West from Singapore (Ss) (1987) (21 page)

Arnold nodded. "I've thought of that," he said. "Frankly, Jim, other people have, too. Skelton even hinted that you might have sunk that convoy."

"What?" Ponga Jim's face hardened. "Some day that guy's going to make me sore."

"But see his angle. You have guns. There were two destroyers with that convoy, but what would prevent you from giving one of them a salvo at close quarters when they expected nothing of the kind? And then the other?"

"There's something in that," Ponga Jim admitted. "But you and I know it's baloney.

And where does this killing me come in? Only one way I can see it. These babies have an espionage system that reaches right to the top here in Egypt. They know about me coming through; they know about my plan to go on."

Arnold was thoughtful. "Jim," he said slowly, "I've got a hunch. You've knocked around a lot. Suppose you were right, and this isn't a Nazi deal? Who or what could it be? My hunch is that you know, and somebody knows you know, and is afraid you might talk."

Ponga Jim frowned. "I know? What d'you mean?"

"Suppose that while knocking around-you used to be in Africa-you stumbled across some person or place connected with this. You have forgotten, but someone in this plot hasn't." Mayo nodded. "Might be something to it. But what?"

"Think it over. In the meanwhile, we'll have this body taken off your hands."

When Arnold had gone Ponga Jim walked out on deck and called Selim and Sakim.

"Listen," he said. "You boys used to be wise to everything that happened in the Red Sea. I want you to go out into the bazaars, anywhere, and I want the gossip. I want to know more about this warship we saw. I want to know about the guy that was killed in my cabin. Above all, I want to know something about a woman named Zara Hammedan!"

The two Afridis stiffened.

"Who, Nakhoda?" Selim said. "Did you say Zara Hammedan?" "That's right."

"But, Nakhoda, we know who she is!" Selim hesitated. Then: "I will tell you, Nakhoda.

This is a secret among Moslems, but you are our protector and friend. There is among Moslems a young movement, a sect of those who are fanatics who would draw together all Moslem countries in a huge empire. These men have chosen Zara Hammedan for their spiritual leader. She is scarcely more than a girl, Nakhoda, but she is of amazing beauty."

"Who is she? An Arab?"

Selim shrugged. "Perhaps. It is said she is of the family of the Sultan of Kishin, leader of the powerful Mahra tribe, whose territory extends along the coast from Museinaa to Damkut." Slug Brophy came up as the two were leaving.

"Any orders, Skipper? We'll have her empty an hour after daybreak."

"Yeah. "

Ponga Jim talked slowly for several minutes, and Slug nodded. "Can you swing it?" he asked finally.

"Sure." Brophy hitched up his trousers. "This is going to be good.... "

A few minutes after daybreak, Ponga Jim went ashore and headed for Golmar Street.

As he disappeared, Brophy stepped out on deck. With him was Big London.

"That's the lay," Slug said briefly. "The chief's going alone. You follow him, see?

But keep that ugly mug of yours out of sight. I got a hunch he's sticking his neck out, and I want you close by if he does. He'd raise the roof if he knew it, so keep your head down."

The giant black man nodded eagerly and then went ashore. Brophy looked after him, grinning.

"Well, Skipper," he muttered, "if you do get into it, you can use that guy."

For three hours, Ponga Jim was busy. He dropped into various bars, consumed a few drinks, ate breakfast, and lounged about. In his white-topped peaked cap with its captain's insignia, his faded khaki suit, and woven-leather sandals, he was not conspicuous.

Only the unusual breadth of his shoulders and his sun-browned face somehow stood out. The bulge under his left shoulder was barely noticeable.

The streets of Suez were jammed. War had brought prosperity to the port, and the ships that came up from around the Cape of Good Hope were mostly docking here. Hundreds of soldiers were about the streets. Ghurkas, Sikhs, and Punjabis from India, stalwart Australians and New Zealanders, occasional Scotsmen, and a number of R. A. F. flyers.

