The Secret War

13

The enemy strikes back

'Now! I really must know what’s been happening,' Lovelace declared as he took his first sip at a welcome glass of hot grog.

Half an hour had sped by during which questions were hardly possible. Every moment had been occupied by their flight from Zarrif’s villa, the race back to Alexandria in a hired car with a strange driver and Lovelace getting out of his wet clothes at Valerie's orders to roll up in warm blankets on the sofa of a dingy hotel sitting room.

She smiled and patted the cushions into a more comfortable position behind his shoulders. 'I really ought to wait until Christopher comes back; then we could both hear how you got caught.'

'Never mind about that. I'll tell you later, what’s happened to Christopher though? Where's he gone rushing off to at this time of night?'

`To try and find Otto Klinger.'

`What, the member of the Millers who lives here?'

`Yes. Zirrif has gone and you say you have no idea where he is making for so Christopher thought Klinger might possibly be able to help us to get on his track again. He didn't like to leave it till the morning.'

`It must be getting on that way already.'

Valerie laughed. `My dear, you've lost count of time. It's only a little after nine o'clock. As soon as you're feeling fitter I'm going to order a belated dinner to be sent up to us.'

'Good Lord!' he passed a hand quickly over his eyes. `And I thought it must be well past midnight. Every moment I spent in that hellish cistern seemed an eternity. But how the devil did you find out what had happened to me?'

`We didn't, and you wouldn't be here now if one of the enemy hadn't had a shot at murdering Christopher this afternoon.'

Lovelace raised his eyebrows and whistled. `Phew, they've got on to the fact that he's here then?'

`Not here I hope.' She glanced at the carefully curtained windows. `This isn't the Gordon Pasha Hotel, where we agreed to stay, you know. We quit that in double quick time, after the attempt had failed, and picked on this as another unpretentious little place where we might hope for a few hours' grace before they ran us to earth again. It was our forced change of address which made us decide to go out to Zarrif’s villa on the chance of being able to let you know about it.'

`You knew I was out there then? Saw us landing, I suppose.'

`Yes. I lost Zarrif’s plane in the cloud banks over the eastern end of Crete, but I held on my course as it looked as if he was heading for Alex. and I managed to pick him up again just as we sighted land. There was no mistaking that great, four engined machine of his. That night Christopher and I went out to have a snoop round the villa. We knew you must be somewhere inside it unless they had dropped you overboard and that was hardly likely.'

Lovelace frowned. `I'm afraid I'm awfully dense but I still don't see how you knew they'd caught me and chucked me into that filthy cellar.'

`We didn't,' she shook her sleek chestnut head, `but once we'd left the Gordon Pasha we realised you wouldn't know where on earth we'd got to, and we felt it would be far too risky to go back there and inquire for letters, so we went out to the villa in the hope of getting a message through to you about our change of address.'

`And then?'

`Well, we left the car with the chauffeur bout half a mile down the road, walked up to within a couple of hundred yards of the house, and installed ourselves behind a sand dune. The heat was simply grueling there but we stuck it and watched the place all through the afternoon, hoping you'd appear at one of the windows or come out for a stroll in the garden, because we thought it absolutely vital to let you know we'd had to leave the Gordon Pasha. We'd printed the name of this hotel in large, black letters on a big sheet of white cardboard that we meant to hold up for you to see if only you showed yourself and we could attract your attention while no one else was about. We saw Jeremiah Green drive up with one of Zarrif’s men but there wasn't a sign of you.'

Lovelace nodded. `I was in a ground floor sitting room at the back of the house all the afternoon; more or less confined there although not actually a prisoner. But go on; what happened then?'

`We had almost decided to chuck it up and come out again tomorrow morning when Zarrif’s pilots appeared and ran his plane out of its hangar. Twilight had fallen by then but the place was lit up by the hangar arc lights and as it looked as if something interesting was going to happen we stayed on. Zirrif appeared with Cassalis and the whole bodyguard about three quarters of an hour later. They all went aboard the plane and she sailed away to the south westward. As you weren't with them it was obvious you had either remained behind on purpose or that something had gone wrong.'

`So you came in to see?

'That's it. We waited a good bit longer to see if you'd come out and take the road to Alexandria but as you didn't we made up our minds to go in and get you.'

`Jove! That was plucky of you.'

Valerie's grey eyes danced. `Christopher did all the heavy stuff; but I must say I enjoyed it.'

`Did the servants put up much of a fight?'

She shook her head, 'One took a pot at us but Christopher shot him in the thigh. He chivvied the others along the hall, firing over their heads, till we got into the kitchen. We could hear you shouting by that time, fit to wake the dead, and the blacks were tumbling over each other out of the window.'

