Geoffrey Jenkins: A bridge of Magpies

Mother official appeared and also considered me. Both disappeared for some time and returned with a third man wearing a cap and plastic raincoat over his uniform.

'War is die Moeilikheid -what's the trouble?' I asked.

`No problem,' answered the desk official. The raincoated man eyed me.

'You are Mr Struan Weddell?'

`Yes. It's all there, in the passport'

'It's hard to tell from the photograph. The hair and the beard are new.'

'It was taken two years ago when I left South Africa.'. He stamped the passport and handed it to me.

'This gentleman would like a word with you.'

I then noticed the third man's cap under its plastic covering. He was a naval officer. He grinned at my surprise. '

Captain Weddell?'

'Yes.'

'Compliments of the C-in-C, sir. We've been waiting hours for the jet: she's late. Transport is laid on for you.' `

How did the C-in-C know I was coming?'

'I don't ask questions, sir. I was detailed to meet you and fly you to the hospital.'

'Fly?'

'Helicopter, sir. She's out on the apron.'

'Hold it. You mean to say the C-in-C actually…?'

`You must ask the C-in-C why, sir. I don't know. My orders were to meet the Athens flight and fly you to the hospital.'

I was touched. He'd no call to be generous after the way I'd thrown his job in his teeth as a result of the Walewska business. As I told Byron, the tanker tore out her bottom on a reef off South West Africa and I sank her. Her skipper was trying to cut corners when making a landfall at Panther head, which is the main landfall for ships heading up the Sperrgebiet, or forbidden diamond coast. The land looks like an old bone that's been gnawed and thrown away. It is desert and has the world's richest diamond fields. That is why it's forbidden territory-all eight hundred miles of it. I' d commanded a fisheries patrol frigate, and part of my job was to police the Sperrgebiet from the sea. On land there are motorized patrols and helicopters. The other part of my job was to keep an eye on the trawlers of all nations 21 which frequent the coast. The Atlantic here matches the land for riches. Even the Grand Banks can't beat the fishing. There is a third source of riches on this God-forsaken shore: a string of rocky little inshore islands coated in bird guano-white gold, they call it. The Walewska's oil would have killed off the bird and marine life of these islands if I'd allowed her to stay afloat. So I'd blown her up with special charges so that the oil was destroyed-rather than send her to the bottom and risk seepage from the wreck. The danger was compounded by a strong current which flows through the guano isles. I'd acted fast, and on my own initiative. I meant what I said: 'Thanks. Thanks for coming?

His grin behind the beard made him look ridiculously young.

'Let's go,' I said.

'First, I'll go and borrow you a coat from the chopper, You'll get soaked.'

'It doesn't matter?

'It was told to look after you. You must be bloody cold, if I may say so, sir.

'I hadn't noticed-not after the Navy's warm reception.'

He smiled, then strode out to the helicopter and brought me back a weatherproof. I felt good. I hadn't been looking forward to the cheerless process of landing unmet and making my way to a deathbed. We fell into step and made for the machine.

I broke the companionable silence.

'Is my mother still alive, Lieutenant?'

A flicker passed across his face. His reply was neutral. 'I don't know, sir. I've told you what my orders are.'

'She must be, otherwise all this wouldn't have been laid on.''I suppose so, sir:

'Thank the C-in-C when you report, will you? I'll also call later and thank him personally.'

He didn't answer as he held open the door of the Wasp. '

Here we are, sir.'

A thick-set petty officer gave me a hand up and took my case. The pilot nodded. There were the usual clattering preliminaries and then we were airborne. The international airport lies about fifteen miles out of Cape Town. Facing it, the city on your right and a chain of 22 a suburbs and resorts stretches to the left as far as the naval base at Simonstown.

We lifted. Thin rain cloud drifted past the Perspex. I settled back and wondered whether the helicopter would land at the hospital-they must have built a heliport there while I' d been away. The craft clattered and banged onwards; after a while we changed direction and altitude. We'd dropped below the main body of the overcast, but it was still very thick. Then, through a gap, I spotted a big Old Cape Dutch style farmhouse and vineyards. I couldn't recall vineyards near the hospital.

Now I sat up with a jerk. I was sure I'd spotted a famous pass called Constantia Net If so, we weren't within a dozen miles of the hospital, but nearer the naval base. It was useless trying to question my guide, because of the earphone muffs we wore as protection against the machine's racket. I tapped him on the shoulder and gestured at the landmark, but all I got back was a thumb's-up signal. We sank lower and there were vineyards again. Then trees appeared below, together with a concrete landing-pad, a black-top road and security gates. Flanking the landing place were anti-aircraft batteries. Wetness streamed down the black barrels as they tracked the helicopter down. I waited until the rotors' clatter cut off.

'What the hell gives, Lieutenant?'

Armed Navy guards in wet oilskins opened the Wasp's door. '

There's a security check. This place is banned to civilians.' '

But…'

'This way, if you please, sir,'

Near the guns was a sort of concrete cupola which housed a lift.'See here, Lieutenant, this Is no more a hospital than.. '

The lift, sir.'

The doors clashed shut and we dropped to ground level. They reopened to reveal a pair of massive steel sliding doors, about twice the height of a man and four times as broad, set into bunker-type concrete. My guide nodded to a guard, who used a red telephone standing in a niche. After a few words from him the big doors slid open as if operated Sy some hidden agency.

'Inside, if you please,. sir'

'I don't see why.. '

But I was already in; the doors thumped shut and we were in a bare brightly lit concrete chamber. Another pair of steel doors lay ahead. We might have been on a Mars science-fiction set, except for a Navy guard sitting facing us behind a bullet-proof window. His telephone was yellow.

'The doors ahead can't open before those behind are dosed,' said my guide conversationally. 'And that can't be done without that bloke's say-so. Security's a hundred per cent. Those doors can also take a direct hit from a 500-kilo bomb, without a blink. This space becomes an airlock in the event of a nuclear attack.'

'If you tell me this is Hitler's bunker and you're Eva Braun. I'll believe you.'

`No dolls here, more's the pity. Males, rugged as they come. Hand-picked. Zip-lips.'

'Listen! Before I move another bloody step..

'You'll have to now, sir. Can't stop here.'

The huge doors rumbled open on their runners. Several concrete passages radiated on the far side. I was propelled into one of them and my escort fell into step with me.

'Silvermine,' he said. 'It's called Silvermine. They found the metal here in 1687, I think it was.'

'I hear your words but I don't know what the devil you're talking about! Silvermine! Nuclear attack! Airlock!'

'It's new since your day, sir. It's the Navy's operational headquarters. It's sunk into the side of the mountain, storeys deep..

'The hospital, man! My mother's dying!'

'The C-in-C will tell you about that, sir. We're almost at his office.'

We turned into a side tunnel; a small pair of doors, now open, could seal off the passage. Nevertheless, we faced the same elaborate security paraphernalia. When finally we were admitted to an ante-room it looked less like outer space: I saw an ordinary office desk, a typewriter, filing cabinets and wall-to-wall carpeting.'Hello, Godfrey,' said my escort. Well, here he is.'