The Leader And The Damned (67 page)

'I'd like to thank the pilot,' said Lindsay. 'Wouldn't advise that, Wing Commander, if I may say so. He's a bit of a character, is Squadron-Leader Murray-Smith. Never can tell how he's going to react. In any case, a fresh pilot is taking you on to your final destination.'

'Which is?'

'Haven't a clue. Sorry, sir...'

They strolled about in the glowing heat with an odd sense of disorientation. Lindsay decided it was caused by the feeling of vast space after the claustrophobic atmosphere of Bosnia. He also decided it was time to extract information from Reader. Paco and Hartmann followed him.

'I believe I out-rank you, Major Reader,' Lindsay began. 'I wouldn't normally give a tinker's cuss on that score but now I need to know. What is our , destination? Cairo? Tunis?'

'Lydda, Palestine...'

'That's crazy...' Lindsay's tone expressed sheer disbelief.

'Could we have a little chat on our own? Maybe stroll over to the airfield building in case you'd like to take the weight off your feet ….'

Lindsay made his apologies to Paco and Hartmann and headed away from the building. He was soaking up the heat like a sponge after the chilling cold of Yugoslavia. When they were out of hearing he

stopped and faced Reader,

'How much do you know? I want all of it. Something smells rotten. We're flying in the wrong direction - my destination is London.'

'The planes for London fly from Cairo West!. 'Crazier still! Why fly me to Lydda first?'

'Security I understand. And someone is waiting for you at Lydda, a chap flown out specially from London. So you are enjoying five-star treatment.' 'What chap?'

'A Peter Standish...' Reader hesitated.

meet him by the end of the day so I may as well tell you. Standish is a cover name. I'm talking about Tim Whelby.'

'I see.'

Lindsay started his dot-and-carry tread across the hard rock of the desert. You couldn't see Benghazi at all - it was over the far side of a low ridge, on the edge of the sea. Nothing but desert and heat dazzle and one building and one Dakota and a fuel truck alongside. He heard Reader following him, then quicken his pace to catch up.

'So,' Reader said, 'you've had a minute to think about it - I'd appreciate hearing what's wrong. Tim Whelby is harmless enough. Never going to set the world on fire, likes to keep on the right side of everybody..

'Oh, you've spotted that intriguing trait?' 'Intriguing?'

'Have you ever noticed...' Lindsay continued walking while he talked - he was feeling better than he had for months -. that he takes great pains to get on with the Indians
and
the university crowd?'

The 'Indians' were those members of the SIS recruited from the Indian Civil Service. They tended to be hard-nosed men, wedded to tradition, inflexible where change was concerned but loyal to the Crown.

The 'university' men were dons from Oxford, intellectuals who approached every problem with an open mind. They formed a second clique, apart from the traditionalists. You belonged to one club or the other. It was rare for a man to span both worlds.

'Well,' Reader agreed, 'come to think of it, I suppose you are right. Isn't that one up to Whelby?' 'Another thing - I always got the feeling he was acting a part, that no one ever met the real man 'I can't change the route now. It's all laid on.' 'Laid on by who?'

'Whelby, I suppose...' Reader gave way to a burst of irritation. `Damnit, I've been out of touch, marooned in bloody Yugoslavia like you. Take it up with Whelby - when we get to Lydda. If anyone is after your hide - if that's what's bothering you - who's going to dream of your turning up at a one-eyed dump like Lydda?'

'Whelby.'

When they boarded the Dakota for the second leg of their flight Lindsay was surprised. He had chosen a

window seat by himself, expecting Paco to sit with Reader. She sat in the adjoining seat next to him without a word and proceeded to fasten her seat belt.

'You're not bored with my company I hope?' she murmured as the new pilot taxied for take-off. 'I can

always move, there's any amount of room...'

'No, you're welcome. I had thought...'

'That I'd choose Len Reader as a travelling companion? I can see the answer in your expression. You still haven't caught on, have you?'

'Am I being a bit slow...?'

He was still unsure of himself where women were concerned. A rebuff was something he always feared. He might have shot down six Germans over Kent and the Channel but in some ways he was still immature, shy of coming out of his shell.

'Yes!' Her voice was low, vehement. 'You are just a little bit slow and a girl doesn't like to have to make all the running...'

'But you said...'

'I know what I said back in Yugoslavia - but what chance did there seem to be that any of us would ever get out alive? And I said also that I was suspicious of Reader. I
was
. I wanted to be sure we hadn't a dummy slipped in amongst us...'

'A dummy?'

'A German masquerading as an Englishman, for Christ's sake. It's a technique they've used before - with hellish consequences. Remember I was educated in England, so I know quite a lot about the place. I used every bit of knowledge I could drag back to test Reader, to try and catch him out. The easiest way for a girl to test a man is to pretend to be keen on him -in the hope that he'll let down his defences. God, Lindsay, sometimes I think you're thick...'

She slipped her small hand over his, just resting it there. He jerked his head round and stared at her. She had that marvellous half-smile on her face. Her greenish eyes, half-closed, were smiling, too. She rested her head on his shoulder.

'Oh, Lindsay, Lindsay, you stupid man...'

'Bloody thick,' he agreed. 'Thick as three props...'..

He was choked with emotion, found it difficult to form the words. He took her hand, it really seemed so very small, and squeezed it as he swallowed. She understood.