`What a bit of luck for me you came in when you did.' Lovelace sighed. `But tell me about the attempt to murder Christopher this afternoon.'

`It was quite well planned,' she said slowly. `You know there are lots of these students' riots going on in Egypt. They don't seem to care a bit for you British.'

He nodded. `That's Ben Jelhoull, unless I'm much mistaken. He's behind all this anti British trouble.'

`Why?' She raised her straight eyebrows in a puzzled frown.

'Ben Jelhoull,' he repeated. 'Haven't you ever heard of him? He is known as the Hitler of Algeria and runs a sort of Nazi movement there for the blacks or Arabs, I suppose one should call them anyhow, the Mohammedans; and he's become a real thorn in the side of the French.'

'What's that to do with Egypt?'

`A lot. Ben Jelhoull's followers are known as the Young Turbans. The movement has spread until its so powerful today that it controls the coloured population of the whole of North Africa from Morocco to the Red Sea. It's no longer anti French, but anti white; and if there's a general blow up the Young Turbans will prove a very big factor to reckon with. They'll start a Jebad, a Holy War, and that won't be much fun to have on our hands if we're up against Italy, Germany and Japan at the same time.'

`It's more vital than ever, then, for us to stop Zirrif getting that concession which may set fire to the powder magazine.' Valerie's eyes were very earnest.

`Yes, but tell me what happened to Christopher.'

`Well, one of these riots occurred outside the Gordon Pasha this morning. It wasn't anything serious, but the police had to fire a few rounds over the heads of the crowd before they would disperse. Our sitting room was on the second floor, so Christopher and I watched the trouble from our window. Some of the mob were hurling brickbats, and a few, who had revolvers, were firing wild, but there didn't seem the least danger of our being hit at that height, because they were aiming at the police in the street.'

Valerie paused for a moment. `What made me look up I don't know, but I did, just when the riot was in full swing, and at a second floor window on the opposite side of the street I saw a man aiming a rifle dead at Christopher. I just had time to pull him down as the man fired. The bullet whizzed over our heads and smashed the mirror of an old bureau. Of course, if Christopher had been killed it would have been put down to a stray shot from the street.'

`That's about it.' Lovelace nodded. `Jove! what a narrow squeak. I wouldn't mind betting that riot was engineered specially to cover the attempt. The devils. I suppose they've been on the look out for him in every likely town since he left Long Island. I wonder how they managed to get on to him when he was staying under an assumed name at a little place like the Gordon Pasha, though.'

`Simple, my dear,' Valerie laughed. `Yesterday we ran into a delightful idiot called Bob Tucker just outside the Museum, where we'd been putting in an hour to kill time while waiting for news of you. Bob's one of the nicest bad hats I've ever known. We had drinks together at a near by cafe, and he took a snap of Christopher and me sitting at one of the tables. It was only afterwards he told us he'd turned journalist and persuaded some daft editor back home to send him out as war correspondent to Abyssinia. It never occurred to us at the time, but I'm news, of course, wherever I go,

and there was the picture in Alexandria's leading news sheet this morning with, “World's richest flying girl, Valerie Lorne, and her millionaire fiancé, Christopher Penn, now on vacation on Alex.,” in nice large letters underneath.'

Lovelace gave a rueful grin. `I see. That's what gave you away. Naturally, the moment the enemy saw that they dragged every hotel in the place until they found your description tallied with two people staying at the Gordon Pasha. It would be easy enough for such an influential bunch as they must be to fix up a riot for the purpose of having a shot at Christopher afterwards. I didn't know you were particularly rich, Valerie.'

'I'm not, compared with Christopher's standard, but I'm close on a millionaire in dollars. I'm an orphan and an only child, too, you know, so I live with an aunt when I'm at home, that is, which isn't often. Bob Tucker was interesting about Abyssinia.'

'He's been there and come back, then?'

`Yes. He clung on until his paper refused to send him any more funds. Apparently the Abyssinian censorship is so stringent that the correspondents couldn't get a thing worth sending to their papers so the people at home got fed up with paying good money out for nothing, and recalled nearly all of them. He says it's a lousy country, and God alone knows why the Italians want it.'

'It'll be a very different place when they've been in occupation for half a dozen years.'

`Well, Bob says there's no question about their winning. It's only a matter of time. The climate, lack of roads, and their distance from their bases are the only serious obstacles they have to contend with. Troops of filthy ruffians are still pouring into Addis on their way to the front, though, and if only the Emperor can provide them with enough rifles and cartridges they may hold the Italians up until next year; especially as the rains are due in a few weeks' time.'

Loveless nodded. `Mobilization takes months in a place like Abyssinia where communications are almost confined to goat tracks and every petty chieftain has to be bribed and flattered before he'll consent to bring his followers along to take a hand. Had this chap Tucker any genuine information about the progress of the war?'

