For Kingdom and Country (33 page)

The passenger door swung open and Grössburger struggled to pull himself out. Shears followed.

‘In the light. Move,’ Lock said, waving his gun in the direction of the front of the car.

Grössburger stumbled, cradling his bruised wrist, and Shears helped to steady the fat Swiss as they walked forward into the single headbeam of the Crossley. Lock took a step after them and glanced at the front of the car. The left-hand headlight was smashed and twisted back, the wing crumpled and hanging loose. But thankfully that looked to be all the damage there was from ramming through the checkpoint barrier.

‘Far enough,’ Lock said.

The two oilmen shuffled about, squinting and averting their eyes from the glare of the beam. Lock could see that Grössburger’s face still bore the marks of Sergeant Major Underhill’s interrogation. His left eyebrow was swollen and there was bruising around his jawline. Shears must have hit his head in the back seat at some point during their escape, as he had a fresh cut above his left eye, and the left lens of his spectacles was cracked.

‘Wh-who ar-are you?’ Grössburger asked, his voice shaky with nerves.

Lock glanced up at the sky. The cloud cover was breaking and there were some stars out, but the moon was yet to rise. He removed the fez and lifted the patch from his eye, glad to feel the air rush to the itching socket. He patted his pockets and cursed, remembering he had no cigarettes. And then he raised his eyes and focused on Lord Shears. The oilman, he remembered, always had a steady supply of cigarettes.

‘Give me a cigarette,’ Lock said.

‘Certainly,’ Shears said, hurriedly reaching into his pocket.

Lock let off a quick shot, firing into the ground only inches from Shears’ boot.

‘The next one will go right between your eyes.’

Shears froze, hand halfway in his right-hand pocket.

‘Toss it here.’

Shears slowly pulled a P.08 Luger pistol from his pocket by the barrel and threw it over to Lock.

‘You. Fat man? Do you have a gun for me as well?’

Grössburger shook his head vigorously. ‘
N-nein
, n-nein
,’ he stuttered.

Lock crouched down, picked up the Luger and stuffed it in his pocket. ‘Now for that cigarette,’ he said, standing straight again, and holstering his Beholla.

Shears nodded and cautiously put his hand in his left-hand pocket
and pulled out a packet of Pall Malls. He held the packet out, seemingly unsure whether he should approach.

‘
A
cigarette, I said.’

Shears took the hint, opened the pack, and started to walk towards Lock, squinting in the glare of the headlight.

Lock waited until Shears was just at the edge of the beam, then stepped forward out of the shadows.

Shears stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes met Lock’s and they widened with shock. ‘Lieutenant Lock?’ he whispered.

‘
Was? Was … Was hast du gesagt?
’ Grössburger gasped, lifting his chubby hand to shield his eyes.

Lock helped himself to one of Shears’ cigarettes. The oilman put the pack away in his pocket, pulled out a book of matches, and struck a light. Lock steadied Shears’ shaking hand and leant into the flame, his eyes burning through the oilman’s glinting lenses.

‘No, my dear Lord Shears,’ he said, letting out a sigh of tobacco smoke, ‘it’s captain now.’

‘Very well,
Captain
Lock. Now what? Do you plan to drive us all the way back to Basra?’ Shears said with a touch of arrogance.

Lock stared back at the oilman letting the silence stretch out. When he could see that Shears was getting uncomfortable, he spoke. ‘There’s extra jerrycans there,’ he said jutting his chin back towards the automobile. ‘More than enough for a long journey.’

Shears remained tight-lipped. Grössburger glanced at his colleague nervously.

‘But you were setting off at night,’ Lock continued, ‘and I doubt you were driving all that way.’

Lock finished his cigarette and stamped out the stub. A boat? No, he thought, if they had a boat it would be in Nasiriyeh. Besides, these two wouldn’t be heading back to Basra. Shears was ‘dead’ and Grössburger
under suspicion by the British authorities. So where? Then Lock smiled. Of course. They would be going back to Persia, to Ahwaz and the oil refinery, or perhaps Abadan Island at the mouth of the Shatt al-Arab. That was a long way, though.

