The Angels Weep (72 page)

After he had made love to her, he fell instantly asleep. She
lay next to him and watched his face in the orange and red
flashes of the neon sign on the roof of the service station
across the street. In relaxation he was even more beautiful than
awake, but she found herself thinking suddenly of Craig Mellow,
of his funniness and his gentleness.

‘They are so different,’ she thought. ‘And
yet I love them both now, each in a different way.’

It troubled her so that she fell asleep only as the dawn
swamped the neon flashes on the bedroom curtains.

Roland seemed to waken her immediately. ‘Breakfast,
wench,’ he ordered. ‘I’ve got a meeting at nine
o’clock at Combined Ops.’

They sat on her balcony, amongst her miniature forest of pot
plants, and ate scrambled eggs and wild mushrooms.

‘I know it’s usually the bride’s
prerogative, Bugsy, but can we set a date for around the end of
next month?’

‘So soon? Can you tell me why?’

‘Not all of it – but after that we will be going
into quarantine, and I might be out of circulation for a
while.’

‘Quarantine?’ She laid down her fork.

‘When we start planning and training for a special
operation we go into total isolation. There have been too many
security leaks lately. Too often our boys have walked into a
sucker punch. We have got a big one coming up, and the whole
group will be quarantined in a special camp; nobody, not even
myself, will be allowed outside contact, not even with parents or
wives, until after the operation.’

‘Where is this camp?’

‘I cannot tell you, but if we spend the honeymoon at
Victoria Falls as you wanted, it will suit me just fine. You can
fly back here afterwards and I can go straight into
quarantine.’

‘Oh, darling, it’s so soon. There will be so many
arrangements to make. I don’t know if Mummy and Daddy can
get out here by then.’

‘Telephone them.’

‘All right,’ she agreed. ‘But I hate the
thought of you having to leave so soon afterwards.’

‘I know. It won’t always be that way.’ He
looked at his watch. ‘Time to go. I’ll be a little
late this evening, I want to talk to Sonny. I hear he’s
living in that boat of his again.’

She tried to cover her shock.

‘Sonny? Craig, why do you want to see him?’

When Roland told her why, she could think of nothing to say.
She went on staring at him in appalled silence.

J
anine
telephoned him at the police armoury as soon as she reached the
museum.

‘Craig, I have to see you.’

‘Wonderful, I’ll make the dinner.’

‘No, no – immediately. You must get
away.’

He laughed. ‘I’ve only had this job a few months.
Even for me it will be a record.’

‘Tell them your mother is sick.’

‘I’m an orphan.’

‘I know, darling, but this is life and death.’

‘What did you call me?’

‘It slipped out.’

‘Say it again.’

‘Craig, don’t be an idiot.’

‘Say it.’

‘Darling.’

‘Where and when?’

‘Half an hour at the bandstand in the gardens, and Craig
it’s bad news.’ She hung up without letting him talk
again.

She saw him first. He came at a lope, like a Saint Bernard
puppy, with legs too long and his hair sticking out under the
peak of his cap, a frown of worry crumpling up his face, but when
he saw her sitting on the steps of the white-painted bandstand,
the frown smoothed and his eyes lit with that special soft look
that today she found too painful to bear.

‘God,’ he said. ‘I had forgotten how lovely
you are.’

‘Let’s walk.’ She couldn’t look at
him, but when he took her hand, she could not bring herself to
pull her fingers out of his.

Neither of them spoke again until they reached the river. They
stood on the bank and watched a little girl in a white dress and
pink ribbons feeding breadcrumbs to the ducks.

‘I had to tell you first,’ she said. ‘I owed
you that at least.’ She felt him go very still beside her,
but still she could not look at him, yet she could not withdraw
her hand from his.

‘Before you say anything, I want to tell you again what
I told you before. I love you, Jan.’

‘Oh, Craig.’

‘Do you believe me?’

She nodded and swallowed.

‘All right, then, now you tell me what you called me to
hear.’

‘Roland has asked me to marry him.’

His hand began to tremble.

‘And I said yes.’

‘Why, Jan?’

She jerked her hand away at last. ‘Damn you, why do you
always have to do it?’

‘Why?’ he persisted. ‘I know you love me.
Why are you going to do it?’

‘Because I love him more,’ she said, still angry.
‘If you were me, who would you marry?’

