Caribbee(104)

He stopped. The faded orange tiles of the roof were visible through the foliage below.

Now for the final act.

‘I believe their attention will be on our fleet and the landings and they are not troubling to look behind them,’ he told Curzon and Clinton. ‘They’ll be considering their position, whether to abandon now or wait until the situation is clearer. I do believe they’ll remain for a while longer – to destroy such a successful operation unnecessarily would be a sad mistake for them.’

Scouts returned with the welcome news that, but for watchers on the balcony, there seemed to be no sign of anything approaching a frenzied defence.

They had the luxury of time to prepare.

‘Your suggestions, gentlemen?’ Renzi invited.

Clinton began crisply, ‘A file of men to each side, out of sight. L’tenant Curzon with the remainder at the ready here. The two files meet and advance with me from the front. The instinct of the defenders is to break for the rear, where we will give them due welcome.’

‘Then I will be with you, Mr Clinton,’ Renzi said firmly.

‘Oh – no, sir. We’ve brought you here now and Mr Kydd was most insistent that—’

‘We cannot delay further, sir.’

‘Very well, Mr Renzi,’ Clinton said, with a lopsided grin. ‘Sar’nt Dodd – the right-hand side.’

Stealthily they threaded down past the villa to the road. Clinton watched for Dodd’s signal that his group was ready, then the two broke into a run, approaching each other and turning to take position. With shouts of dismay, the balcony cleared on an instant.

Renzi paused, letting first one then the other squad enter the garden, firing as they went. Three men burst out from the house but were dropped with musket fire before they had made a few yards. Dodd raced for the door and took position to one side. Musket butts smashed it inwards. Dodd and three others disappeared inside.

Unable to contain himself, Renzi hurried to join them. In the disorder he heard shouts and a single shot, followed by running feet. Then came a smell of burning. He knew where it had to be and motioned to a marine to deal with the door to the operations room. It flew open and inside he saw a man bent over a small fire trying to burn papers. He jerked up in despair. Renzi knocked him aside and stamped on the flames.

Everything was in a chaos of disarray, documents and empty drawers, with office paraphernalia scattered about the floor.

‘Secure the room!’ Renzi ordered loudly.

He picked up a singed paper. With rising exultation he saw it was an order on a vessel to assume a specified position to take the English trading ketch Sunrise. Another was a return on goods seized on a prize, signed by an illegible hand.

‘Sah!’ It was Dodd, fighting down a broad smile. ‘Mr Curzon’s compliments an’ could you attend on him, out the back, like.’

‘Very well. Nothing to be touched here, if you please.’

Curzon was in the garden. Two lines of marines and seamen grinned triumphantly at a huddle in the centre of nearly a dozen individuals, some in uniform.

‘Ah, Mr Renzi,’ he drawled. ‘I’d like to introduce the former owners of this villa who thought to run. None got away, o’ course, so you have the entire gang here for your inspection.’

Renzi gave a short bow. It was the end of a perfect day. From them he would learn just how the operation functioned: where the fleet was located, its system of communication, intelligence … So many things needed answers to draw a line under the whole incredible enterprise.

Kydd stopped and held up his hand. ‘Quiet!’ he hissed. They heard shots from the general direction of the ridge selected for the joining up.

‘Forward!’ he growled. ‘And watch your front.’

The path wound along the contour on the flank of the hill, but until they were fully around, whatever was happening was obscured.

A little further on, they came to a ravine and a small wooden bridge.

‘Stop!’ He heard popping on the other side of the hill where he guessed the ridge must begin. If that was so, Tyrell was in some kind of engagement – but this bridge would make a classic defensive position that could stop an army.

He debated whether to send men on to it to see if they drew fire, then took it upon himself. ‘Cover me,’ he muttered, and stood up to make his run.

The first shot knocked his cocked hat into the ravine, another plucked viciously at his sleeve. He dropped down again immediately.

‘We’ve got to get to Cap’n Tyrell,’ he said, more to himself than anyone in particular. ‘Give me that,’ he told a seaman, and took his musket, slinging it at his back, before securing the belt pouch of ammunition.