The Doomed Oasis (45 page)

“But you think you know what happened?” Sue was leaning forward, staring at him.

“Yes, I think I know now. I think Charles realized, after talking to his son, that what he'd regarded as a useless demonstration had, in fact, a chance of succeeding. He wanted to join David then, but probably he hadn't told his son what the alternative was and David refused to lower the ladder. Charles tried to get into the tower and failed, and then he stood on the edge of that cliff looking down on to Hadd, knowing that if he went back to the Emir he'd be going to his death. It's a slow death to die of thirst, and it would serve no purpose. Whereas to die quickly, by a bullet … I suppose he'd been allowed to carry a pistol with him, and I've no doubt he thought that a dramatic end like that …” He sighed. “He'd nothing to live for any more—the rig destroyed, his son doing what he might have done himself. But he could still do something. He could still die. And like that, tumbling down from that cliff-top, the news of his death would be spread by camel men from water hole to water hole. He still had a great reputation amongst the Bedou, and his death would be atributed to the Emir's treachery. I suppose he thought it might provoke a desert rising against the tyrant.” He hesitated, and then he gave a little shrug. “I'm just guessing, that's all. I knew Charles very well, and that, I think, was what was in his mind.” He looked at Sue then. “That's why, Miss Thomas, I think you should be proud of your father. And he was right in a way. His death did influence the situation. If he hadn't died like that, the Emir might not have agreed to Colonel George's terms. There might have been fighting, and God knows where it would have ended.”

“You must tell this to the Court,” Sue said.

But he shook his head. “It's no good, Miss Thomas. The Judge trying this case has been brought out from England. He couldn't begin to understand the sort of man Charles was—the sweep of his vision, the almost Arab subtlety of his mind. And the only absolute proof—the pistol with one bullet fired—I don't possess. My men searched the ground where his body was picked up, but they couldn't find that or anything else that has a bearing on the case. Doubtless the Emir had it destroyed, since he wanted to show Charles as a defenceless man murdered by his son. No,” he said quietly. “This is a matter for action now.” He turned and ordered the driver to head for my hotel. “We'll drop Grant and then you'll come on with me, Miss Thomas. I'll arrange for you to see your brother tonight. When you do, give him this.” He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and removed a thick wad of East African notes. “There'll be a message, too.” He handed the notes to Sue.

She stared at him, too startled for a moment to say anything. And then she burst out: “I don't know what you're planning to do, Sir Philip. But, whatever it is, you're not doing it for David. You're doing it because you want him back in Saraifa. You're signing a concession, and you want to be sure you'll be drilling—”

“How do you know we're signing a concession?” Gorde barked in that peculiar rasping voice of his. “Alex Erkhard knows. A few other executives, but that's all. How the devil has it got to your ears?”

“It's true, then.” She turned to me, her voice tired. “In Court, when you were giving evidence—I sat next to that girl friend of David's. She told me. She'd got it from one of the oilmen at the al-Menza Club, and she said she was telling me because, if things went badly for David, I might be able to make use of it.” She glanced at Gorde and there was suddenly a glint of that irrepressible Celtic humour in her eyes. “She thought you'd need David—alive and free.”

Gorde caught the glint, and the hard, battered features relaxed in a smile. “She sounds a clever girl. What's her name?”

“Tessa,” I said.

“And she's a hostess at the al-Menza?” He nodded. “I'll remember that. But please understand this, Miss Thomas: free, your brother could be very useful to us. I admit that. Arabs respect force, particularly the force of a strong and fearless personality. The Emir is afraid of him, and in Saraifa he'd be worth more to us than a hundred armed men. We don't want any more trouble on that border. But I promise you this: anything I can do will be done for one reason only—because I'm satisfied now that he's innocent.”

“Of course, Sir Philip.” Sue's voice, the little smile on her lips, were tinged with irony. But I noticed also that her eyes were alight with excitement.

The car slid to a stop. We had reached my hotel. “You get out here, Grant. I'm taking Miss Thomas on with me.” Gorde's hand gripped my arm. “Don't try and get in touch with her tonight, and don't talk to anybody. What we've said here is between ourselves. Understand?”

I nodded and got out. The car drove off then and I went into the hotel. It was full of newspapermen; they crowded round me as soon as I entered. What did I think of David Whitaker's chances? Was he going to talk? I told them I'd no comment to make and escaped to my room. I had my dinner brought up to me, read the papers, which were full of the trial, and went to bed early.

To this day I don't know what part Gorde played in the events of that night. Sue saw David shortly after ten o'clock. She was allowed to see him alone, and she said afterwards that he looked tired at first, though he was quite cheerful. She gave him the money and also Gorde's message, and after that the tiredness seemed to drop from him. The message was simply:
Bin Suleiman is in Bahrain. He and another Bedouin will be waiting by the side entrance all night
. He asked her a lot of questions then, about Gorde's attitude to him and what he thought had happened up there in the fort. And when she had answered them all, he seemed anxious for her to go, his eyes very bright, his manner tense, almost nervous.

