High Citadel

High Citadel
Desmond Bagley

Action thriller by the classic adventure writer set in the South American Andes.When Tim O’Hara’s plane is hijacked and forced to crash land in the middle of the Andes, his troubles are only beginning. A heavily armed group of communist soldiers intent on killing one of his passengers – an influential political figure – have orders to leave no survivors. Isolated in the biting cold of the Andes, O’Hara’s party must fight for their lives with only the most primitive weapons…

DESMOND BAGLEY

High Citadel

COPYRIGHT (#ulink_650f229e-9db2-5ece-9ec8-2d5af6df061b)

HARPER

an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)

First published in Great Britain by Collins 1965

Copyright © Brockhurst Publications 1965

Desmond Bagley asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this works.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008211141

Ebook Edition © January 2017 ISBN 9780008211424

Version: 2016-11-23

CONTENTS

Cover (#u6eecfbe4-920f-577a-8e68-9a12e2fc07c3)

Title Page (#ufdae0da1-f511-5a7b-a3a8-67508db57f78)

Copyright (#ud65e28bf-2479-5386-bbac-5583d5adfd20)

High Citadel (#u1bf8349a-633d-5cdd-898c-d724aa41a7b8)

Dedication (#ua273c053-caff-5d0c-a555-2821f61c3449)

One (#u18f46f01-511b-5a84-90df-e01ffac6eb73)

Two (#uad640f4f-d322-57e0-bac7-edda9ee330a4)

Three (#ud545e919-f531-58d3-b290-8e8aa816c85c)

Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

By the Same Author (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

HIGH CITADEL (#ulink_34890c77-75c1-5a8f-873a-30d449b9364c)

DEDICATION (#ulink_6b3e1699-df1b-5c63-8f26-bfa6914acd23)

To John Donaldson and Bob Knittel

ONE (#ulink_5dc33c54-a0dc-545d-be7c-cefbd7d48952)

The bell shrilled insistently.

O’Hara frowned in his sleep and burrowed deeper into the pillow. He dragged up the thin sheet which covered him, but that left his feet uncovered and there was a sleepy protest from his companion. Without opening his eyes he put his hand out to the bedside table, seized the alarm clock, and hurled it violently across the room. Then he snuggled into the pillow again.

The bell still rang.

At last he opened his eyes, coming to the realization that it was the telephone ringing. He propped himself up on one elbow and stared hatefully into the darkness. Ever since he had been in the hotel he had been asking Ramón to transfer the telephone to the bedside, and every time he had been assured that it would be done tomorrow. It had been nearly a year.

He got out of bed and padded across the room to the dressing-table without bothering to switch on the light. As he picked up the telephone he tweaked aside the window curtain and glanced outside. It was still dark and the moon was setting – he estimated it was about two hours to dawn.

He grunted into the mouthpiece: ‘O’Hara.’

‘Goddammit, what’s the matter with you?’ said Filson. ‘I’ve been trying to get you for a quarter of an hour.’

‘I was asleep,’ said O’Hara. ‘I usually sleep at night – I believe most people do, with the exception of Yankee flight managers.’

‘Very funny,’ said Filson tiredly. ‘Well, drag your ass down here – there’s a flight scheduled for dawn.’

‘What the hell – I just got back six hours ago. I’m tired.’

‘You think I’m not?’ said Filson. ‘This is important – a Samair 727 touched down in an emergency landing and the flight inspector grounded it. The passengers are mad as hornets, so the skipper and the hostess have sorted out priorities and we’ve got to take passengers to the coast. You know what a connection with Samair means to us; it could be that if we treat ’em nice they’ll use us as a regular feeder.’