‘When you put it that way,’ he agreed. ‘I
suppose you are right.’ Now at last she looked at him. He
was very pale. ‘Roly always was the winner. I hope you will
be very happy, Jan.’

‘Oh, Craig, I’m so sorry.’

‘Yes, I know. So am I. Can we just leave it now, Jan.
There is nothing more to say.’

‘Yes, there is. Roland is coming to see you this
evening. He is going to ask you to be his best man.’

R
oland
Ballantyne perched on the edge of the operations table. It was an
enormous relief map of Matabeleland. The disposition of the
security force elements was shown by small movable counters and
their strength by a numbered card set into each counter like a
menu-holder. Every branch of the force had its own colour –
the Ballantyne Scouts were maroon. They were shown as 250 in
Thabas Indunas barracks, but there was still a patrol of fifty
near the Gwaai, involved in the hot pursuit of the survivors of
the previous day’s contact.

On the opposite side of the operations table Wing Commander
Douglas Hunt-Jeffreys slapped the wooden pointer into the palm of
the other hand.

‘All right,’ he nodded. ‘This is for heads
of staff only. Let’s go over it from the beginning,
please.’

There were just the two of them in the operations room, and
the red security light above the steel door was burning.

‘Code name Buffalo,’ Roland said. ‘The
object of operation is the elimination of Josiah Inkunzi and/or
one or all of his chiefs of staff – Tebe, Chitepo and
Tungata.’

‘Tungata?’ Hunt-Jeffreys asked.

‘A new one,’ Roland explained.

‘Go on, please.’

‘We will cut them at the safe house in Lusaka, at some
date after the fifteenth of November when we expect Inkunzi to
return from a visit to Hungary and East Germany.’

‘You will be able to get intelligence of his
return?’ Douglas asked, and when Roland nodded, ‘Can
you let me know your source?’

‘That is not even for you, Dougie, my boy.’

‘Very well, as long as you will be certain that Inkunzi
is in residence before you move.’

‘From now on let’s call him Buffalo.’

‘How will you go in?’

‘We will go in overland. A column of Land-Rovers with
Zambian police markings and all personnel will wear Zambian
police uniforms.’

Douglas raised an eyebrow. ‘Geneva
Convention?’

‘Legitimate ruse of war,’ Roland countered.

‘They’ll shoot you if they catch you.’

‘They would do that anyway, uniforms or not. The answer
will be not to let any of our lads get caught.’

‘All right, you go in by road – which
one?’

‘Livingstone to Lusaka.’

‘A long haul through hostile territory, and our air
force has blown the bridges at Kaleya.’

‘There is an alternative route upstream, there will be a
guide waiting to take us through the bush to reach it.’

‘So you have covered that bridge, but how do you cross
the Zambezi?’

‘There is a drift below Kazungula.’

‘Which you have checked, of course?’

‘On a dummy run. We took a vehicle across, using winch
and floats, in nine minutes flat. We will have the entire task
force across in under two hours. There is a track that will take
us out onto the great north road fifty K’s north of
Livingstone.’

‘What about re-supply?’

‘The guide at Kaleya is a white maize farmer, he has
fuel on his farm, and we will back up with
helicopters.’

‘I take it you will use the helicopters to evacuate if
you are forced to abort the operation?’

Roland nodded. ‘That’s it, Dougie old bean. Pray
it’s not necessary.’

‘Let’s go on to personnel then. How many will you
use?’

‘Forty-five Scouts, that includes S’arn-Major and
myself, and ten specialists.’

‘Specialists?’

‘We expect to find a pile of documents in
Buffalo’s HQ. Probably so much that we will not be able to
bring it all back. We need at least four intelligence experts to
evaluate on the spot, what to keep and what to burn. You pick
them for us.’

‘The other specialists?’

‘Medicos, two of them. Henderson and his aide. We have
used them before.’

‘Good, who else?’

‘Blast bunnies, to clear the house of booby-traps, to
set our own when we leave, and to blow the bridges behind us on
our way home.’

‘Armourers from Salisbury?’

‘I can get two good lads here in Bulawayo, one is a
cousin of mine.’

‘Fine, let me have a list of names.’ Douglas
carefully withdrew the stub of his cigarette from the ivory
holder, crushed it out, and replaced it with a fresh tube from
the packet of Gold Leaf.

