The 92nd Tiger (26 page)

The policemen seemed to be enjoying it.

‘Once we’re round this corner, we’re back on dry land.’

‘We’d better wait there until the balloon goes up.’ The men squatted on the flag-stones, whilst Cowcroft consulted his watch. It was ten to six.

The next ten minutes were long ones. The chill of the underground passage had got into Hugo’s bones. The secret of war was to keep moving. If you were running forward, or even if you were running backwards, the movement anaesthetised you. Better still if you could make a noise. He realised now why savages screamed as they fought. Zulus, Pathans, Chinese pirates—

His head was nodding, when he was jerked back to full awareness by a formidable explosion of sound.

‘There’s our cue,’ said Cowcroft. ‘Bang on time.’ He switched on his torch, and they stumbled to their feet and set off down the passage. Behind them Hugo could hear the clicking of bolts as the policemen cocked their automatic rifles. He thrust his hand down the front of his shirt and pulled out the Luger. It was comfortably warm.

As they turned the last corner, the noise of battle rose to a climax. The ear-splitting crack of mortar bombs bursting in the confined space of the courtyard above their heads; the rattle of automatic fire; the thud and crump of a howitzer; men screaming.

Hugo climbed the steps that led up into the open air. Cowcroft’s orders had been simple. Get out and start shooting. Shoot anything that moves. Then get the main gate open as quick as you bloody well can.

A man was standing, with his back to Hugo, under cover of the arched doorway. As he turned, Hugo recognised him. It was Dr. Kassim. He had a blood-stained rag tied round his forehead, and a machine pistol over one shoulder.

For a moment in time he stared incredulously at Hugo, then came at him, dragging one foot, but coming fast, swinging the machine pistol into the firing position.

Hugo jerked up his Luger and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. At the same instant that he realised he had forgotten to take off the safety catch, someone fired three times from behind him. Gouts of red appeared in the front of Dr. Kassim’s khaki blouse, but it was going to take more than three bullets in his body to stop him.

He crashed into Hugo and as they went down together light and sound were blotted out.

They had arranged Hugo’s bed so that he could look out of the window. His apartment had been broken into and looted twice. It was now a moderately tidy battlefield. Most of the mess had been cleared up and some new furniture installed.

He was suffering from the after-effects of severe concussion. The shake-up of his brain had been caused by hitting his head on the stone floor when he went down under the dying Dr. Kassim. His depression had causes which went deeper.

Out in the street he could see parties of U.S. Marines perambulating along the waterfront. They were followed by a horsefly swarm of Umrani children. The small ones seemed to be begging for chewing gum, the older ones for cigarettes. Both lots were rewarded. Moharram was doing a roaring trade.

Hugo grunted, and turned over in bed. He turned slowly because, if he made any sudden movement, the room was apt to rotate alarmingly. Nawaf came in.

He said, ‘How are you feeling today, Mr. Greest?’

‘Fine,’ said Hugo. ‘I’ll be getting up tomorrow.’

‘That is good. I have a message for you, from the Ruler. He would have wished to come and see you, to thank you for all that you did. But the Council thought it wiser that he should not pay private visits until the declaration of the coronation and the public procession from the Mosque here in Mohara.’

‘Quite right. When is the big day?’

‘It is today.’

‘Today? Good heavens! That’s a bit quick, isn’t it? Three days isn’t very long for a broken arm to set.’

‘Both the Council and his Highness were in agreement, however. In a country like Umran there can be no delay in acclaiming the Ruler. In the ordinary way the coronation of the new Ruler takes place before the sun goes down on the day of the old one’s death.’

‘You know your business best, I imagine.’

‘Another thing,’ said Nawaf. There was a hint of embarrassment in his voice and Hugo half guessed what was coming. ‘This, too, is a decision of the Council and not of his Highness. They feel that, in view of what has happened, an adviser on military matters must be chosen from among the Americans. Mr. Ringbolt has offered to fill the post temporarily, until a permanent official can be sent from the United States. It is their intention, I understand, to establish a trade delegation here.’

‘I see.’

‘To assist us in restoring the economy of our country.’

When Nawaf said this there was a very slight smile around the corners of his mouth. Hugo got the impression that, if the Americans thought they were going to pocket the Smitherite concession for chewing gum and cigarettes, they were in for a surprise.