He strode back over to the automobile and opened the driver’s door, struck a match and peered inside. Under the box of pearls on the front passenger seat was a map. Lock reached in and pulled it out. He tossed the match aside and went to stand near the headlight. He glanced over his shoulder.

‘Back to the fat man, Lord Shears. If you please.’

Lock waited until Shears had gone to stand next to his colleague again.

‘Sit down. Both of you.’

The oilmen sat themselves awkwardly down on the desert floor.

‘
C-Cap-Capitan
… Lock,’ Grössburger stuttered, ‘I ass-assure …’

‘Shut your fat mouth,’ Lock snarled. ‘I won’t ask again.’

Grössburger blinked back through the headlight beam, then dropped his head and mumbled something to Shears.

Lock opened up the map and ran his eye over its detail. The road they were on, for want of a better word, was marked, and it followed the length of the Euphrates all the way to Hammar Lake. The first town they would pass was Suq ash Shuyukh, which rested on the edge of a smaller body of water called Lake Hokeike. Beyond that the road would, Lock imagined, become impassable as they would hit floods and reed marsh. To continue to Basra by automobile, they would have to circle south, deep into the Shamiya Desert, and he just couldn’t see that happening. They hadn’t the water. Unless the plan was for the oilmen to rendezvous with a team of horses or camels?

Lock folded the map away again and stumped out his cigarette. ‘All right, gentlemen, back in the motor car,’ he said, opening up the rear passenger door for them.

Shears and Grössburger glanced uneasily at one another and pulled themselves stiffly to their feet. They shuffled warily over to Lock, hesitated, then climbed into the back seat. Lock slammed the door shut on them and slipped in the front behind the steering wheel.

‘What’s waiting for you at Lake Hokeike?’ he said, twisting round in his seat.

He was met by stony silence.

‘Very well.’ Lock leant to his side and turned back again with Shears’ Luger in his hand. He pulled the trigger in the same second. There was a terrific crack, a flash that illuminated the terrified faces of the two oilmen, followed by a soft splintering of glass as the bullet punched its way out of the rear window.

The smell of cordite and fear was almost overwhelming in the confined interior of the automobile.

‘We have an aeroplane! We have an aeroplane!’ Grössburger blurted out.

‘At Suq ash Shuyukh?’ Lock said.

‘
Nein
, der see
. The lake. On the lake,’ Grössburger whimpered.

‘
On
the lake?’

‘
Ja
, ja
. It is … flying boat.’

Lock turned back in his seat. ‘Well, well. Whatever will they think of next?’ He struck a match and checked his watch. He estimated there was some four hours left until sunrise.

‘Get some sleep,’ he said and switched off the headlight. They were suddenly plunged into darkness.

Slowly Lock’s eyes adjusted to the gloom and he lay back across the front seats, the Luger resting on his chest. He stared up out of the windscreen at the stars in the night sky. The clouds cleared and the waning gibbous moon suddenly brought a silvery glow to everything.

As Lock lay there thinking, not for once of Amy, but of Betty and
that kiss, he was vaguely aware of the two oilmen fidgeting about until finally there was stillness. After a while one of them began to snore softly. Grössburger. Shears would be wide awake, Lock knew, his mind no doubt working overtime as to how he was going to worm his way out of this predicament. Or perhaps he wasn’t, Lock thought. Perhaps the oilman already knew what would happen.

Lock lifted the Luger up and looked it over. It was a nice gun, not as graceful as his Beholla, but he could see why so many British officers liked them compared to the bulky Webley. Maybe he’d give it to Ross as a gift. Or keep it for himself. After all it used the same 7.65 parabellum round that … Oh, but of course, he suddenly thought. What an idiot I am.

‘You’re a most appalling shot, Lord Shears,’ he said.

There was a snort of derision from the back seat.

‘You owe my friend an apology,’ Lock said.

‘Why on earth should I apologise to that Indian fool?’ Shears said.

‘For the pain you gave him,’ Lock said. ‘His ribs ache all the time. He hides it, but I can see it on his face. Now me … I don’t expect an apology, I can understand you just wanted me out of the way.’