'No. He didn't know a thing about it until he got back to Jibuti and saw the European papers. The Italians are said to have reached Lake Tana the day we arrived in Alex., and Badoglio's motorized columns are pushing on, but how long he'll stick the pace nobody has any idea.'

`Lake Tana's only just half way from the Eritrean frontier to Addis, so he's got the worst half of the journey to make yet, and if they get too far ahead of the main army they may get cut off. What had Tucker to say about conditions in the capital?'

Valerie smiled. 'Bob says it's in an unholy mess. The Emperor's somewhere on the battle front, at Dessye, they think, and as nobody has any power to do anything without him the whole machinery of government, such as it was, has seized up. The Press bureau ceased to issue anything, except wild statements that ten thousand Italians had been cut to pieces every day, so the correspondents had to rely on bribing spies to get some sort of news; and since they didn't really know anything either, but just provided any sort of lie they thought might earn them a few thalers, their information became equally unreliable and stupidly fantastic, after a bit. The nobles, who ought to be supporting the Emperor, are drunk most of the time. They laze about, boasting of what they or their fathers did at Adowa in 1896, and how they mean to drive the Italians into the sea. Bob says he had no idea until he went there that any race of blacks could possibly regard white men as their inferiors; but the Abyssinians do, apparently.'

`That's hardly to be wondered at,' Lovelace shrugged, `Comparatively few of them had ever seen a white until about nine months ago, and look at the specimens who have been crowding into the place since: every sort of shady character who thought he might make a bit out of their war. Concessionaries like Zirrif who'd see the whole lot of them slaughtered without a qualm if it happened to suit their book. Armament racketeers who'd sell them dud cartridges, so as to make a bigger profit, if they had the chance. Cashiered officers from half the armies in Europe willing to drive them into battle with machine guns at their backs if they're paid well enough for the job. Phoney Red Cross men laying for a chance to steal the funds, and every other sort of trickster playing half a hundred different games to do the poor devils down.'

`You'd have to get up early in the morning to trick an Abyssinian,' chuckled Valerie. `At least, that's what Bob says. And as for graft, well, he told us that sort of thing wasn't understood in the States at all. Compared with their fuzzy haired officials our tough eggs back home are still in the kindergarten class. He'd hoped to save a bit on his expenses, although I'll admit that's a grand laugh coming from Bob, but he passed up every dime he had in bribery even to get himself allowed to walk round. He's come back dead broke, and I suppose that's why he thought he'd make the price of a few drinks by selling our picture to the local daily.'

Lovelace frowned. `You know that young man's let us in for a packet of trouble, and I'm afraid we haven't had the last of it yet. D'you realise that from now on half the population of Alex. may recognise you and Christopher the moment you set foot in the streets? I expect that nebulous group of thugs we vaguely call the enemy have been questioning the reception clerks in all the hotels with a copy of that paper in their hands ever since they learned that you'd cleared out of the Gordon Pasha. They're bound to run you to earth here before long. If you ask me, we're up against it, Valerie.'

Her face went suddenly grave. 'You you're not thinking of backing out now after, after what happened to you this evening, are you?'

`Good God, no!' He drank off the rest of his grog and smiled at her. `I was never keen on this murder game, as you know, and I wouldn't have come in at the beginning if Christopher's life hadn't been threatened, Then, after the mess up in Athens, I'd certainly have chucked in my hand if it hadn't been for you. But now the thing has become really personal. That cold blooded swine Zirrif did his best to murder me today. Worse, he ordered the death of that poor innocent Negro, the real Jeremiah Green, without the slightest compunction. I've got a score to settle with Mr. Paxito Zirrif, and I mean to move heaven and earth to see he get his deserts.'

Valerie laid her hand on his for a second, 'I'm so glad, Anthony so glad.'

He looked away, concealing under the mask of his tanned face the sudden emotion her touch had roused in him, and asked abruptly: 'How is he Jeremiah, I mean?'

She smiled. 'When you went up to Christopher's room to get your clothes off, and I was booking another for you at the desk, I wanted to get one for him too; but he wouldn't have it. He was inquiring about sailings for the States. When they told him there was nothing for the next two days, he said he'd take a passage anywhere provided he could sleep on board a British or American boat tonight.'

`Poor Jeremiah,' Lovelace laughed. `At least he has the sense to know he'll be safe under the Stars and Stripes or the Union Jack. He's had a filthy trip, and he won't feel really good again until he's back in Gainesville. Still, think what a story he'll have to tell all the coloured girls when he gets home. Can't you see their eyes rolling?'

