shook her head fiercely: ‘No way! I’ve committed no crime! I’m refusing to go with them to America!’

      ‘Anna, you’re going to have no choice! You’re under martial law. But at least you’ll be safe from the Russians.’ He sighed angrily. ‘So, we’ll get you a lawyer. He’ll protect your legal rights. As you say, you’ve committed no crime, they’ll have to leave you alone.’

      ‘A lawyer?’ She shook her head incredulously. ‘I’ll have to get half a dozen lawyers before Max’s estate is wound up and legally mine, because he didn’t sign the will! But I’m not –’ she shook her head – ‘going to tell a lawyer what Max told me. Because if the Russians can screw the story out of me they can get it out of a lawyer too – easier! And so could the CIA! And how long does this lawyer business take – a couple of days? And you don’t think that in that time the CIA will have got the story out of me? And even after the lawyer gets me free, you think they’ll quit? Will they, hell!’ She snorted angrily: ‘Don’t think I haven’t thought it all through, Jack!’ Suddenly her exhausted eyes filled with tears. ‘I’m not going to let those people get their hands on me!’

      His nerves were going. And oh God, God, what she said was probably true but he was still too much of a Royal Navy man at heart to believe that of the British, even though he believed almost anything now. He got to his feet, and he took her in his arms.

      ‘Anna, you’re coming with me to England. A British lawyer will be able to protect you.’

      She flung her head back and looked up at him. ‘That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? …’

      He sighed. ‘I’m here because of my local knowledge.’

      She stared at him. ‘You’re not going to make me go to England, Jack … I know a hell of a lot more about this than you do, and I don’t trust your pukka British either! …’ She shook her head fiercely. ‘You’re naive to think they’re any different! … And you’re not going to make me go there! … ’

      He closed his eyes, and his heart welled.

      ‘I’m not going to make you go anywhere …’

      She was rigid in his arms. Desperate to believe him.

      ‘Do you swear that you haven’t been sent to get me?’

      And oh God, God, she had all the legal rights in the world on her side. He held her tight and said: ‘I swear it.’

      ‘To God? …’

      He felt his nerves almost crack.

      ‘To God …’

13

      In the small hours the Marines lifted off in helicopters from Pearls airport and went clattering over the island to Saint George’s; at the same time another company of Marines was coming ashore from the aircraft carrier in thirteen amtracks, with five tanks, to raise the siege of Government House. And the furious sounds of battle filled the darkness. At seven o’clock the Marines came bursting into the grounds and there was cheering and clapping and laughing. Then came the thudding of a helicopter above the house, dust and leaves blasting away.

      The big machine came clattering down onto the lawn. The hostages were already assembled outside. The SEAL commander shouted in Morgan’s ear: ‘You and the lady first, right in the back!’

      Morgan grabbed Anna’s elbow and they ran for the helicopter, They scrambled into the big fuselage. Then the other people came running, doubled up in the roaring blast. Anna sat, clutching the handgrip. The helicopter filled up, people scrambling over each other.

      The helicopter roared, and rocked, then rose up into the air. Up, up. The sounds of battle were drowned but now the devastation came into view below, smoke and dust and rubble and bodies. Over to the south the battle to rescue the American students in the Grand Anse campus was still going on. The helicopter swung away and went chopping across the harbour, out towards the sea.

      The Guam lay huge and grey, her decks stacked with aircraft. The helicopter came chopping down, down, the steel decks loomed up; then she touched down and applause broke out from the passengers. The doors opened and out they scrambled, and sailors hustled them across the deck. Morgan began to crouch towards the door, but the pilot twisted in his seat and beckoned to him. He handed him a headset and said over the intercom: ‘You’re the guy from Delta Force guarding Mrs Hapsburg?’

      ‘Right.’

      ‘Then hold tight.’

      The helicopter roared, then it rose up rockily off the deck again. It wheeled and went chopping away. Morgan looked back at Anna. She tried to shout something to him, but he could only see her lips moving. He rasped to the pilot: ‘Where the hell are we going?’

      ‘To Trinidad. Don’t ask me why, buddy, I just do as I’m told in this game.’

      ‘On whose orders?’

      ‘The Admiral himself.’

      Anna came scrambling angrily across the fuselage. She grabbed Morgan’s shoulders and shouted: ‘Where’re we going?’

      ‘What’s her problem?’ the pilot said.

      ‘She wants to know why the hell we’re going to Trinidad.’

      ‘Tell her I ain’t much good at arguing with admirals. Commanders, sure, lieutenant-commanders, a piece of cake, but admirals? – forget it.’

      Anna shouted something furiously. Morgan took off the headset and grabbed her hand. He crouched down to the rear of the aircraft with her. He cupped his hands to her ear and shouted: ‘Calm down! We’re going to Trinidad. I don’t know why but we have no goddam option! You’re subject to American martial law! When we get to Trinidad, leave it to me – don’t make a fuss until I’ve found out what’s happening! Right now I’m responsible for your safety. If you make ă fuss they’ll put somebody else onto looking after you!’

      He glared at her, then squeezed her hand hard and he scrambled back to the pilot. He rammed on the headset, and tried to think.

      Trinidad … Were they going to try to debrief her there? … Who? Brink-Ford himself? …

      He looked back at Anna. She had her eyes closed, trying hard to control her fury and her nerves.

      He put his hand in his pouch, and felt the gun. The gun with which she had killed the Russian, the gun he was supposed to drop in the sea.

      The helicopter came chopping over the airport, towards the far corner. Down there a car was waiting. When the helicopter settled on the ground, two men got out of the car.

      Morgan scrambled out of the helicopter and held out his hand for Anna. She came clambering out, hair flying. They hurried under the downblast towards the car. A third man was getting out, his hand clutching his hat. One man held open the back door for them. Before they reached it, the helicopter was taking off again. Morgan stopped at the car door. ‘Who are you?’ he shouted.

      The man indicated the open door and pointed at the helicopter. Then the noise abated as it rose away. ‘Who are you?’ Morgan repeated.

      ‘Thompson, Security, British Consulate, and that’s Edwards. Get in please, sir.’

      ‘Identification, please. For all I know you’re KGB.’

      The man pulled out a wallet and flipped it open. ‘This’ – he indicated the man with the hat – ‘is Mr Gillespie, the British consul.’

      ‘How