Hammond Innes - The Doomed Oasis

‘In Saudi Arabia?’

‘No, no.’

‘Where, then?’

He glanced at me quickly again, his eyes narrowing. ‘They wouldn’t say. At least … they couldn’t give the exact location.’

‘Was it somewhere on the Hadd border?’ I asked, remembering what Griffiths had said.

He ignored that. ‘Doubtless they could have led us to the place, but the Emir refused to allow them outside the Wadi Hadd al-Akhbar.’ He gave a little shrug. ‘The Emir is very difficult.’ And he added, ‘But of course this is hardly a matter that concerns you.’

‘On the contrary,’ I said sharply, ‘it’s important that I know exactly where the boy was supposed to be operating at the time of his death. Until I know that-’

But he shook his head. ‘Best leave it at that, Mr Grant.’

‘Because of the political aspect?’ I was convinced now that the locations in my briefcase would show that David had been operating somewhere along the Hadd-Saraifa border.

‘Politics come into it, yes. They always do in Arabia.’

‘And particularly where oil is concerned?’

He nodded agreement, and I asked him then whether he thought there was oil in that area. He looked at me very tight-lipped and said:

‘We’ve no reason to imagine so.’

‘Then what’s the political problem?’

He hesitated, and then half-turned to the map again. Those borders,’ he said. They’re all three in dispute.

Particularly the border between Hadd and Saraifa.’

‘Would you describe that as “political dynamite”?’ His eyes narrowed and I pushed it further: ‘If oil were discovered there?’

‘Yes,’ he said, and turned back to his desk. ‘I think, Mr Grant, we are getting a long way from the purpose of your visit.’

‘I don’t think so.’ He wanted to terminate the interview. Equally I wanted to continue it. ‘Did David Whitaker submit a survey report to you at any time during, say, the two months before his death?’

‘No.’

I stared at him, wondering whether that was the truth. And then I decided to play the thing I’d been holding in reserve. ‘Suppose I told you that I have in my possession the location he was working on at the time of his death?’

He affected disbelief. But it lacked something, the quickness of spontaneity, the sharpness of genuine surprise. And suddenly my mind clicked. ‘Four days ago,’ I murmured, ‘in my office in Cardiff … I was visited by a gentleman who attempted by threats to get those locations from me.’ He didn’t say anything and I let the silence drag out. ‘He didn’t get them, of course,’ I said quietly. I was staring at him, but he kept his eyes on the desk.

‘I don’t think this concerns me.’ The silence had forced it out of him. His hand reached for the bell-push.

I waited, and he hesitated. Curiosity had won. He turned to me and said harshly, ‘David Whitaker was employed by us. We should know the locations he was surveying. We have a right.’

‘Have you?’ I asked.

‘Yes. And I’ll add this: I find it very difficult to understand why you should have been given this information whilst the Company has been left in the dark.’

He was facing me, and after what seemed a long time his eyes fell away to the desk again. He was puzzled. A little frightened, too. I thought he’d every reason to be both.

‘David Whitaker knew he was going to die.’ I said it slowly and with emphasis. And before he had time to recover from the shock of what I’d said, I shifted my ground. ‘Does Colonel Whitaker know his son’s dead?’

‘I really cannot say.’ He was still considering the implication of what I’d told him, and I was convinced it was something he hadn’t known before.

‘We regarded the sister as the most suitable person to inform.’ And he added, ‘The boy was illegitimate, you know.’ It was a mistake, for it confirmed something I had come to suspect — that David’s background was known to the Company. But he didn’t seem conscious of it. Nor did he seem conscious of the drift of my questions. ‘I think you will agree, when you’ve read the report of the search, that everything possible was done.’

‘But they didn’t find his body?’

‘No. And if you knew the sort of country it is there, that wouldn’t surprise you.’ He seemed anxious to reassure me on this point. ‘It’s a big dune country and the sand is moving all the time. It obliterates everything. Even his truck was half-buried when they located it.’

‘It was a seismological truck, I believe?’

He nodded.

‘One of yours?’

He didn’t answer immediately and there was a sudden stillness in the room. And when he spoke he chose his words carefully. ‘I’ve already told you he was employed by the Company at the time of his death.’

‘Oil company trucks are usually marked with the name of the company, aren’t they?’

‘What are you implying?’

There were no markings on this particular truck.’

‘How do you know?’

There was a report of the search in The Times.’ ‘Oh, so you’ve seen that.’ He hesitated. ‘Not every truck, you know, is marked with the Company’s name.’

That doesn’t answer my question,’ I said. ‘Was that truck a Company truck or not?’

I thought he was going to evade the question. But then he said, ‘No. No, it wasn’t one of our trucks.’

‘Whose truck was it then?’

But he’d had enough. ‘I’m not prepared to discuss the Company’s affairs. The truck has no bearing on the boy’s death.’

‘I think it has,’ I said, as his hand reached for the bell-push again. And I added, ‘One final question. Can you tell me where I’ll find Colonel Whitaker?’

‘Whitaker? I thought it was Gorde you’d come to see?’

‘Whitaker, too,’ I told him. ‘David may have been employed by you, but he was on loan to his father at the time of his death.’

‘Quite untrue. The Times is in error.’ And he pressed the bell. The interview was at an end.

As though he had been waiting for his cue, the secretary came in immediately. ‘See that Mr Grant has a copy of the report on the Whitaker search, will you, Firweather. He can take it away with him.’ Erkhard turned to me. ‘Have you a taxi waiting?’ And when I shook my head, he told his secretary to arrange for a Company car to drive me back to Manama.

‘You haven’t told me where I’ll find Colonel Whitaker?’ I said as I got to my feet.

He couldn’t very well refuse to answer me in front of his secretary. ‘In Saraifa, I imagine.’ And he added, ‘But if you’re thinking of going there, I should remind you that you will not be granted a visa.’

Did that mean he’d use his influence to prevent me getting one? I hesitated, glancing up at the map. The flags had names on them and because it might be the only opportunity I’d have, I went across to it and had a close look at them. There were only two anywhere near the Saraifa-Hadd border and the names on them were Ogden and Entwhistle. That map is confidential, Mr Grant.’ It was the secretary, at my side now and quite agitated.

‘You needn’t worry,’ I said. ‘I know nothing about oil, so it doesn’t tell me anything. Who did the ground search?’ I asked Erkhard.

‘Entwhistle,’ he answered without looking up.

‘I’ll give you that report now,’ the secretary said.

Erkhard didn’t look up as I left, determined to give me no excuse for further questions. In the outer office I asked if I could write a note to Sir Philip Gorde. The secretary gave me a sheet of Company notepaper and I wrote it at his desk with him more or less standing over me. I marked the envelope Personal, but I was careful to say nothing in it that Erkhard didn’t know already. The secretary promised to see that it went out by the next plane. ‘If there is a reply, I’ll send it down to your hotel.’ He gave me a duplicated copy of the report of the search and showed me out.