‘It was nothing personal.’

‘A professional matter? I see. Then, I suppose Singh was just unlucky.’

‘You could say that.’

‘But what I don’t understand is …’ Lock paused, sitting himself up. He stared back at Shears’ face illuminated by the moon, his lenses two discs of white light, ‘– why you pulled the trigger yourself?’

‘Did you know dear Günther here was there that night? At the brothel?’ Shears said.

‘No.’

Shears scoffed and glanced at Grössburger, snoring softly in the seat next to him. ‘He has a soft spot for the ladies—’

‘Hardly soft.’

Shears turned his face back to Lock and gave one of his withering smiles.

‘Quite. But he was late, as usual, for a meeting. And I had no choice but to go and fetch him myself. Fortunately Jalal Al-din Bahar is a most discreet host, so I was not afraid of him seeing me. But when you suddenly stepped out of the door and struck that match, I panicked.’

‘Now I know you’re lying.’

Shears shrugged. ‘I am not a soldier, Captain. I don’t like guns.’

‘Guns are neutral,’ Lock said. ‘It makes more sense to detest the man who holds it.’

‘Very profound.’

‘I have my moments.’

Shears stared back at Lock for a moment, then continued. ‘I presumed that you were one step closer to discovering that I wasn’t dead. I was rash and foolish.’

‘Were you?’ Lock didn’t believe the oilman. He knew there was more to it than that.

Shears smiled thinly again. ‘I realise now that you had no idea that I was still alive. Why would you?’

Lock yawned and rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Give me one of your gaspers, will you?’

‘Certainly.’ Shears offered the pack of Pall Malls to Lock. ‘May I join you?’

Lock waved his hand. ‘Go ahead, they’re your cigarettes.’

Shears took one for himself and Lock lit them both. The two men then sat smoking in silence, alone with their thoughts.

‘What do you plan to do with us?’ Shears eventually said.

‘Take you to Major Ross.’

Shears nodded through a cloud of tobacco. ‘I see.’

‘You don’t seem overly troubled.’

‘I’m not.’

‘You’re a traitor, sir. Do you know what they do to traitors?’

Shears just continued to smoke in silence.

Lock sighed and glanced at his watch again, twisting his wrist until the face caught in the moonlight. It was a little after three now. He estimated that it was no more than an hour’s drive to Lake Hokeike. If they set off in half an hour, they’d arrive at dawn.

‘Is this flying boat easily accessed?’ he said.

‘There is a jolly boat on the shore. Our chauffeur was to row us out to the flying boat.’

‘And the crew?’

‘They stay with the craft at all times.’

Lock pulled himself upright, opened the door on the passenger side and climbed out. He stretched, felt his knee crack, took a final draw on his cigarette and flicked it out into the silvery desert. It bounced once in a sprinkling of sparks and was gone. Lock unstrapped the jerrycan from the running-board and carried it to the back of the automobile. He unscrewed the filler cap and began to pour in the petrol. The fumes wafted up around his face and he turned his head away suddenly feeling nauseous. While the petrol glugged and sloshed into the tank, Lock kept glancing back through the rear window to check on the two oilmen. The last of the petrol dribbled out into the tank, and Lock tossed the jerrycan away into the gloom. It made a hollow clang as it landed causing Shears to jerk his head to the left.

Lock brushed his hands and walked back to the driver’s side of the automobile. He opened the door and leant in to turn the magneto on. There was a dull electric buzz that made Grössburger suddenly stir from his slumber with a snort.

‘
Was ist …?
’ the fat Swiss yawned.

Lock set the throttle lever up, pushed the spark advance to slow, then walked to the front of the automobile. He glanced up. Shears and Grössburger were sat watching him through the windscreen. Lock bent down, pushed the hand crank lever in and then, with his left hand, gave it a single, but forceful, turn to the right. The engine coughed, spluttered and kicked into life. Lock moved back round and slipped in behind the steering wheel once more, closing the door after him. He flicked on the headlight, adjusted the spark advance until the engine was purring smoothly, then released the handbrake, and with a scrunch of loose stones, they drove off.