‘What about a site for the quarantine camp?’ he
asked. ‘Have you given it some thought?’

‘There is the Wankie Safari Lodge on the Dett vlei.
It’s two hours’ drive from the Zambezi, and it has
been on a caretaker basis since the Wankie strip was
abandoned.’

‘Five-star comfort – the Scouts are getting
soft.’ Douglas grinned mockingly. ‘Okay, I’ll
see that you get it.’ Douglas made a note and then looked
up. ‘Now let’s go over the dates. How soon can you be
ready to go?’

‘Fifteenth of November. That gives us eight weeks to
assemble the equipment, and rehearse the raid—’

‘It probably also fits in rather well with the date of
your wedding, doesn’t it?’ Douglas tapped the ivory
holder against his teeth, and delighted in Roland
Ballantyne’s quick flare of temper.

‘The timing of the raid has nothing to do with my
private affairs, it will be dictated entirely by Buffalo’s
movements. In any event, my wedding will take place a week before
the start of quarantine. Janine and I will spend our honeymoon at
the Victoria Falls Hotel which is only two hours’ drive
from the camp at Wankie Safari Lodge. She will fly back to
Bulawayo on the airway’s scheduled flight, and I will go
into quarantine directly from Vic Falls.’

Douglas lifted a defensive hand and grinned mockingly.
‘I say, do keep your hair on, old man. Just a civil
enquiry, that’s all. By the way, I think my wedding
invitation must have been lost in the post—’ But
Roland had returned to his list, and was studying it with all his
attention.

D
ouglas
Hunt-Jeffreys lay on the ample bed in the cool shuttered bedroom,
and examined the naked woman who slept beside him. At first she
had seemed a most unpromising subject, with her pale acne-scarred
face and disconcerting staring eyes behind horn-rimmed
spectacles, her abrupt, aggressive, almost mannish manner, and
the smouldering intensity of the political militant. But stripped
of her shapeless sweater and baggy skirts, of her thick woollen
socks and crude leather sandals, she had a slim pale, almost
girlish, body, with fine small breasts that Douglas found very
much to his taste. When she removed the spectacles, her staring
eyes softened into appealing unfocused myopia, and under
Douglas’ skilful lips and fingers, she unloosed a
tumultuous physical response which had at first astonished and
then delighted him. He found he could induce in her an epileptic
passion, a state in which she was almost catatonic and totally
susceptible to his will, her depravity limited only by the range
of Douglas’ fertile imagination.

‘A murrain on beautiful women,’ he smiled
contentedly to himself. ‘It’s the ugly little
ducklings who are the absolute ravers!’

They had met in the middle of the morning, and now it was
– careful not to disturb her, Douglas checked his gold
Rolex – it was two o’clock in the afternoon. Even for
Douglas, a marathon performance.

‘Poor lamb is exhausted.’ He craved a cigarette,
but decided to give her ten minutes more. There was no hurry. He
could afford to lie a little longer and leisurely review this
case.

Like many good controllers, Douglas had found that a sexual
relationship with his female agents, and occasionally even with
some of his male agents, was an effective tool of manipulation, a
short-cut to the dependencies and loyalties that were so
desirable in his trade. This case was a perfect example. Without
the physical lever Doctor Leila St John would be a difficult and
unpredictable subject, whereas with it she had become one of his
best agents ever.

Douglas Hunt-Jeffreys by a fluke of war was a born Rhodesian.
His father had come out to Africa at the beginning of
Hitler’s war to command the Royal Air Force training
station at Gwelo. He had met and married a local girl, and
Douglas had been delivered in 1941 by the Air Force doctor. The
family had returned to England at the end of his father’s
tour of duty, and Douglas had followed the well-worn family path
to Eton, and then on to the Royal Air Force.

After that there had been an unusual diversion in his career,
and he found himself in British military intelligence. Back in
1964, when Ian Smith came to power in Rhodesia, and started
making the first threatening noises about breaking with Britain
in a unilateral declaration of independence, Douglas
Hunt-Jeffreys had been the perfect choice of an agent to place in
the field. He had returned to Rhodesia, taking up his Rhodesian
nationality, joined the Rhodesian Air Force and began immediately
to mole his way up the ladder of command.