Hammond Innes: The Doomed Oasis

‘Of course, Sir Philip.’ Sue’s voice, the little smile on her lips, were tinged with irony. But I noticed also that her eyes were alight with excitement.

The car slid to a stop. We had reached my hotel. ‘You get out here, Grant. I’m taking Miss Thomas on with me.’ Gorde’s hand gripped my arm. ‘Don’t try and get in touch with her tonight, and don’t talk to anybody. What we’ve said here is between ourselves. Understand?’

I nodded and got out. The car drove off then and I went into the hotel. It was full of newspaper men; they crowded round me as soon as I entered. What did I think of David Whitaker’s chances? Was he going to talk? I told them I’d no comment to make and escaped to my room. I had my dinner brought up to me, read the papers, which were full of the trial, and went to bed early.

To this day I don’t know what part Gorde played in the events of that night. Sue saw David shortly after ten o’clock. She was allowed to see him alone and she said afterwards that he looked tired at first, though he was quite cheerful. She gave him the money and also Gorde’s message, and after that the tiredness seemed to drop from him. The message was simply: Bin Suleiman is in Bahrain. He and another Bedouin will be waiting by the side entrance all night. He asked her a lot of questions then, about Gorde’s attitude to him and what he thought had happened up there in the fort. And when she had answered them all, he seemed anxious for her to go, his eyes very bright, his manner tense, almost nervous.

It was hot in my room and I didn’t sleep very well. My nerves were on edge and I kept worrying about Sue. And then just as it was beginning to get light I heard footsteps in the corridor outside and the door of the next room was flung open; muffled conversation and the movements of a man dressing in a hurry. I looked at my watch. It was just after four. I got dressed and went down. By then the hotel was in a ferment, reporters and cameramen trying to telephone for cars, the word ‘escape’ on everybody’s lips. Within half an hour the hotel was deserted.

I got one of the house-boys to bring me some coffee and sat over it smoking endless cigarettes, waiting, and wondering what had happened. In less than an hour the first of the newspapermen were drifting back and it was official — David had escaped. I never got the details absolutely clear. I doubt whether anyone did, for the thing was hushed up and there was no enquiry of any sort. There was a lot of talk about a force of Bedou from the desert, but that was clearly a story invented by his guards to cover themselves. The only Arab definitely implicated was bin Suleiman, and then only because a strolling reporter happened to recognize him loitering outside the walls. FAITHFUL COMPANION RESCUES AL-AKHBAR HERO ran the headlines of that particular newspaper. But it was more subtly managed than that, though whether David bribed his guards to unlock the doors or whether it was all arranged by some outside agency I don’t know. The fact is that David was able to walk out of the place and from that point it must have been very carefully organized, for when his guards raised the alarm at 0335 hours he had completely disappeared. There were rumours that he was being hidden in a rich merchant’s house, that he was lying up, disguised as an Arab, in a house on Muharraq, that he had been got away in a dhow. The whole of Bahrain seethed with rumours, but nobody knew anything definite and neither Sue nor I dared go and see Tessa, who was the one person we both thought might know where he’d been taken.

The newspapermen stayed another twenty-four hours and then they were suddenly gone, like a cloud of locusts moving on, the story dead. And all Gorde would say when I went to see him was, ‘I don’t know anything, and I wouldn’t tell you if I did. But this way it’s a lot easier for everybody.’ The heavy-lidded eyes stared at me. ‘Tell his sister not to worry. I expect she’ll hear from him in due course.’

We were married in a registry office in Cardiff four months later and when we got back from our honeymoon there was a letter waiting for us. It came in a parcel containing a silver coffee pot, very intricately worked. The letter was headed Saraifa:

A mutual friend of ours in GODCO has sent me word that you two are getting married. Congratulations! I thought you’d both like something from Arabia as a wedding present. It should have been native work from Saraifa. But I came to the conclusion that only the best would do. The coffee pot comes from Riyadh, by courtesy of GODCO, and is as good as any Arab potentate possesses. Remember me sometimes when you use it.

The situation here has settled down. I have a small force under my command, composed mainly of men of the Wahiba and the Rashid, and the money for its upkeep is provided. All five falaj channels are running with water and we hope within about a month to have the first of the old channels back in use. The Concession agreement has provided the funds and we are running the channel right through the oasis to irrigate the camel thorn we’ll be planting as a break against the sands of the Empty Quarter.

As soon as you have time, I want you both to come out here for a holiday. I think I can promise you more comfort than you had last time, and there’ll be plenty for you to see. Come next winter. The weather is perfect at that time of the year. We’ll have struck oil by then. And if it’s all that we hope, it will be called the Whitaker Oilfield.

Not much news except that the Emir has invited Sheikh Mahommed and myself to go hawking. We shall go in force, exchange presents, and I hope live in peace thereafter. God bless you both!

Affectionately,

‘ The Brother of Sheikh Khalid’

(By which title I am now known)