By the time they neared the settlement of Suq ash Shuyukh the first signs of dawn had turned the sky to their left a magnificent hue of red and orange. Lock steered the Crossley away from the town to avoid any curious approaches. There wouldn’t be a large Turkish garrison here, more likely a small outpost, but he still didn’t want to run the risk of having to show transit papers, despite the fact he still wore the Turkish naval uniform. Eventually the shimmering pink and blue waters of Lake Hokeike appeared up ahead. Lock drove on. There were a number of boats, mostly the lenj fishing vessels, but fortunately there were no fishermen about just yet. Out on the water Lock could see a bulky silhouette edged with an orange halo of light. The flying boat. He’d never seen one before, although he had heard of them, and indeed they did look just like a boat with wings and a tail attached. How on earth could that fly, he wondered?

‘There,’ Shears suddenly said from the back seat, pointing forward.

Lock spotted a small dinghy up on the shore. He steered the automobile as close as he could get, then stopped and switched off the headlight and the engine. He twisted round in his seat, Beholla raised.

‘All right, gentlemen, in the boat. Shears, you’ll be rowing.’

The two oilmen shuffled out of the same door and Lock quickly followed. They scrunched down the gravelly foreshore and Lock stood
by as the two oilmen dragged the dinghy down to the water.

Grössburger moved awkwardly to the bow, while Shears sat facing the rear with the oars in his hands. Lock pushed them off, then clambered in and sat down at the tiller, his Beholla covering Shears.

‘Off we go.’

It took them less than five minutes to row out to the anchored flying boat, with not a sound around them but the gentle rhythmic splosh of the oars passing through the water. In that time, the sun gradually crept up over the horizon, shooting its orange warmth across the choppy water and burning away the last of the shadows concealing the details of the aircraft.

It looked very impressive as they moved steadily closer, sat in the middle of the lake like a giant seabird at rest. It was a pusher type like Petre’s Farman MF.11, but this aeroplane had two engines with rear-facing propellers, a large boat body and a fully enclosed cabin. The name
America
was written on the bow, and the APOC palm tree emblem was daubed on the tail rudder, yellow on black.

‘What is this?’ Lock said.

Shears craned his neck over his shoulder. ‘It is a Curtiss … Model H-4 … flying boat … Lock … A very … interesting … craft, don’t … you agree?’ the oilman said breathlessly, between strokes. ‘APOC … acquired a … couple of … them at … the beginning … of the year … From the United … States.’

‘How many can she carry?’

‘Crew of … three, four … passengers.’

‘Fortunate for Grössburger,’ Lock said.

Shears was about to ask why, then he just turned his gaze away.

Lock gave a shallow snort of amusement at the oilman’s reaction.

The flying boat was still and silent as they came alongside. Grössburger grabbed hold of the lower wing and Shears clambered unsteadily out of
the dinghy. He gave a hand to Grössburger, and Lock, his Beholla still trained on the two oilmen, leapt out onto the wing himself. The dinghy began to drift away on the current.

‘Well, gentlemen,’ Lock said with a sly grin, ‘we best wake the aircrew and get underway.’

A cramped, mentally draining two hours later the civilian pilot, a gruff Afrikaans with hateful, dark eyes and a scar down his left cheek, shouted back across the noisy, stuffy cabin that Amara was in sight. Lock closed up Wassmuss’s notebook and put it away in his breeches pocket. He’d removed the naval jacket and the fez, and was dressed just in his shirtsleeves now. He peered bleary-eyed out through the window and down at the shimmering Tigris snaking its way north-west.

Amara was little different from twenty-four hours earlier, Lock thought, just a lot more boats on the water. The rest of Townshend’s Regatta had evidently arrived.

It had been easy enough to disarm and encourage the three sleepy members of the flying boat’s aircrew to get their craft ready and up into the air. Lock spotted the odd conspiratorial glance between Shears and the Afrikaans pilot, but nothing happened and the flight was uneventful. Lock settled at the very back of the cabin and, with one eye on the crew and the oilmen, he overcame the overwhelming desire to sleep by studying Wassmuss’s notebook.