And there were seamen from all the seven seas, thronging ashore for a night or a day and then off to sea again. There was a stirring in the bazaars, and rumors were rife of new activity in Libya, of fighting to break out in Iraq once more, of German aggression in Turkey.

And the grapevine of the Orient was at work, with stories from all the Near East drifting here. To a man who knew his way around, things were to be learned in the bazaars.

Ponga Jim went on to Port Said, flying over and later flying back. At four in the afternoon, he presented himself at Skelton's office.

He was admitted at once. Demarest, Kernan, Arnold, Woodbern, and Skelton himself were there.

"Glad you dropped in, Mayo," Skelton said abruptly. "I was about to send for you.

Our destroyers wirelessed that they could find only wreckage. Two more destroyers coming up from Aden effected a junction with the same report. What have you to say to that?"

"The warship could have hidden," Ponga Jim said quietly. "You would scarcely expect it to wait for you."

"Hidden? In the Red Sea?" Skelton smiled coldly. "Captain Mayo, a warship could not be concealed in the Red Sea. No ship could be."

"No?" Ponga Jim smiled in turn.

"No," Skelton said. "Furthermore, Captain Mayo, I have deemed it wise to order your ship interned until we can investigate further. I am a little curious as to those guns you carry. I also hear you carry a pocket submarine and an amphibian plane.

Strange equipment for an honest freighter."

"The spoils of war," Mayo assured him, still smiling. "I captured them and have found them of use. And I hate to disappoint you, Skelton, but I'm afraid if you expect to intern the Semiramis you are a bit late."

"What do you mean?" Skelton snapped.

"The Semiramis," Ponga Jim said softly, "finished discharging shortly after daybreak this morning. She left port immediately!"

"What!"

Skelton was on his feet, his face white with anger. The other men tensed. But out of the corner of his eye, Ponga Jim could see a twinkle in General Kernan's eyes.

"No doubt you'll find the Semiramis," Ponga Jim said coolly, "since you say no ship can be concealed in the Red Sea. Good hunting, Skelton!"

He turned and started for the door.

A buzzer sounded, and behind him he heard Skelton lift the phone.

"What?" Skelton shouted. "Both of them?" The telephone dropped back into the cradle.

"Gentlemen," Skelton said sharply, "the destroyers sent from this base to investigate Captain Mayo's report have both been sunk. A partial message was received, telling how they had been attacked. Captain Mayo, you are under arrest!"

"Sorry, gentlemen," Mayo said, "but I can't wait!" He swung the door open and sprang into the hall. "Stop him!" Skelton roared.

A burly soldier leaped from his position by the wall, grabbing at Mayo with both hands. Ponga Jim grabbed the big man by the wrist and hurled him over his back in a flying mare that sent the big fellow crashing into the opposite wall. Then he was down the hall, out into the street, and with one jump, was into the crowd.

Another soldier rushed from the building and started down the steps close on Ponga Jim's heels. A Herculean black man, lounging near the door, deftly thrust his foot in the way, and the soldier spilled head over heels into the crowd at the foot of the stone steps.

Rounding a corner, Ponga Jim slipped into a crowded bazaar. He stopped briefly at a stall, and when he left he was wrapped in a long Arab cloak, or aba, and on his head was a headcloth bound with an aghal. With his dark skin and his black hair he looked like a native.

He walked on, mingling with the people of the bazaar. Twice soldiers passed him, their eyes scanning the bazaar, but none looked at him.

But as Ponga Jim drifted slowly from the bazaar and out into the less crowded streets, a slim, hawk-featured man was close behind. And a little further back, Big London, his mighty muscles concealed by his own aba, trailed along, watching with jungle-trained cunning the two men in the crowd ahead.

Chapter
IV Zara Hammedan.

The marketplaces of the East teem with gossip, and stories are told over the buying of leather or the selling of fruit or in the harems.

To hear them, many an intelligence officer would pay a full year's salary.