`Tell me about him and yourself. You must know I'm dying to hear what happened to you; yet you've been making me talk about Abyssinia all this time.'

`Let's order dinner first, shall we. Christopher may be back by the time they bring it up. Then I'll give you a full and true account of how Jeremiah and I very nearly found a watery grave.'

Christopher was back in time to join them at the scratch meal the little cosmopolitan hotel provided, and over it he listened with Valerie to Lovelace's unpleasant experiences while a member of Zarrif’s household.

`What luck did you have with Klinger?' Lovelace asked when he had concluded his narrative.

`I was fortunate to find him in,' Christopher replied promptly, `but he's performing at a concert tomorrow night, so he was practicing in his flat this evening. He's a Heidelberg graduate and has a job in a private German bank here. I found him a nice fellow; about my own age. He's a diehard Nazi, as far as Germany's internal politics are concerned, but he swears that Hitler doesn't want war and that all the younger generation, like himself, are out to stop it at any price.'

`Could he tell you anything about Zirrif?' Lovelace inquired.

`As a Miller he knew him, of course. It's up to each one of us to watch the enemy and find out as much about them as we can. Klinger knew Zirrif had a villa here; he's been out to it in Zarrif’s absence, and actually has a plan of the place. He knew Zirrif had been in residence there for the last couple of days, too, but he had no idea where Zarrif’s gone to now.'

`You're determined to follow him, then?' Lovelace asked. `Even to Addis Ababa if need be?'

Christopher gave a vigorous nod. `Even if I have to walk there.'

`In that case, perhaps, we'd better go straight to Addis Ababa and wait there till he turns up,' suggested Valerie. `He's bound to arrive there some time before the first of May.'

'Tomorrow's only the 16th,' said Christopher, `and he's travelling by plane, remember. It's hardly likely he means to arrive there nearly a fortnight before he's due. He must be stopping off for a day or two somewhere on the way to transact further business. It would mean another chance for us to get him if we could my find out where.'

Lovelace shrugged. `That's all very well, but we haven’t got time to go chasing half over Africa, and we don't know if he means to go down the Nile to Khartoum, then over the mountains, or if he'll take the Red sea route to Jibuti and follow the course of the railway inland from there.'

`I favour the Red Sea route,' said Valerie. `It's inhabited most of the way, and at least there's the railway to guide us when we have to cross Abyssinia. I'm as good a pilot as most people, but frankly I'd rather not attempt flying over those trackless mountains east of the Sudan.'

`I don't think you ought ...' Lovelace began, but she cut him short.

`For goodness sake don't start that argument again remember what I told you in Athens.'

Lovelace remembered clearly enough that Christopher needed them both, and they must not let him down but, more than ever now, he hated the thought that she should be exposed to such very real dangers as hey had already encountered.

Christopher caught the meaning of their quick exchange and looked across at him. `I tried to persuade Valerie to leave us to it again this afternoon, but she won't. She says she is of age and her own mistress, and that having come so far she intends to fly her plane down Addis Ababa anyhow. If she won't listen to me, her fiancé, I don't suppose she'll hear reason from anybody else, so we can only accept the situation and, at least, we'll be able to look after her if we all go together.'

'All right, then,' Lovelace sighed, `and we take the Red Sea route, eh?'

'Yes. I should have suggested that anyhow, because Klinger did give me one piece of information. It seems that Zarrif’s hand in glove with a bird called Abu Ben Ibrim, whose headquarters are in Jibuti. Ben Ibrim is the big noise in every sort of dirty work that goes on along the Red Sea. Slave trading's his special racket, but he deals in smuggled ammunition, hashish, and all sorts of other things as well. It's more than likely Zirrif will go via Jibuti to have a word with him, and I thought that if we did too we might manage to get on Zarrif’s track again.'

`What, visit the Arab and try to pump him? But is it likely he'll have anything to do with us without an introduction?'

`I haven't got that, but Klinger said that if we pretended we were friends of a Jewish oil refiner here in Alexandria, named Melchisedek, Ben Ibrim would be almost certain to receive us.'

Lovelace nodded, 'I see, Melchisedek another of the bunch, and it is up to us to think out a good story for Ben Ibrim. Well, when do we start?'

'The earlier we get off tomorrow morning the better,' said Valerie decisively. 'The thugs who tried to do Christopher in today may find out our new address at any time.'

'I wouldn't mind betting they know it already.' Lovelace grinned ruefully. 'As likely as not that handsome chauffeur who drove us back from Zarrif’s is a Young Turban; if so, he'll have reported his day's work as a matter of routine by now. It's a good thing our rooms are adjoining. We'd better sleep with the connecting doors ajar. In fact, we'll have to sleep with our eyes open and our guns handy every night from now on.'