The Secret War

9

A suicidal plan

At six thirty the following morning Christopher invaded Lovelace's room and shook him gently by the shoulder.

`Lovelace l' he said in a low voice. 'Lovelace, wake up, I want to talk to you.'

The sleeping man turned over and blinked his eyes, 'What's the matter?' he muttered. 'What's the time?'

'I don't know, something after six, I think,' Christopher said vaguely.

'Then you can go to hell,' Lovelace grunted. 'I never talk to anyone before nine,' and he buried his head firmly in the pillow.

He was furious at being wakened in the middle of a very pleasant dream. In it, he was a young man again and back at Fronds, the lovely old place in Yorkshire that had been in his family since Charles IIs time. He knew that he was not much over twenty because the gardens were beautifully kept, just as they had been before he succeeded to the title and heavy death duties had compelled him to close the place down. It was high summer and the sun made dazzling patches of light and shade upon the neatly trimmed yew hedges of the famous Maze. Lovelace had known every turn and twist of it from his earliest boyhood and he was only strolling through its high walled alleys to its centre because he wanted to think something out and be alone. Why he should have found it necessary to seek refuge there when he could have sat in the far more lovely pond garden or paced the long, walled border with its multitude of flowers, he could not recall. Suddenly the peace of the place had been disturbed by running feet and a pleading voice had cried, 'Please! please ! Show me the way out of here.' The dream had become confused then and he felt himself rocking as though in a ship at sea while someone was saying, 'Lovelace, Lovelace, wake up!'

He tried to recapture it as Christopher tiptoed from the room, but he could only see the gardens, now overgrown and uncared for, as they had been since straitened circumstances had necessitated his living on the few hundreds a year which was all his father had been able to leave him with the place.

For the hundredth time he wondered if it wouldn't really be wisest to sell Fronds. It was a very gracious house, a little larger perhaps than most people wanted these days, but a moderately rich man could keep it up quite easily and close one of the wings if he found it too big for him. The gardens were famous and could soon be put to rights again with a little money. The roofs were sound and there were plenty of bathrooms since it had been modernized, when his over generous father had spent far more than he could afford running it, free of all charges to the country, as a hospital during the war. He hadn't known then, of course, how a grateful Government would repay his patriotism by taxing him so highly, when the war was over, that he could no longer live there without making inroads on his capital, and that death duties would prove the final blow which would make a mockery of his son Anthony's inheritance.

It was saleable enough, Lovelace knew. He was often getting letters from Mount Street house agents asking him to allow them to offer it and holding out the prospect of interested parties who would be pleased to enter into negotiations. The place and contents, which included a few good pictures and a fairly valuable library, would bring him enough to turn his eight hundred and fifty a year income into the best part of three thousand a year. That would make life a far more pleasant affair and enable him to spend a good portion of his time at the more expensive places where most of his friends congregated when they were abroad, or to keep his end up among them in London if he wished, instead of being forced to trek from one remote portion of the globe to another by the cheapest means of travel because living was reasonable and the places of some interest when he got there.

Yet he could never bring himself to sign the letter that would place Fronds on the market. He knew that he would never make enough money himself to live there again. Long ago he had come to accept the fact that he was not the type of man who makes money and that he lacked all aptitude for business. But he had various fairly wealthy aunts and cousins who might possibly remember him substantially in their wills, although he had no real reason to expect it, and if that did happen he knew that he would never be able to forgive himself if he had parted with Fronds. Besides, he had always felt that one day he might marry and have a son. How that would improve the situation, he did not see, unless his wife happened to be an heiress. Still, as long as a son remained even a remote possibility he did not feel that it would be fair to the boy to rob him of the chance of living in the old place which had been the home of his forefathers for so many centuries, if times were better then.

With these well worn thoughts passing vaguely through his mind he dropped off to sleep again; but not for long. At half past seven Christopher roused him out once more; this time to say that Valerie was downstairs and anxious to talk to him.

Grumbling, but resigned now to the fact that further sleep was impossible, Lovelace tumbled out of bed, wrestled with the indifferent plumbing which had been installed two generations before in the small Greek hotel, and made his way down to the lounge a little after eight.

Valerie was seated in a basket chair under an old fig tree that grew in the centre of the courtyard. Her face was pale and her big eyes unnaturally sunken in the hollows beneath her level brows.

`Sorry to get you up so early,' she apologised at once, `but I simply couldn't sleep.'

Lovelace was feeling better now he was bathed, shaved and dressed. He looked at her with grave concern. `Don't worry about me, please. What about some breakfast? I'll bet you haven't had any yet.'

She shook her head. `Thanks. I've had some coffee, but I couldn't eat a thing.'

'That's nonsense,' he said firmly. `You don't go on a starvation diet when you're in the middle of one of your flying stunts, do you? You know how vital it is to keep up your strength.'

`You're right,' she admitted with a wan little smile. 'It's a bit unfair that I'm not supposed to have nerves like any ordinary woman but I've got myself to blame for that. I'll do what I can with some rolls and butter and some fruit while you're feeding, if you like.'

`Good, come on then.'