The Curtiss H-4 spluttered down towards the river like a giant, egg-laden pelican searching for a nesting sight. They turned and slowly dropped down, passing low over the damaged bridge of boats, which Lock could see was now busy with engineers going about repairs. The flying boat skimmed the choppy surface of the Tigris, bounced, shuddered and finally sighed as it settled on the water. The pilot eased off the throttle and glided the craft towards the main quay and the Customs House.
Already there was quite a crowd standing on the river’s edge and out on the muddy foreshore staring and pointing out at the strange boat with wings.

‘Thank you, gentlemen,’ Lock said to the aircrew as he got to his feet. ‘Lord Shears, Herr Grössburger and myself shall be leaving you now.’

‘What about us?’ the Afrikaans pilot growled, twisting round, his knuckles white as they gripped the back of his seat.

‘I’m a man of my word,’ Lock said. ‘You are free to do as you wish. You’re civilians. Fly off or stay, it makes no difference to me. Unless you try something stupid that is.’ He raised the Beholla to make it clear how serious he was.

The pilot’s eyes dropped to Lock’s pistol and he licked his lips. ‘You’ll have no trouble from us.’

‘Good.’

‘I imagine we will be needed before long,’ the pilot added, glancing at Shears.

‘As you wish,’ Lock said. ‘I’d just ask that you stay here until we have safely reached the shore. Just so there’s no misunderstandings.’ He smiled. ‘You,’ Lock said, pointing to the navigator, ‘open the hatch.’

The navigator, a slim man with an acne-scarred complexion, glanced uncertainly at the pilot.

‘Go ahead,’ the pilot said, ‘let some air into this stinking box.’

Lock stepped back and watched as the navigator climbed the ladder at the back of the cabin, and opened up the rooftop access hatch. He climbed back down, and returned to his seat.

Lock picked up the jewellery box, climbed up the ladder himself and out of the access hatch. A warm breeze hit him in the face and it was a welcome relief from the stuffy cabin. He waved his arm, signalling to the shore, and soon spotted a flurry of movement along the quayside. A moment later a motor launch was bouncing its way towards him across
the water. Lock stood to one side and called down into the cabin.

By the time Shears and Grössburger had climbed up out of the cabin and stepped down onto the wing, the motor launch, manned by a single marine, a corporal with a black beard, had reached them. The marine corporal skillfully glided close to the wing, and Lock steadied the launch while Grössburger and Shears climbed in.

‘Captain Lock, with two prisoners.’

‘I know who you are, sir,’ the marine corporal said, with a nod. ‘There’s a Major Ross on the quay waiting for you.’

‘Good. Let’s get going.’

‘Never seen one of these before, sir,’ the marine corporal said, running his eye over the flying boat. ‘Thought you were going to crash when we saw you dropping down to the water.’

Lock jumped down from the wing into the launch. ‘It’s the best of both worlds, Corporal,’ he said. ‘Albeit a little cramped.’

The marine corporal smiled, then opened up the throttle and, in a spray of water, spun the launch about and sped off back towards the shore.

Major Ross was standing, arms folded, pipe clenched between his teeth, a pair of binoculars dangling from his neck, waiting on the quayside. There were two Red Caps at his side, rifles slung across their bellies, and a small crowd of curious natives and off-duty soldiers, all chatting and pointing out towards the flying boat. The aircraft had evidently caused quite a stir.

The marine corporal steered the launch up to a wooden jetty where a native dockhand was ready to tie the boat off. Lock waved his Beholla directing Shears and Grössburger to climb out, and he then prodded them towards the wooden steps.

The two Red Caps immediately stepped forward to take the oilmen in hand.

‘To the detention cells,’ Ross said. He didn’t even look at Shears.

Lock holstered his Beholla and passed a hand through his damp hair.

‘I thought for a minute those Red Caps were for me,’ he said, nodding after the two provosts as they marched Shears and Grössburger towards the Customs House.

‘Aye, laddie, they very nearly were,’ Ross said, taking his pipe from his mouth. ‘And then I saw who you had for company. I nearly fell off the quay in shock.’