During the morning, Ponga Jim had heard much. Now, in his simple disguise and with his easy, natural flow of Arabic, he heard more. A discreet comment or two added to his information.

Several points held his interest. If the Nazis were behind the mysterious killings of the key men who had been murdered here, and if they owned the mystery warship, why had Ambrose Carter been killed, known as he was to favor Hitler? And what had he been doing in Egypt?

Who was the man who had been shot aboard the Semiramis?

Where had he obtained the scarab ring? Why did he want to talk to Ponga Jim and no one else? And what was his connection with the girl, Zara Hammedan?

And last but not least, what could Ponga Jim Mayo possibly know that the enemy might fear?

Whatever it was, it had to be something he had known before he left Africa, several years before. There seemed only one answer to that. He would have to go over all his African experience in his mind, recalling each fact, each incident, each person.

Somewhere he would find a clue.

In the meanwhile, he would have to avoid the police, and even more, the killers who would be sure to be on his trail. The card that had been found on the dead man, the card bearing the name of Zara Hammedan, was the only good lead Ponga Jim had, and to Zara Hammedan he would go.

He had already learned that she lived in the Ramleh section of Alexandria. So at eight o'clock, moving up through the trees, Ponga Jim looked up at the Moorish palace that was Zara Hammedan's home. There were no windows on the lower floor; just a high, blank wall of stucco. Above that, the second floor projected over the narrow alley on either side of the house, and there were many windows, all brilliantly lighted.

A limousine rolled up to the entrance, and two men in evening dress got out. For an instant the light touched the face of one of them. He was Nathan Demarest!

As other cars began to arrive, Ponga Jim studied the house thoughtfully. Had there been no crowd he would have shed his disguise, approached the house, and sent his own name to the lady. But now Keeping under the cypress trees, he worked down along the alley. At one place the branches of a huge tree reached out toward the window opposite it. Ponga Jim caught a branch and swung himself into the tree with the agility of a monkey. Creeping out along the branch, he glanced through the window into a bedroom, obviously a woman's room. At the moment, it was empty.

The window was barred, and the heavy bars were welded together and set into steel slides in the window casing. Ponga Jim crept farther along the branch, a big one that had been cut off when it touched the house. Balancing himself, he tested the bars. Almost noiselessly, they lifted when he strained.

They wouldn't weigh a bit under eighty pounds, and it was an awkward lift, even though he had often put. up more than twice that with one hand. Looking about, he found a fair-sized branch and cut it off with his seaman's clasp knife. Then, leaning far out, he worked the set of bars up and propped the stick beneath them.

It was quite dark, and in the dim light Ponga Jim could see nothing beneath him.

Once, he thought he detected a movement, but when he waited, there was no more movement, no sound. He pushed the window open with his foot and slipped through the window.

Below, in the darkness, the jungle-keen ears of Big London, who had been watching Ponga Jim slowly working the bars up, had heard a soft step. He faded into the brush as softly as a big cat. A man slid slowly from the dark and glanced around, trying to place the black man, and then slid a knife from his sleeve. And as Ponga Jim leaned far out toward the window, he drew the knife back to throw.

A huge black hand closed around his throat, and he was fairly jerked from his feet.

Struggling, he tried to use the knife, but it was plucked from his nerveless fingers by the big black. Before the man knew what was happening, he was neatly trussed hand and foot and then gagged. Dimly, he saw a huge form bending above him, making a threatening motion with the knife. Frightened, the would-be killer was silent.

Ponga Jim gently closed the window behind him and glanced around. There was a faint perfume in the room. He crossed to the dressing table and slid open a drawer. Inside were some letters. He had started to glance over them when a voice in the hall startled him. Instantly, he dropped the packet into the drawer and stepped quickly across the room and into a closet.

The door opened and a woman came in. Or rather a girl, followed by a maid. Her hair was black, and her eyes were long, large, and slightly oblique. Her white evening gown fitted her like a dream and revealed rather than concealed her slender, curved figure.