Cast No Shadow, Peter Sharp [books to get back into reading txt] 📗

before gunning the car for all it was worth around the next bend, the white wall tyres squealing their protest. The car coughed, but again picked up. He eased off the accelerator slightly to conserve fuel.

The other vehicle, another big American auto, was in his sights when Kelly’s engine died, and he freewheeled the vehicle to a standstill. He had determined to fight it out, but the reaction of the pursuers took him by surprise. He had expected a couple of Cuban heavies, but as the car stopped four occupants disembarked. It was the skill with which they did so that caught Kelly by surprise. They scattered in four directions, taking cover as soon as they had gone to ground. Kelly had seen the outline of sub-machine guns and two of the men had blond hair.

Russians!

He was hopelessly outnumbered and outgunned. He would gain nothing by dying gloriously now. While he still had his life and his wits, he at least had a chance. Kelly stood up and walked to the front of the car, his hands in the air. Two of the Russians, probably Spetsnaz soldiers but in plain clothes, approached, their machine guns raised.

“Your weapon!” One of them said in a thick accent. Kelly slowly reached behind his back and gingerly prised the weapon from his belt, then holding it by the muzzle, swung it slowly into view, before throwing it a few feet to his front.

The other two men emerged and, whilst three covered him, the fourth frisked him for other weapons. All of the actions were slick and polished, and no words were spoken. Finally, Kelly was bustled into the car, which turned in the road and travelled back to town.

Thirty minutes later the car pulled into the drive of an impressive looking castle. Kelly recognised it from the guidebook he had studied on the train journey, as the Castillo del Morro. The vehicle swept up the approach road and came to rest in the compound in front of the main building.

As Kelly emerged from the car, he was roughly grabbed by two of the Russians and frog-marched in through a side door and up a set of narrow steps, one guard in front, one at the rear with weapon ready.

They stopped outside a room at the top of the staircase and the leading soldier rapped on the door, calling out something in Russian. Content with the reply he opened the door and motioned for Kelly to enter. The two guards followed him in, ushering him to a chair in front of an old wooden desk, and then took their positions a few paces behind Kelly.

The room was exactly as would be expected in an old castle. It had a high ceiling and the walls were clad in wooden panelling. There were a few bookshelves against the wall, a small bureau, and a large mirror mounted behind the desk. On the desk was a blotter and, to the side of this, a telephone.

Facing Kelly across the desk was a young man of about twenty with short fair hair and a fair complexion. He wore plain clothes, but his bearing suggested military training. Kelly smiled and said hello. The Russian nodded but remained straight faced. He was clearly tense, probably being watched, thought Kelly. He surreptitiously glanced around the room as far as he could. Of course, the mirror…

“Your name please?” the young man asked.

“William Shepherd,” answered Kelly.

“Your nationality?”

“Why do you want to know?” asked Kelly calmly. The young soldier looked up sharply, surprise registered in his eyes.

“It is necessary,” he said, an air of menace in his voice. Kelly remained calm, almost detached.

“Who says that it is necessary? Under what authority are you holding me here and questioning me?” Kelly asked.

“By the authority of the Cuban authorities delegated to me,” he answered.

“Then your identity card and authorisation please?” demanded Kelly leaning across the desk, his hand outstretched to receive the documents he knew would not be forthcoming. There was shuffling of feet behind him and Kelly sat back slowly in his seat. The soldier opposite was clearly becoming agitated.

Before he could speak again, the phone rang. He picked it up and spoke briefly into it. What followed must have been a virtual monologue, as the young man’s contribution to the conversation appeared to be the occasional ‘Da!’ He slowly reddened as he listened; clearly the ‘observers’ had not been too impressed with his performance on this occasion.

The young man tried to retain his dignity as he replaced the receiver, but there was a look of dejection about him. Resignedly, he said, “You are to be interviewed by a senior officer in the next room. I strongly suggest you cooperate, Mr Shepherd.”

“Thank you for that advice,” said Kelly as he rose. “I’ll bear it in mind.”

Kelly was already making his way to the panelled door, just to the left of the mirror, when the two guards caught up with him, each grasping an arm. Kelly made no attempt to resist and allowed them to guide him in the direction he knew they would take.

At the door one of the sentries knocked and waited until a voice gave leave to enter, at which he opened the door and indicated to Kelly to go through but closed the door behind Kelly without entering himself. Kelly took a moment for his eyes to accustom to the dimness of the room. In contrast to the previous room, it was spacious. However, one wall was hung with sumptuous drapes, covering the windows.

There were portraits and landscapes hung in various places and a number of tables placed against the walls, bearing ceramics, pottery and sculptures. On the right-hand wall was the mirror window. From this side it appeared transparent and Kelly could clearly see the young officer with his head buried in some document. Facing Kelly was a large oak desk and across the desk a man sat in a swivel chair, his back to Kelly.

“Sit, please.” It was a request rather than