It was hot in my room, and I didn't sleep very well. My nerves were on edge and I kept worrying about Sue. And then just as it was beginning to get light I heard footsteps in the corridor outside and the door of the next room was flung open; muffled conversation and the movements of a man dressing in a hurry. I looked at my watch. It was just after four. I got dressed and went down. By then the hotel was in a ferment, reporters and cameramen trying to telephone for cars, the word “escape” on everybody's lips. Within half an hour the hotel was deserted.

I got one of the houseboys to bring me some coffee and sat over it smoking endless cigarettes, waiting, and wondering what had happened. In less than an hour the first of the newspapermen were drifting back and it was official—David had escaped. I never got the details absolutely clear. I doubt whether anyone did, for the thing was hushed up and there was no enquiry of any sort. There was a lot of talk about a force of Bedou from the desert, but that was clearly a story invented by his guards to cover themselves. The only Arab definitely implicated was bin Suleiman, and that only because a strolling reporter happened to recognize him loitering outside the walls.
FAITHFUL
COMPANION RESCUES AL-AKHBAR HERO ran the headlines of that particular newspaper. But it was more subtly managed than that, though whether David bribed his guards to unlock the doors or whether it was all arranged by some outside agency I don't know. The fact is that David was able to walk out of the place, and from that point it must have been very carefully organized, for when his guards raised the alarm at 0335 hours he had completely disappeared. There were rumours that he was being hidden in a rich merchant's house, that he was lying up, disguised as an Arab, in a house on Muharraq, that he had been got away in a dhow. The whole of Bahrain seethed with rumours, but nobody knew anything definite and neither Sue nor I dared go and see Tessa, who was the one person we both thought might know where he'd been taken.

The newspapermen stayed another twenty-four hours and then they were suddenly gone, like a cloud of locusts moving on, the story dead. And all Gorde would say when I went to see him was: “I don't know anything, and I wouldn't tell you if I did. But this way it's a lot easier for everybody.” The heavy-lidded eyes stared at me. “Tell his sister not to worry. I expect she'll hear from him in due course.”

We were married in a registry office in Cardiff four months later, and when we got back from our honeymoon there was a letter waiting for us. It came in a parcel containing a silver coffeepot, very intricately worked. The letter was headed Saraifa:

A mutual friend of ours in GODCO has sent me word that you two are getting married. Congratulations! I thought you'd both like something from Arabia as a wedding present. It should have been native work from Saraifa. But I came to the conclusion that only the best would do. The coffee pot comes from Riyadh, by courtesy of GODCO, and is as good as any Arab potentate possesses. Remember me sometimes when you use it
.

The situation here has settled down. I have a small force under my command, composed mainly of men of the Wahiba and the Rashid, and the money for its upkeep is provided. All five falaj channels are running with water and we hope within about a month to have the first of the old channels back in use. The Concession agreement has provided the funds, and we are running the channel right through the oasis to irrigate the camel thorn we'll be planting as a break against the sands of the Empty Quarter
.

As soon as you have time, I want you both to come out here for a holiday. I think I can promise you more comfort than you had last time, and there'll be plenty for you to see. Come next winter. The weather is perfect at that time of the year. We'll have struck oil by then. And if it's all that we hope, it will be called the Whitaker Oilfield
.

Not much news, except that the Emir has invited Sheikh Mahommed and myself to go hawking. We shall go in force, exchange presents, and I hope live in peace thereafter. God bless you both!

Affectionately
,

“
The Brother of Skeikh Khalid
”

(By which title I am now known)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Hammond Innes (1913–1998) was the British author of over thirty novels, as well as children's and travel books. Born Ralph Hammond Innes in Horsham, Sussex, he was educated at the Cranbrook School in Kent. He left in 1931 to work as a journalist at the
Financial News. The Doppelganger
, his first novel, was published in 1937. Innes served in the Royal Artillery in World War II, eventually rising to the rank of major. A number of his books were published during the war, including
Wreckers Must Breathe
(1940),
The Trojan Horse
(1940), and
Attack Alarm
(1941), which was based on his experiences as an anti-aircraft gunner during the Battle of Britain.

Following his demobilization in 1946, Innes worked full-time as a writer, achieving a number of early successes. His novels are notable for their fine attention to accurate detail in descriptions of place, such as
Air Bridge
(1951), which is set at RAF stations during the Berlin Airlift. Innes's protagonists were often not heroes in the typical sense, but ordinary men suddenly thrust into extreme situations by circumstance. Often, this involved being placed in a hostile environment—for example, the Arctic, the open sea, deserts—or unwittingly becoming involved in a larger conflict or conspiracy. Innes's protagonists are forced to rely on their own wits rather than the weapons and gadgetry commonly used by thriller writers. An experienced yachtsman, his great love and understanding of the sea was reflected in many of his novels.

Innes went on to produce books on a regular schedule of six months for travel and research followed by six months of writing. He continued to write until just before his death, his final novel being
Delta Connection
(1996). At his death, he left the bulk of his estate to the Association of Sea Training Organisations to enable others to experience sailing in the element he loved.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1960 by Hammond Innes

First US edition

Cover design by Jason Gabbert

ISBN: 978-1-5040-4098-3

This edition published in 2016 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

180 Maiden Lane

New York, NY 10038

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