‘A dead man and a fat man,’ Lock grinned, looking about. He spotted what he was after. ‘Hey, Private,’ he called to one of the Tommies standing nearby, ‘can I bum a smoke?’

The private fished out a pack of Navy Cut. ‘Sure. You look like you need one, pal.’

Lock nodded his thanks. The Tommy struck a match for him and then stepped away again.

‘So no Feyzi? No Wassmuss?’ Ross said.

Lock shook his head. ‘Dead.’

‘Are you certain?’

‘
Coup de grâce
,’ Lock said through a sigh of tobacco.

‘Pity.’

‘Not so, sir,’ Lock said. ‘Those two,’ he nodded in the direction of Shears and Grössburger, just as the two oilmen entered the Customs House and disappeared from sight, ‘were with Feyzi, Wassmuss, whoever he bloody was, and a bunch of senior enemy officers. APOC are involved in some serious shit, sir. Colluding with the enemy, taking bribes, paying bribes. Who knows what exactly.’ He paused and put his cigarette between his lips. ‘But I did retrieve this,’ he mumbled, taking Wassmuss’s notebook from his pocket and handing it to Ross. ‘Makes for very interesting reading. Most of it’s in code, as we know, but there’s a list of names at the back very similar to that list I gave you mentioning payments and locations and names relating to that pearl company. Only
this list has sub-lists, and Harrington-Brown’s name is among them …’

Ross was flicking through the notebook with a frown of concentration etched upon his face. He looked up realising Lock had stopped talking. ‘I see.’

‘You see?’

Ross nodded and closed the notebook up, putting it away in his pocket. He steered Lock away from the quayside and they walked side by side towards the Customs House.

‘What about the investigation?’

‘Investigation?’

‘The assassination, this Turk officer I’m supposed to have murdered in cold blood.’

‘Oh, that. Don’t let it bother you, laddie.’

‘What?’ Lock pulled Ross to a halt. ‘Don’t let it bother me?’

The Major smiled. ‘
Kaymakam
Süleyman Askerî Bey committed suicide. At least that’s the official line coming out of Constantinople now.’

Lock just gaped back at Ross at a loss for words.

The Major took him by the elbow, and pulled him on. ‘Politics, laddie.’

Lock grunted and they both continued walking in silence. More mind games, he thought. Would they ever end?

‘I worked out who shot me, by the way,’ Lock said after a while.

‘Oh?’

Lock pulled the Luger from his waistband and gave it to Ross.

‘Wassmuss,’ the major said, turning the gun over in his hand. ‘I thought so.’

‘No, sir,’ Lock said. ‘That belongs to Shears. It seems I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was on his way to fetch Grössburger from the brothel. When I stepped out with Singh, Shears panicked. Or so he says.’

As they arrived at the foot of the steps running up to the Customs House entrance, Ross paused and glanced back out across the water towards the anchored flying boat.

‘Interesting. I know the Admiralty are looking into those flying boat contraptions for use over the North Sea. But as far as I was aware, they were still in the developmental stage.’

‘Shears told me that APOC had obtained it from America,’ Lock said. ‘It would seem that the oil company are better equipped than the British forces.’

Ross snorted and his gaze fell on the jewellery box under Lock’s arm.

‘What’s that?’

Lock pulled the box out and considered it for a moment. ‘Oh, this. Just my shaving kit, sir. Supplied by Bet …’

‘Well you best go use it,’ Ross said. ‘You have a party to attend this evening.’

‘A party? I’d rather not, sir, if it’s all the same to you.’

‘All the officers are expected to attend, laddie,’ Ross said, pulling his pipe from his mouth and jabbing it towards Lock. ‘No exceptions. The general’s throwing it to celebrate our victory. Besides, I think it best you are there, to show certain … persons that you’re back in the fold, as it were, all forgiven.’

‘But what about the general, sir? The last time I saw him—’

‘He’s the one who insisted, Lock. He knows what you’ve done, what you’ve been doing. Most of that … bluster the other day about murder and court martial was for show, for the benefit of Colonel Godwinson.’ Ross shrugged. ‘Like I said, politics. You know?’

Lock nodded and stamped his cigarette out. ‘I’m beginning to, sir.’