Christopher laid a hand on his arm as he was about to move in the direction of the little dining room. 'If you must eat, why not do it at the airport restaurant while they're getting Valerie's plane ready?'

They both looked at him in surprise as he hurried on: 'I didn't sleep much last night, either, so I had a chance to think the whole thing out. I've behaved abominably in dragging the two of you into this. I suppose I've become obsessed by it in a way, otherwise I'd have realised before the danger you were running on

my account. It's a bit late to apologise for that now, but I meant what I said last night about going on with it, and before I take the next step I want both of you to be safely out of Athens. That's what I came to tell you, Lovelace, when I roused you out early this morning.'

Lovelace hesitated a moment. It struck him as grimly humorous that after Valerie had persuaded him, the night before, to give his further assistance by stressing Christopher's absolute dependence on their help in carrying out the task to which his mystic idealism impelled him, they should now find a new and determined Christopher who told them politely but firmly that he meant to complete his mission on his own.

`I see,' he said slowly. `Well, I'm all for Valerie clearing out. Have been from the beginning, as you know, but I don't feel at all happy at the idea of leaving you myself.'

Christopher shrugged impatiently. `This isn't your show any longer. I mean, you've done all you promised in providing me with a perfect opportunity more as you fixed things so that I could have got away safely afterwards, and I'm very grateful to you. But I mucked it and Zarrif’s leaving Athens at midday. There's no time now to prepare another fool proof chance and I naturally don't expect you to risk your life in the attempt I've decided to make on him before he gets away.'

'Now look here!' Lovelace pushed him back into his chair and sat down himself. `Let's hear what you intend to do before we go any further.'

Christopher bent forward and spoke in a low voice although the courtyard was deserted. 'Zarrif’s going to Addis Ababa, isn't he, although we haven't the faintest idea which route he means to take. It's only the 13th today so that gives him eighteen days for his journey as he's not due there till the 1st of May. He probably intends to transact all sorts of other business on the way out, but where, we haven't the faintest notion. Once he's left Athens in his plane we're stuck. It's clear therefore that I've got to get him before he starts within the next five hours. We know already that it's impossible for me to get into his house and, seeing the sort of bird

he is, he'll probably drive to the airport in a bulletproof car, so it's not much good my standing at the gate to have a pot at him. I'd only get shot myself to no purpose by one of his gunmen. But he's got to leave his car to walk over to his plane, hasn't he? Well, that's my opportunity and I mean to take it.'

`But, Christopher!' Valerie gasped. `That's suicide! Even if you succeeded his bodyguard would shoot you down.'

Lovelace looked thoughtful. `Your reasoning's sound enough about the odds against your ever being able to trace him once he's left Athens, and about the airport being the only place that gives you any hope of doing the job here, but as Valerie says, there's not a chance in a million of your getting away afterwards.'

Christopher stood up again. `I know, but I've brought that on myself. It's the price I've to pay for acting like a squeamish fool when the going was good. I think I'd best say good bye to you both now. You'll read about what happens in the papers, I expect.'

`Sit down, you young idiot,' Lovelace snapped. `It's revolting to see you dramatize yourself like this.' He had caught Valerie's glance beseeching him to prevent the insane plan and went on more quietly.

`How can you talk so glibly of us reading about your being riddled with bullets? We both know you're doing the heroic thing sacrificing yourself for an ideal and all that. But is it necessary? Can't we think of another way?'

`There is no other way,' Christopher stated with a mulish look.

`Maybe you're right; but at least you might give us the chance to exercise any brains we've got on it before you go rushing out to die.'

`Yes, please, Christopher, please,' Valerie added imploringly. `At least listen to what Anthony has to say.'

After that the discussion became heated. Valerie denounced the scheme as sheer madness, entailing

Christopher's certain death, while Lovelace backed her up with every argument he could think of, realising now that it was Valerie, not Christopher, whom he would be letting down by withdrawing from the affair unless he could turn the pale faced young fanatic from his purpose, From becoming a reluctant accomplice he found himself pressing the younger man to accept his further help, for it only needed Christopher's change of front and new desire to have them both safely out of it to spur him into a determination to save the boy from committing such a crazy action, whatever the risk might be to himself,

At last, after wrangling for nearly a quarter of an hour, Christopher agreed to postpone any definite decision until after breakfast and they moved into the dining room of the hotel. Valerie continued the discussion with him there on a lower note, using obscure phrases so that the garlic breathing waiter should not understand what they were talking about even if he knew English. Lovelace, meanwhile, dispatched a hearty breakfast almost in silence while he cudgeled his brains for some way out of the impasse.

By nine o'clock they were back in the deserted courtyard; Christopher still grimly determined to carry out his suicidal plan and Valerie very near to tears at the ill success of her attempts to turn him from it, when Lovelace suddenly intervened.

'Look here,' he said. `It's quite true you were supposed to do the job in Athens, but as long as the job's done before Zirrif reaches Addis Ababa that's all that really matters. As there is still the best part of three weeks to go before he's due there he's bound to be stopping off somewhere. Why shouldn't we follow? Then another chance may present itself where Christopher won't have to run this insane risk.'

