Dennis Wheatley - The Secret War

News travels fast in Addis Ababa and it was now evidently common knowledge that the Emperor was expected at the Military Academy, since a big crowd was collecting. As they eddied round the car, which Blatta Ingida Yohannes had driven on to the parade round, they cast lowering looks at the Europeans, and some of them began to make hostile murmurs.

A booted officer of the Abyssinian Imperial Guard, with tufts of lion fur in his hat and on his epaulettes, noticed them from some way away, came over, ordered back the crowd, and asked the visitors to descend and take up their position in a cleared space near the College building.

They waited there for what seemed an endless time, caking polite conversation with Blatta Ingida Yohannes, yet each harried by their secret thoughts of the reason for their presence there, their private miseries, and the terrible work which was to come. The cadets continued their drill without the least sign of fatigue from heart strain in the now strong sun.

A last there was a murmur in the distance. It swelled and grew into a roar of salutation. The crowd gesticulated wildly and began to shout, 'Habet! Habet! Dshanhoi !' A Rolls Royce, surrounded by police and running footmen, who drove back the too enthusiastic mob with their long whips, entered the parade ground. As it drew up a small, erect figure descended from it. The Emperor had arrived.

He wore the undistinguished garb common to the aristocrats of his country; a white shama with the ugly black cape of nobility over it, which looked like a bicycling waterproof and was, perhaps, originally designed as a protection from the unceasing rains which stream down. on Abyssinia for so considerable a portion of the year. Yet there was no mistaking him for anyone but Haile Selassie, the Lion of Judah.

The band struck up. The cadets presented arms. Lovelace and Christopher removed their topees and Valerie curtsied as he passed within a dozen yards of them on his way to the inspection. He looked full at them for a moment and acknowledged their gestures by a grave inclination of the head.

Valerie thought that she had never seen a sadder face or one more beautiful in sorrow, His big dark eyes held pride and fearlessness; yet something else which she could not quite analyze. Christopher read the deeper meaning of that glance; it was reproach.

Christopher understood the thought behind it as clearly as if the Emperor had spoken and said, `I know that you Europeans despise my people because they eat their meat raw, but a backward race cannot be educated by merely passing a few Acts of Parliament. It will take three generations to civilize Abyssinia but if the Italians

had only left me alone for even one I could have set my people on the road from which there would have been no turning back. As it is they have compelled me to abandon my most cherished projects because every penny that I possess must now be squandered on this war they have forced upon me. And you other white men are no better than the Italians. Your rotten little politicians lied to me about the power of their futile League, urged me to resist the Italian demands, and now they are afraid. Yes, afraid to the depths of their rotten little souls to help my defend my people from massacre by poison gas and high explosives.'

A wave of shame swept over Christopher. For the moment he forgot that only a few days before he had narrowly escaped mutilation and murder at the hands of the Emperor's subjects forgot the Italians' plans to turn the Ogaden deserts into fertile farmlands and sweep away a thousand barbarous abuses forgot the greedy Customs officials at the airport and the hyenas that still made the streets of Addis Ababa dangerous by night. He only burned with indignation at those thoughts which he felt the Emperor had transferred to him in that one long glance and understood how profoundly the lonely, cultured ruler must despise the white races for their treachery and weak vacillation. They had stolen the very jewels for his crown when it was made in Europe and had substituted bits of glass thinking he would not know. Apart from the Red Cross and relief people there was hardly a white in Addis Ababa who had come out during the war to give disinterested help. They all scented jobs or easy money and would rob him of the last thalers in his coffers for dud munitions if he did not defend himself with his wits as well as his courage.

Christopher's slender hands clenched and unclenched themselves spasmodically. He could not help the Emperor, he could not stop the war, but he could prevent it spreading. The Millers of God were right beyond quibble or question. Their cause was a sacred one and he, as their instrument, would not fail them. Before another dawn came to gild the zinc roofs of Addis Araba he would have killed Paxito Zirrif or have given his own life in an attempt to do so.

23

Preparations to kill and run

The inspection was over, the Emperor gone, and the crowds in their dirty white shamas were melting away again, Valerie caught a last glimpse of the green, gold and red flag of Abyssinia fluttering so bravely over the Military College, then it was hidden by a group of blue` gum trees as they sped back to the centre of Addis Ababa in Yohannes' car.

Owing to the early hour at which they had started the morning was still only half spent, yet Lovelace was conscious of a growing anxiety as the time slipped away. They had formulated no plan as yet for their attack on Zirrif and had not even had an opportunity to reconnoitre the place where the Armenian was staying. Much thought and careful preparation would be necessary if he and Christopher were to stand any chance of pulling off this horrible job and getting away safely afterwards. Lovelace was no fanatic and, although he felt that he must go through with the ghastly business now, he was determined to take every possible precaution which would give them the least hope of escaping with their lives. In a casual voice he asked Blatta Ingida Yohannes, 'Do you happen to know Ras Desoum?'

`Oh, yes,' the Abyssinian nodded, 'He is one of the younger Rases; an able man who sometimes assists the Emperor in financial matters. He was educated in France but perhaps over educated in some ways for he is not very popular among us.'

'He has a castle on the north side of the town, hasn't he?'

`Yes. It is near my own home.'

`I wonder if you'd mind driving us out there. I should rather like to see it.'

`There is very little to see,' Yohannes replied, glancing at him with some surprise, `but I will do so if you wish.'

Twenty minutes later they pulled up in front of a wide spread rabbit warren of low roofed buildings, encircled by a wall, which abutted on the road. `This is Ras Desoum's castle,' said Yohannes.

'Castle!' echoed Christopher in amazement.

The Abyssinian grinned all over his dark, cheerful face. `Yes. Any building which has three courtyards in this country is a castle. As you know the Ras, perhaps you would like me to see if he is at home?'

`No, please don't trouble,' Lovelace interposed quickly. `We don't know him; only a friend of his whom he knew while he was in Paris. We'll write him a line perhaps and ask if we may call in a few days time.'

As he spoke Lovelace was thinking of the grim visit they intended to pay there before the night was out and his lazy, brown eyes were seeking to memorize everything possible about the ragged tangle of courts and structures. The place was rather like a miniature of Gibbi, the Emperor's Palace. Through the open gates he could see natives swarming in the first court and passing in and out of long rows of squalid hutments which lined the walls. Further away a few higher roofs indicated more modern one story buildings and at one spot there was a small watch tower.

Yohannes drove on again. `As you do not wish to make a visit here,' he said, `I will take you now to one of the most beautiful of our old churches.'