Colin Forbes - The Leader And The Damned

'Oh, my God, Lindsay…!'

She clearly recognized Jaeger. He was aiming the muzzle of his weapon at the pilot's cabin. More paratroopers landed. Heljec, armed with one of the new stens, rose up from behind a rock and fired half a magazine in one lethal burst.

Jaeger was pushed forward by the shock of the bullets, his face distorted with agony. What does a man think in his last moments? Dear Magda, We've had a marvellous life… He was dead before his body hit the ground. Paco felt physically sick. A vivid image came into her mind. The Four Seasons Hotel in Munich. Dining with Jaeger, so smart in his uniform, so courteous, so… Oh, hell!

The aircraft picked up speed as Murray-Smith, looking neither to right nor left, headed for take-off. He could hear above the engines the rattle of machine-pistol fire, the spatter of bullets entering the fuselage, the crack! of grenades detonating. He ignored it all.

Lindsay saw the so familiar figure of gentle Dr Macek rise up behind a rock, holding something as though about to hurl it. A burst of rapid fire threw him backwards out of sight. Lindsay had no doubt Macek had just died.

'They just got Macek: he said to Paco who was sitting beside him. 'Poor sod…'

'Christ, what is it all about?'

'I've been wondering that ever since I first flew to Berchtesgaden,' Lindsay replied.

After months of pain, endless trudging and ever- present fear in the winter of the Balkans, their first sight of North Africa was unforgettable. Peering from the windows of the Dakota, the warm ochre of the flat Libyan desert spread out to the horizon.

Still over the intense blue of the Med, they saw the white ribbon of surf separating sea from shore. The plane began its descent. Ten minutes later Murray-Smith touched down at Benina. The door was opened by Conway and glorious heat flooded inside the machine.

'Half an hour's wait here while we refuel,' Conway told them. 'You have to disembark so you can stretch your legs but don't wander out of sight of the plane. Dr Macleod is waiting for anyone who requires medical attention…'

'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…'..