`That's all very well,' Christopher muttered, 'but once he's left Athens what chance have we got of ever finding him again? His business may take him to any one of half a hundred places at the eastern end of the Mediterranean.'

`True, but you'll remember that Barrotet gave us the names of several of the Millers who live in that part of the world. There was that Italian in Cairo, and the Dane in Haifa, and the German in Alex. If Zirrif fetches up in any of those places these lads are almost certain to hear of it and be able to tip us off.'

Christopher shook his head. `We've only got eighteen days, remember. Even if we got in touch with them all by cable, by the time one of them reported that Zirrif had turned up in his area, and we managed to get there, the chances are that Zirrif would have moved on again. It's no good arguing; I've made up my mind and I'm going to do it when he leaves his car at the airport today.'

Lovelace knew that his next suggestion would entail a damnable risk to himself. He had thought of it at breakfast but dismissed it in the hope that some other way might be found. Now he saw that the time had come when he must play his last card if Valerie's young man was to be prevented from occupying a slab in the Athens morgue that evening.

`I don't think I told you,' he said, `that when I saw Zirrif last night he offered me a job, believing me to be Mr. Jeremiah Green, of course, and that I could give him all the latest dope about what's been going on in Abyssinia. He asked me to report to his secretary, Cassalis, at the airport at one thirty today so that I could go with them and be on hand if Zirrif wants to consult me. I agreed, imagining then that the old devil would be dead within an hour.'

Valerie's face lighted up with sudden hope. 'Then then, if you kept the appointment, you'd be able to leave Athens in Zarrif’s party and let us know where he is directly he arrives at his destination.'

`That's the idea,' Lovelace nodded. `What about it?' `I don't like it,' Christopher shook his head. `It means your running the most ghastly risk the whole time you're with them. If they found out you're not Jeremiah Green that bunch of thugs would be capable of killing you without the slightest compunction.' `They might have done that yesterday,' Lovelace shrugged, `but I got away with it. And now they've really accepted me as the unfortunate Mr. Green, the situation's far less dangerous. Anyhow, the risk is mine and I'm taking it with my eyes open. So that settles the matter.'

Valerie threw him a glance in which gratitude was mingled with a new fear. `I hate the thought of your doing this for us. Oh, Christopher! won't you please let Barrotet know that you haven't been able to manage the job, and get him to put one of the other Millers in the Near East on to tackling Zirrif when they pick him up again?'

Christopher shook his head. `No; it's now or never. Lovelace's scheme is sound enough, but I see no earthly reason why he should risk his neck for me. It's best for all of us that I should stick to my original plan.'

`You'll do nothing of the kind,' Lovelace said with quiet finality. 'You agree that my scheme's all right, so we'll adopt it; otherwise I shall come with you to the airport and take the far bigger risk of getting myself shot down when you do your heroics.. You don't want that, do you?'

Christopher smiled. 'You're a grand chap, Lovelace, and you've put me in a corner. I couldn't possibly let you do that, and you know it, so I'll accept this scheme of your going with Zirrif as Mr. Green if that's the only alternative.'

'There's one big snag to it,' Valerie remarked. 'You may find it impossible to communicate with us.'

`That's true, Lovelace nodded. 'But if I can't I'll manage to get in touch with one of the Millers whose address we have and you'll learn my whereabouts from him.'

`But time , . .' insisted Christopher, leaning forward, `... is the essential factor. By the time we learn where you are Zirrif may have moved on again.'

Suddenly Valerie laughed. 'There's only one thing for it then. We must all be ready to leave the airport at the same time as Zirrif, so that Christopher and I can follow you in the plane.'

`Good Lord!' Lovelace exclaimed. 'I thought we'd ruled you out at last. It's Christopher's wish as well as mine now that you should take no further hand in the affair.'

Another hectic argument ensued but Christopher was obsessed again with his mission. Valerie could help him to accomplish it far better than any hired pilot, he knew, and in his mind he minimized the risk which she might run by his old belief that she would have no hand in the actual business and was perfectly capable of taking care of herself wherever they might land and whatever might happen to himself and Lovelace. In the end the two of them over ruled Lovelace's objection and it was agreed that Valerie should have her way.

They spent an hour with their heads bent over an old atlas and a number of guide books which they borrowed from the manager of the hotel, marking out all the principal cities in which it was likely Zirrif might stop on his way out to Addis Ababa. In each they

agreed upon a small hotel where Valerie and Christopher should stay. Then Lovelace memorized the addresses in order that he might get in touch with them as rapidly as possible,

They had an early lunch and parted with subdued farewells, not knowing in what place or country they might meet again; it having been decided that it would be better for Lovelace to drive out to the airport independently.

At a little before one thirty he arrived at the bookstall to keep his appointment with Cassalis. It was only then that he realised he would have to show his passport before leaving.

If Cassalis asked to see it, or even caught sight of it when he produced it at the barrier, there would be an abrupt end to the fiction that he was Jeremiah Green, Ras Desoum's messenger to Zirrif from Abyssinia. With confused and miserable misgivings he stood there waiting for the secretary's arrival.