'Lindsay, will you take me to London? I want to see the Green Park again...'

'Green Park, just Green Park...'

'They have those big birds by the pool, the funny ones with great pouches...'

'Pelicans. That's St James's Park. I'll show you the whole of London. Then we'll go out into the countryside...'

'I'd like that.' She turned her head on his shoulder and her hair brushed his cheek. 'I know a little village

in Surrey, near Guildford. All huddled down in the folds of the hills ….'

'Peaslake?'

'You know it, too!' She sat up and her face glowed. 'Oh, this is wonderful. I'm never going back to Jugoslavia. I've got dual nationality, you know — a British

passport..

'I didn't know — you never told me. It will make things so much easier. Haven't you Got any people back in Yugoslavia?'

'No ties. I'm an only child — so after both my parents were killed in the Belgrade bombing I was completely on my own.' She slipped her arm inside his. 'I'm not going to let you out of my sight until we get to London. Does that make me a forward hussy? I don't care. I don't care...!'

For that short time, as the Dakota droned steadily on towards Palestine, they must have been very happy. Across the gangway in the window seat Reader, who had exceptionally acute hearing, listened to most of their conversation without wishing to.

He kept his eyes turned towards the window, gazing at the sea they crossed for most of the flight. He was convinced that neither Lindsay nor Paco had any idea they were over the Med. As she repeated I
don't care
...! Paco clasped her free hand over her mouth.

'God, was I shouting? The whole aircraft must have heard...'

'You were.. It must have done. And I don't care either. One thing, we may not travel together all the way until we arrive in London...'

'And why not?'

'Security. I have a job to complete. Which reminds me - I'd like a quick word with Reader over there. Won't be long - and don't get up. I can squeeze past...' He put a hand on her leg to support himself and held it there for a moment.

Settling himself in the seat next to Reader, he turned away from Paco so she couldn't catch even a snatch of his conversation with the Intelligence Major. He took out the leather-bound diary from his pocket.

"This is strictly between you and me, Reader. This diary is vital. The information is what I'm carrying inside my head - so if my head never reaches London I need a safe place for the diary. Otherwise everything that's happened becomes pointless. That I wouldn't like...'

'What exactly are you asking me to do?'

'You're not fireproof either. Do you know someone in Palestine you can trust, really trust - someone you could deposit this diary with until I send for it?'

'Only a civilian. Chap called Stein. He's a diamond broker. Their careers hinge on their integrity. And he's not mixed up with any of the Jewish gangs. You could trust him with your life...'

'Maybe that's how it's going to turn out...'

Leaving Reader, he was standing in the gangway when Hartmann approached him. The German asked if they could have a quiet word together. They chose two isolated seats d Hartmann began speaking in

English.

'Now we are over Allied territory I can reveal my secret. I've been sent on a special mission by Admiral Canaris, chief of the Abwehr as you know. He instructed me to escape from Germany - which is why I seized on the opportunity to follow you. Rather a nerve-racking business. I had to fool so many people - Gruber, Jaeger, Schmidt, Maisel - the most dangerous adversary. And, of course, Bormann himself...'

'I always sensed there was something odd about you...'

'I thought you did,' Hartmann commented. 'I know the names of the entire anti-Nazi opposition. We tried to pass on our peace proposals to Allied agents in Spain but someone road-blocked us. A man called Whelby was in charge...'

'I know him,' Lindsay replied and left it at that.

'I have to be escorted safely through to London. In return for assassinating Hitler and establishing a civilian, non-Nazi government we are prepared to negotiate a peace settlement. I can only give you names after I have arrived in London. Until then I ask that you alone should know about this matter..

'That is your only passport to safety,' Lindsay told him.

It was still daylight when Moshe, crouched behind the rocks overlooking Lydda airfield, first spotted the Dakota coming in to land. He was aching in every limb from his long vigil but he possessed quite abnormal powers of endurance.

In the canvas satchel by his side was his water- bottle, his few remaining cheese sandwiches and a pair of night-glasses. Dusk would soon spread its dark pall over the silent land and he had no way of knowing whether the aircraft bringing Lindsay might arrive after dark.

He adjusted the binoculars looped round his neck and focused them on the grassy runway. The Dakota flew straight in, touched down and reduced speed as it headed for the reception building. Moshe knew that on the far side of the building beyond his view were parked a staff car and an armoured vehicle.

The man who had been pointed out to him by Vlacek in Jerusalem as Tim Whelby strolled towards the aircraft, hatless and wearing only a tropical drill suit despite the chill of the evening. Moshe locked his lenses on Whelby, waiting for the signal which would identify Wing Commander Lindsay for him.

A metal ladder was placed against the side of the machine by one of the ground staff. Two British soldiers armed with sten guns began patrolling the area round the Dakota. A man appeared at the top of the ladder, a man holding a stick.

Moshe pressed the glasses hard against his eyes as the passenger slowly descended the ladder rung by

rung. Reaching the ground, he turned and in the twin lenses Moshe saw his face close up. No doubt about it. This was Lindsay! Then Moshe got his final confirmation of the RAF man's identity.

As Whelby shook hands with Lindsay he casually reached up with his left hand and gripped the lobe of his ear, the signal Vlacek had arranged. Other people were emerging from the aircraft. To Moshe's surprise one of them was a blonde-haired girl - followed in rapid succession by two other men.