‘There is a further matter I ought to mention, since it may concern you personally. I fear that an accident may have occurred to a colleague of yours.’

So much had happened in the last few days that it was only with an effort that Hugo gathered what Nawaf was talking about.

‘Colonel Rex? I wondered why I hadn’t heard from him. You say he has met with an accident?’

‘I understand so. In Beirut.’

‘What sort of accident?’

‘There is no certainty, but it seems very probable that he is dead. A woman of the town came under suspicion when she tried to change a number of dollar bills of large denominations. It transpired that Colonel Delmaison had been lodging with her. She was questioned, very closely. In the end some sort of account emerged. She had connections with the Janni brothers, who control much of the poppy market. It would be their people who did the actual killing, not the woman herself.’

‘I knew nothing of this.’

‘I am sure you did not.’

‘It’s damned awkward, though. I suppose I shall have to go to Beirut and try to sort it out.’

‘There may be ways to arrange these matters. You must not trouble yourself about them whilst you are indisposed. I must go now. The procession leaves the Mosque in five minutes.’

‘Then it was very good of you to come at all,’ said Hugo. He thought that the young King was lucky to have a man like Nawaf at his elbow. He was going to need him. He was going to need all the help he could get, with the Gulf Sheiks pulling him in one direction and the Americans in the other. He was thinking about this when the door opened again and Robert Ringbolt looked in.

He said, ‘How’s the invalid?’

‘Fine,’ said Hugo. ‘I’m fine. Why aren’t you taking part in the celebrations?’

‘A planned absence was considered tactful. I saw Nawaf coming away. I take it he’s put you wise to the general situation.’

‘He told me the U.S.A. had made a take-over bid. Rather ahead of your normal schedule, wasn’t it? I seem to remember that the general plan was to let the fuzzy-wuzzies massacre each other and raise every sort of hell, before you came in with a dustpan and brush. Actually the situation was pretty well in hand when you landed.’

‘It was Tammy.’

Hugo stared at him.

‘Normally our tolerance parameters are fairly flexible. But when Admiral Grossberger learned that there was an American girl ashore, who might actually be in the hands of the natives, well, he just gave the orders to go right in.’

‘I see.’

‘Of course, he wasn’t to know that she had you there to look after her.’

‘You’re quite sure he was thinking about Tammy and not about the Smitherite concession.’

‘Maybe he was thinking a bit about both,’ said Ringbolt with his disarmingly boyish smile. ‘I know just how you feel about this, Hugo, don’t think I don’t. However, I’ve got one proposition which may lift the clouds a piece, if you’d care to accept it. Those arms of yours, I guess they’re pretty well stuck in Beirut at this moment. Now that the Colonel has handed in his chips – and between you and me, Hugo, not before time – I imagine you’re going to have some logistical problems when it comes to moving them on?’

‘That’s an understatement.’

‘Well, we’ve got a bit of pull in Beirut just now, politically and financially. We’d be happy to buy those arms off you, and conclude the deal ourselves. I can’t promise that you’d make all the profit you were planning on, but you’d get out with something on the credit side to make up for the fact that you’re losing your assignment here.’

‘A golden handshake,’ said Hugo.

‘I don’t want to press it right now. Perhaps you’d like to turn it over.’

‘No need to turn it over. From now on, the arms are the property of the U.S. Government.’

‘There’ll be quite a few papers to sign. Fortunately we have a lawyer aboard with Admiral Grossberger.’

‘A very well-equipped fleet,’ said Hugo.

When Ringbolt had gone, the black depression descended on Hugo, like a cloud clamping down on to a mountain top. ‘Why do our people have to be so bloody feeble,’ he said. ‘If they’d had the simple guts to move in a half-battalion of infantry when I suggested it, we should have that concession in our pocket and billions of dollars a year. Napoleon called us a nation of shopkeepers. We’re not even that now. We’re retired shopkeepers, frightened to raise our voices in case we offend someone, frightened to move in case we tread on someone’s toes.’

‘Talking to yourself,’ said Tammy. That’s bad.’

She had come in quietly, and was sitting on the edge of the bed.

‘Reaction,’ said Hugo.

