Wilbur Smith - Assegai

When they entered Mr Vilabjhi’s shop Leon saw that his own little shrine had been maintained assiduously, and now contained more memorabilia: pictures of him in flying gear, and newspaper articles about the open day at the polo ground.

Mr Vilabjhi rushed out of the back room to welcome him, and his wife brought in a tray of strong Arabic coffee and sweetmeats. She was followed by all of their daughters, but before they could entrench themselves their father drove them out, with fond cries of ‘Be gone, you wicked and rowdy female personages!’ He bolted the door behind them. Then he came back to Leon. ‘I have a most pressing and urgent matter on which I plead for your wise counsel.’

Leon sipped the coffee and waited for him to proceed.

‘Without any doubt you are aware that your uncle, the eminent sahib Major General Ballantyne, asked me to receive messages from the lovely memsahib von Wellberg on his behalf and forward these to the correct authority.’ He looked at Leon quizzically.

Leon was about to deny any knowledge of this arrangement, but then he realized that would be a mistake so he nodded. ‘Of course,’ he agreed, and Mr Vilabjhi looked relieved. ‘The reason that the General chose me is that I have a niece who lives with her husband in Altnau, a small town in Switzerland on the north shore of Lake Bodensee. Across the lake is the town of Wieskirche in Bavaria. This is where the castle of the German count is situated, and also the main factory of the Meerbach Motor Works. It is also where Memsahib von Wellberg lives.’ Mr Vilabjhi had phrased it delicately. ‘My niece works in the Swiss cablegram company. Her husband has a small fishing-boat on the lake. The shore is not heavily guarded by the egregious Germans, so it is easy for them to cross the water at night and pick up any message at Wieskirche, then return home and telegraph it to me. I take it to General Ballantyne. But now the esteemed general has gone. Before he left he told me I should deliver any future messages to the man who has taken over his job at KAR Headquarters.’

‘Yes. Colonel Snell,’ Leon said calmly, although his heart raced at the prospect of messages coming directly from Eva.

‘Ah, of course I am telling you nothing that is not already well known to you. However, a terrible thing has happened.’ Mr Vilabjhi broke off and rolled his eyes tragically.

Leon’s heart was chilled with dread. ‘Something has happened to Memsahib von Wellberg?’ he asked.

‘No, not in the very least, not to the memsahib, but it has happened to me. After the departure of the general I took the first despatch from my niece to the office of Colonel Snell. I learned in no ambivalent terms that the man is an enemy of the general. Now that he has left for Egypt, Snell will not pursue or foster any enterprise initiated by your honourable avuncular relative. I think it is because the praise and success arising from it would redound to the general’s credit, rather than to Snell himself. Also it seems he knows that you and I are friends and he looks upon you as an enemy. He knew that if he insulted me and questioned my veracity, he would be getting at you. He drove me away with harsh words.’ Mr Vilabjhi paused. It was obvious that he had been deeply hurt by his encounter with Snell. Then he went on bitterly, ‘He called me a “devil-worshipping wog”, and told me not to go back to him with my vaunting claptrap about secret despatches.’ Tears welled in his dark eyes. ‘I am at the end and far limit of my wits. I know not what to do so I appeal to you.’

Leon rubbed his chin thoughtfully. His mind was racing. He knew that if he wanted ever to lay eyes on Eva again he needed Mr Vilabjhi as his ally. He chose his words carefully. ‘You and I are loyal subjects of King George the Fifth, are we not?’

‘Indeed we are, Sahib.’

‘If the beastly man Snell is a traitor, then you and I are not.’

‘No! Never! We are true and resolute Englishmen.’

‘In the name of our sovereign, we have to take over this enterprise from Snell and steer it to a victorious conclusion.’ Leon had picked up Mr Vilabjhi’s floral turn of phrase.

‘I rejoice to hear such words of wisdom, Sahib! This is what I hoped you would say.’

‘First, you and I must read the message that Snell has rejected. Have you kept it safe?’

Vilabjhi sprang up from his desk and went to the iron safe in the wall. He brought out a large cash book bound in red leather. Tucked under the rear cover was one of the distinctive Post Office envelopes. He handed it to Leon. The flap was sealed.

‘You did not open it?’

‘Of course not. That is not my business.’

‘Well, it is now,’ Leon told him, and split the envelope with his thumbnail. He drew out the folded buff sheet, his hands trembling with excitement as he unfolded and spread it on the desk. Then he sagged with dismay. It was covered with rows and columns of numbers, no letters.

‘Damn it to hell! It’s in code,’ he lamented. ‘Do you have the key?’

Mr Vilabjhi shook his head.

‘But of course you know how to send a reply?’

‘Of course. I arranged the link with the memsahib through my niece.’

Eva ran lightly down the magnificent marble staircase of the Schloss . Her riding boots made no sound on the carpeted treads. The panelled walls were hung with canvases depicting Otto’s ancestors down the centuries and there were suits of armour at each landing. At first she had found the architectural style and heavy furnishings depressing, but now she no longer noticed them. As she reached the lowest landing she heard voices coming up the stairwell. She stopped to listen.

Otto was in conversation with at least two other men, and she recognized the voice of Alfred Lutz, the commodore of his fleet of dirigible airships, and that of Hans Ritter, the senior navigator, who seemed to be arguing with the Graf.

Otto’s tone was loud and hectoring. Since his mauling by the lion his previously overbearing manner had become ever more authoritarian. Eva thought that Ritter should have known this by now and taken care not to provoke him. ‘We will leave from Wieskirche and overfly Bulgaria and Turkey, then go on to Mesopotamia where our forces are already occupying the northern part of the country. We will land there to top up our tanks with fuel, oil and water. From there we go on to Damascus, then across the Red Sea to the Nile valley, Khartoum and the Sudan.’

It sounded as though Otto was illustrating his lecture to Lutz and Ritter on the large-scale pull-down map on the far wall of the library.

He went on, ‘From the Sudan we will cross the Great African Lakes and fly on down the Rift Valley to Arusha, where Schnee and von Lettow Vorbeck are holding stores of fuel and oil for us. From there, we go to Lake Nyasa and Rhodesia. We will observe strict radio silence until we are over the central Kalahari. Only then will we contact Koos de la Rey by radio to our relay station at Walvis Bay on the west coast of Africa.’

She felt a deep sense of accomplishment. This was the most vital piece of information, which until now she had been unable to discover. Now she knew exactly how Otto intended to convey his cargo of arms and bullion to the South African rebels. Penrod had suggested that it would be sent by submarine to some uninhabited beach on the west coast of South Africa. No one had thought of a dirigible airship. But now she had the entire plan, even a precise description of the route Otto would take down the African continent. With this information she would have given Penrod Ballantyne everything he needed, except the date that the journey would begin.

She started as she heard the library doors opening and the voices were louder and clearer. Footsteps warned her that Otto and his aviators were coming out into the hall. She must not be found eavesdropping. She ran on down the last flight of stairs, making no attempt to cover the sound of her descent. The men were standing in a group in the centre of the hall. The airmen saluted her respectfully, and Otto’s face lightened with pleasure.