Colin Forbes - The Leader And The Damned

'We talk too much of ourselves. What can we do for you, Wing Commander?'

Lindsay showed them the diary and asked for a stout envelope. Aaron produced a very thick envelope of the type used by lawyers. Lindsay sat down at a side table, put the diary inside and sealed the envelope. Borrowing a fountain pen, he thought for a few minutes. Then he wrote with careful legibility.

Account of my visit to the Third Reich in the year 1943 and my subsequent sojourn in Yugoslavia. In the event of my death to be handed to Lieutenant Jock Carson, Section 3, Grey Pillars, Cairo, Egypt. Ian Lindsay, Wing Commander.

He handed the envelope to Aaron, returned' the pen to David and sighed. He felt as though a great' weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

'I will keep this in our safe,' said Aaron. 'Is that acceptable? Good. I see from the wording that you also feel we live in dangerous times, even here…'

'Thank you, that will be fine. Incidentally, could you give me something so if I write, asking you to hand that envelope to a courier, you will know the request does come from me?'

'My business card? I will draw on it the Star of David…'

'Good idea…' Lindsay fitted the card inside his wallet. 'If I write you a letter, as an added safeguard, I will make brief reference to the blue fountain pen I used when writing on your envelope…'

Aaron was already turning the combination on the lock of the wall-safe. Opening the door, he held up the envelope and stood aside so Lindsay could watch him place it inside. He closed the door, revolved the combination with a random twist.

'Thank you very much,' said Lindsay.

He shook hands with both brothers who regarded him closely, with a certain sadness Reader thought. Nothing more was said as they left the office. Lindsay paused in the passage. They could hear Aaron turning the locks, shooting the bolts back into place. He smiled wryly at Reader.

'There was something awfully final about that envelope going into the safe. Come on – back to the barracks…'

They left the barracks the following morning to drive back to Lydda Airport where the Dakota was waiting to fly them on to Cairo. The convoy was assembled in the compound. First the armoured car, Corporal Wilson perched in his turret.

Behind waited the staff car which Sergeant Mulligan would again drive. The time of departure had been advanced at the last minute by one hour so there was a last-minute rush.

The two motorcyclists who would bring up the rear waited behind the staff car. The riders smoked a final cigarette in the morning sun. It was going to be another beautiful crisp day.

There had been an argument, almost a stand-up verbal confrontation, between Mulligan and Whelby. Standing in Mulligan's office, hands tucked inside his jacket pockets with his thumbs protruding, he was stubborn as a mule.

'As you know, Sergeant, I've phoned Cairo. I'm expecting an urgent reply from London via Grey Pillars I must wait for that call to come through, so I'll catch you up. I need transport and a driver. Now don't fuss, I'll be there in time for the plane to take off. You don't make all that speed with an armoured car in the convoy…'

'You'll get a jeep – an open jeep with no protection,' Mulligan had snapped. 'It's all the transport I can spare. And a driver…'

'A jeep will be fine. That way we're bound to catch you up…'

'Please yourself. The plane departs on schedule. It's not waiting for anyone – not even you…'

Whelby had waited in the office, watching the four passengers climb into the staff car. Lindsay, Paco,

Reader and Hartmann in the back, two again on the. flap seats. No one beside Mulligan in the 'dead man's' seat. He saw the armoured car trundle away through the exit.

There were other watchers. From windows in the building enclosing the compound, men off-duty stood staring as the convoy left. Officially no one except Mulligan and the participants in the convoy knew its destination. But the grapevine inside a barracks is sensitive. The staring faces were quite motionless and there was an air of depression.

After waiting for the hundred yard gap to open up, Mulligan drove the staff car forward. Whelby stood perfectly still, aware of the clerk sitting at a desk behind him. The staff car disappeared beyond the gateway and Whelby forced himself to maintain his cool stance.

The motorcyclists had just left when a jeep drove at speed through the still-open gateway, braked savagely and turned a half-circle in the middle of the compound, sending up a cloud of dust. The driver dismounted and came over to where Whelby waited.

'Corporal Haskins reporting for duty. Mr Standish?'

'That's correct…'

The jeep Mulligan had summoned over the 'phone had arrived far more swiftly than Whelby had anticipated. He glanced towards the silent 'phone on the desk for effect.

'Ready when you are, sir!' the freckle-faced Haskins said cheerfully. 'And I know your destination.'

'Better take the weight off your feet, Corporal. Don't hesitate to smoke a cigarette while you wait. I'm hanging on for a call from Cairo.'

'That's good of you, sir,' Haskins replied and winked at the clerk as he sat down and took out his pack. Mulligan banned smoking anywhere in his vicinity. He thought Standish seemed a good sort, but this was always the impression Whelby created on subordinates. He was thinking of Vlacek's warning.

'Whatever you do, don't travel back with them to Lydda…'

'At last we're on our way to London,' said Paco joyfully. 'I can't wait to get there. I'm in seventh heaven…'

Her mood did something to lighten the rather quiet atmosphere inside the staff car. She occupied one of the rear seats facing Hartmann perched on a flap. Beside her Lindsay sat silent with Reader opposite. He was suffering from a mild relapse of the glandular fever. Hartmann put a hand towards his side pocket, withdrew it. The gesture was very familiar to Paco by now.

`Go on,' she encouraged him cheerfully. 'Light up your pipe.'

'There's not much air…'

'You are allowed the pipe before we get to Lydda. It's such a lovely morning.

She lowered the window on her side. The sun was shining out of a clear blue sky. Not a cloud in sight. Hartmann smiled his gratitude, took out the pipe and began filling it…'

'Where's Whelby?' Lindsay said suddenly.

He sat bolt upright. In the rush of their departure he had not realized the Englishman was missing. Alarm showed in his expression. He slid back the glass partition separating them from Mulligan and repeated the question.

'Following us in a jeep,' the sergeant called back laconically. 'Something about expecting a call from Cairo. Told him I'm not holding the flight so it's up to him…'

'I see. Lindsay replied slowly.

'Stop fretting, do!'

Paco clasped her arm inside his and hugged him.

Hartmann watched her with pleasure. She had never looked younger, her eyes sparkling, her manner displaying that extraordinary animation which had manifested itself ever since they had landed at Benina. He sucked contentedly at his pipe as the staff car began the long, winding descent to Lydda.

The nondescript civilian mending an apparent puncture to his cycle near the barracks had watched the staff car leave. He waited a few more minutes and then cycled off a short distance to a 'phone box. The number he asked for answered immediately.

'Danny here,' said the cyclist.

'Moshe speaking. Well?'

'The consignment is on its way.'

'Did they pack everything? Nothing missing?' Moshe asked.

'Nothing. I counted the items myself.'

'Good. So now you can arrange the next delivery.

The cyclist put down the phone. The next delivery was planned for tomorrow. Danny would cycle back to his hideout and wait for the 'phone call the following morning, the call which would tell him where to pick up the secret hoard of guns – and that would only come when the news appeared in the papers and over the radio.