Hammond Innes - The Doomed Oasis

He paused, his face creased against the sun’s glare as he glanced up at me. ‘We talk about him later,’ he said. And he added, ‘It is fantastic, the most fantastic story I ever write. There is this boy David, who by ‘imself has forced the British Government to take action. And now this man they ‘ave just buried — his father who is a great figure in the desert, a sort of … ‘ He clicked his fingers, searching for a name. ‘It doesn’t matter. What matter is that he is dead, killed by a stupid tyrant, a sort of Arabian condottiere, in a lousy little mud town in the desert.’

‘You mean you think the Emir … ‘ I checked, staring down at him.

‘And for what?’ he demanded, his mind concentrated on assembling the English phrases he wanted. ‘He kill him to blacken his son’s name, a ridiculous attempt to destroy this heroic young man. It is a tragedy, a great tragedy. And with the death of Colonel Whitaker, it is the end of an epoch in the desert, the last great Englishman in Arabia … ‘ He bent his head, his pencil flying again.

I stared at him in astonishment. He’d been there. He’d understood what the Emir had said. And he didn’t believe him. His story would accuse the Emir of Colonel Whitaker’s murder, and because he was the only journalist here, the press would carry his version. I could only hope that the authorities would leave it at that.

Colonel George took that story with him when he left shortly afterwards in the helicopter. He also took David, and because of that Gorde was left to travel by Land-Rover. I was standing beside him as the helicopter took off. He turned to me and I can still remember the rasp in his voice as he said, ‘If that little bastard of Whitaker’s lives, you’ll have a lot to answer for.’

‘How do you mean?’ My mouth felt suddenly dry.

‘You sent him out here, knowing he’d killed a man, knowing he was a self-dramatizing little gangster. Fellows like that don’t change, and patricide is something every society abominates. He’s a hero now. But when the public learns the truth … ‘ He stared at me, his eyes cold and hard. ‘Charles Whitaker was a man in a thousand, probably the greatest Englishman who ever made the desert his home. I’ve known him since I first came out to Arabia, and you can rest assured I’ll see to it that the truth is known.’ He turned abruptly, without giving me a chance to say anything, and I watched him as he limped across to where Berry was organizing his convoy.

Colonel George had placed a Land-Rover at Gorde’s disposal and he left immediately, so that I had no opportunity to talk to him. And when I finally reached Sharjah, he was on his way back to England and it was already too late. David had been placed under arrest and an official statement had been issued to the press.

It was the third day of the trial and David Whitaker had gone into the witness box immediately after the lunchtime recess. Counsel for the Defence had taken him through the salient points arising from my evidence with the object of showing his relationship with his father in the best possible light. Now, late in the afternoon, he had arrived at the crucial point — Colonel Whitaker’s visit to Fort Jebel al-Akhbar. The packed Court was very still, every eye on the fair-haired boy standing, neat and tidy, in the box, his arm in a sling and the sunburned face looking almost black in contrast with his light tropical suit.

‘I would like the Court to have a clear picture of your situation on that particular morning.’ Counsel glanced down at his papers, his hands resting lightly on the desk in front of him. ‘By then you had been on the Jebel al-Akhbar seven days. Is that right?’

‘Yes.’

‘And there were only two of you left. Salim, Ali and Hamid were dead; Grant had gone. There was just yourself and bin Suleiman, and you were both wounded.’

‘Yes.’

‘Had you been attacked during the night?’

‘No, it was some days since they’d made any attempt to take the fort.’

‘But you were under fire?’

‘They’d got men lying out in the rocks all round the fort, but we were all right as long as we remained in the tower. They’d fire a few shots once in a while just to remind us they were there, and at night they’d move up to the walls. But they didn’t bother us much. We were pretty used to them by then, you see.’ Just the trace of a Welsh accent to remind the Court that this was the same boy who had run wild in Cardiff docks.

The reporters were scribbling furiously. This was the big moment and when the Court adjourned there would be a rush for the telephone to catch the daily papers before they went to press.

‘On the morning in question, were there any shots fired — other than the shot that killed your father?’

‘No, none.’

‘Did that strike you as unusual?’

‘I can’t remember that I thought about it. It was some time since any shots had been fired. They were lying quiet, you see, hoping we’d think there was nobody there and get careless. But we knew the bastards were there, waiting for us.’

‘So you remained inside the tower?’

‘Of course. I hadn’t been out of the tower since Mr Grant came up to talk to me. There wasn’t any point. It was cooler there and the walls were good protection.’

‘Was there any other reason you didn’t leave it?’

‘I tell you, man, they were lying out there waiting for us. I wasn’t risking being shot at when there wasn’t any point.’

‘Quite so. But what I’m getting at is this: wasn’t it a fact that you were too weak by then to attempt a descent from the tower?’

‘Well, yes, I suppose so. Anyway, there wasn’t any reason for us to be wasting what little strength we had left to no purpose.’

‘Were you weak because of lack of water or lack of food — or was it because you were wounded that you hadn’t the strength to leave the tower?’

‘I tell you, there wasn’t any point.’ His tone was irritable; he didn’t seem to understand what his Counsel was trying to establish.

‘When had you last had any food?’

‘I can’t remember. We’d some dried camel meat left, but it wasn’t any use to us. We couldn’t swallow.it. We did try and chew it, but it was very painful and in the end we didn’t ‘bother.’

‘You couldn’t chew because of lack of water?’

‘Yes. We’d no saliva and our tongues were swollen and quite black. Our mouths were absolutely dry.’

‘Had you any water left?’

‘Captain Berry had given me a water bottle. We’d finished our own supplies and now that bottle was half empty.’

‘Your situation then was quite desperate.’

‘Pretty desperate.’

‘I want the Court to be absolutely clear about this.’ Counsel paused, glancing from the Judge to the crowded press desks. ‘In your opinion, how much longer do you think you could have held out? In other words-’ And here he spoke slowly and with great emphasis — ‘How long before you were dead of thirst?’

David shook his head. ‘I can’t be certain. We’d have finished the water bottle that day. If we’d been left alone we might have stayed alive a few days more.’

‘You heard the evidence of Doctor Logan who saw you when you arrived in Sharjah. He said you were in such a weak condition that he didn’t believe you could have lasted more than another twenty-four hours.’

David’s head went up. ‘That all depends on how urgently you want to stay alive, doesn’t it? I’d have lasted longer than that. But not if they’d attacked us.’

Counsel seized on this. ‘You say, not if they’d attacked you. Do you mean you were too weak by then to defend yourselves?’