‘It was the same with me. As soon as I got back here I had a hot bath, and burst right out crying.’

‘I’m glad you’re here, and not riding in that state carriage beside Hussein, bowing to the crowd.’

‘It was suggested. But I didn’t feel able to accept.’ She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, a sliding sideways glance that was particularly her own, and said, ‘That policeman friend of yours. What’s his name—?’

‘Martin Cowcroft.’

‘A nice little man. Just like a lizard. He told me he’d routed the procession to come right under your window. I think this is them coming now.’

The crowd in the street had been thickening up steadily. Both pavements were packed. Small boys were running out into the road and being hauled back by their sisters. A police jeep drove past.

‘Tammy,’ said Hugo. ‘Will you marry me?’

‘Marriage,’ said Tammy thoughtfully. That’s a bit old-fashioned isn’t it? A famous television star. A girl secret-service ace. It’s not what one’s viewers would expect.’

‘I’m an old-fashioned type,’ said Hugo. He slid one arm round Tammy, pulled her down on top of him, and started to kiss her.

The noise outside increased.

‘Here they come,’ said Tammy. She spoke indistinctly.

‘To hell with them,’ said Hugo. ‘I want you in this bed.’

‘O.K. But hold it one moment.’

The noise rose to a climax. Motor engines, horns, bells, a clatter of hooves, music, the screams of the crowd.

Hugo hoisted himself up, without letting go of Tammy, and looked out of the window. The open Rolls was turning the corner. Hussein was seated in the back, his left arm in a sling. When he looked up and saw Hugo, he half rose in his seat and waved his free arm. For a moment the solemnity of the occasion was lost, and he was an excited boy again.

‘For the last time in his life,’ thought Hugo, waving vigorously back and grinning.

The crowd roared its appreciation.

It took a week to clear things up. Ringbolt accepted the loss of his secretary philosophically, and gave them an advance wedding present of a case of Moharram’s best champagne.

Martin Cowcroft and Charlie Wandyke came to the airport to see them off. Cowcroft said, ‘We’re keeping our fingers crossed. You noticed that cousin Alid was in the procession. It looks as though they’re patching up some sort of truce. It won’t last, of course. We shall have trouble again as soon the Yanks go. However, we should have the rest of the arms safely in by then.’

As the plane rose from the runway and circled, Hugo saw the two men, suddenly diminished, waving goodbye. Although they could not possibly see him, he waved back. Goodbye, goodbye to Umran. Then they were out over the sea, transparent in the morning light, layer upon layer of gold and pink and light green and blue.

It was at Bahrain that it first became apparent that it was going to be no ordinary trip.

When Hugo started to move with the other passengers into the transit lounge, he and Tammy were asked to wait, and were then taken into V.I.P. reception. Here they found a little crowd of newspaper men waiting for them. Hugo shook all the hands that were offered and caught a few names. It was not only the representatives of the local papers. The Middle East correspondent of the
Daily Telegraph
was there. Even more surprisingly the
New York Times
seemed to have flown a man over simply for this encounter.

Hugo knew enough about the press to let them do most of the talking, and posed for a photograph with one arm round Tammy.

As they moved out again to the plane, one of the air-hostesses directed them to the first-class section at the front. When they explained that they had economy-class tickets the girl smiled sweetly and said, ‘That’s O.K., Mr. Greest. The airline has adjusted all that. Pleased to have you with us.’

‘What’s all this about?’ said Hugo. ‘How did those newspaper men know we were coming? Why the special treatment? What the hell’s happening?’

‘I guess it’s something to do with my father,’ said Tammy.

‘How does he come into it?’

‘He’s something to do with newspapers in the States.’

‘Tammy,’ said Hugo. ‘Stop evading the issue. What does your father do?’

‘I don’t think he does much. He’s just a majority stockholder in one or two papers.’

The desert of Arabia streamed below them and the hills of Beirut arose on the horizon. Hugo said, ‘Thank you,’ to the stewardess and accepted a glass of iced champagne.

By the time they reached Heathrow, he was unsurprised to find the press of London awaiting them, with its mouth wide open. By that time he was too full of airline food and airline drink to care. ‘Is it true, Mr. Greest, that you rescued the young Prince yourself?’