'Security. I have a job to complete. Which reminds me – I'd like a quick word with Reader over there. Won't be long – and don't get up. I can squeeze past…' He put a hand on her leg to support himself and held it there for a moment.
Settling himself in the seat next to Reader, he turned away from Paco so she couldn't catch even a snatch of his conversation with the Intelligence Major. He took out the leather-bound diary from his pocket.
'This is strictly between you and me, Reader. This diary is vital. The information is what I'm carrying inside my head – so if my head never reaches London I need a safe place for the diary. Otherwise everything that's happened becomes pointless. That I wouldn't like…'
'What exactly are you asking me to do?'
'You're not fireproof either. Do you know someone in Palestine you can trust, really trust – someone you could deposit this diary with until I send for it?'
'Only a civilian. Chap called Stein. He's a diamond broker. Their careers hinge on their integrity. And he's not mixed up with any of the Jewish gangs. You could trust him with your life…'
'Maybe that's how it's going to turn out…'
Leaving Reader, he was standing in the gangway when Hartmann approached him. The German asked if they could have a quiet word together. They chose two isolated seats d Hartmann began speaking in
English.
'Now we are over Allied territory I can reveal my secret. I've been sent on a special mission by Admiral Canaris, chief of the Abwehr as you know. He instructed me to escape from Germany – which is why I seized on the opportunity to follow you. Rather a nerve-racking business. I had to fool so many people – Gruber, Jaeger, Schmidt, Maisel – the most dangerous adversary. And, of course, Bormann himself…'
'I always sensed there was something odd about you…'
'I thought you did,' Hartmann commented. 'I know the names of the entire anti-Nazi opposition. We tried to pass on our peace proposals to Allied agents in Spain but someone road-blocked us. A man called Whelby was in charge…'
'I know him,' Lindsay replied and left it at that.
'I have to be escorted safely through to London. In return for assassinating Hitler and establishing a civilian, non-Nazi government we are prepared to negotiate a peace settlement. I can only give you names after I have arrived in London. Until then I ask that you alone should know about this matter..
'That is your only passport to safety,' Lindsay told him.
It was still daylight when Moshe, crouched behind the rocks overlooking Lydda airfield, first spotted the Dakota coming in to land. He was aching in every limb from his long vigil but he possessed quite abnormal powers of endurance.
In the canvas satchel by his side was his water- bottle, his few remaining cheese sandwiches and a pair of night-glasses. Dusk would soon spread its dark pall over the silent land and he had no way of knowing whether the aircraft bringing Lindsay might arrive after dark.
He adjusted the binoculars looped round his neck and focused them on the grassy runway. The Dakota flew straight in, touched down and reduced speed as it headed for the reception building. Moshe knew that on the far side of the building beyond his view were parked a staff car and an armoured vehicle.
The man who had been pointed out to him by Vlacek in Jerusalem as Tim Whelby strolled towards the aircraft, hatless and wearing only a tropical drill suit despite the chill of the evening. Moshe locked his lenses on Whelby, waiting for the signal which would identify Wing Commander Lindsay for him.
A metal ladder was placed against the side of the machine by one of the ground staff. Two British soldiers armed with sten guns began patrolling the area round the Dakota. A man appeared at the top of the ladder, a man holding a stick.
Moshe pressed the glasses hard against his eyes as the passenger slowly descended the ladder rung by rung. Reaching the ground, he turned and in the twin lenses Moshe saw his face close up. No doubt about it. This was Lindsay! Then Moshe got his final confirmation of the RAF man's identity.
As Whelby shook hands with Lindsay he casually reached up with his left hand and gripped the lobe of his ear, the signal Vlacek had arranged. Other people were emerging from the aircraft. To Moshe's surprise one of them was a blonde-haired girl – followed in rapid succession by two other men.
Moshe continued his watch. He wanted to observe the system of protection employed, because when Lindsay returned from Jerusalem to fly on to Cairo they would undoubtedly employ the same technique. It was this British habit of clinging to routine which had been the death of them – literally – on so many other occasions.
Chapter Forty-Two
'My dear chap, welcome back to civilization after all these months Whelby extended his hand, shaking Lindsay's as he fingered the lobe of his left ear. 'I must s-s-ay you look a bit p-p-peaky.' He lowered his voice. 'I'm known to the locals as Peter Standish…'
'What brings you out here?' asked Lindsay, his expression unsmiling.
'To escort you home, of course.'
'To London, you mean?'
'That's right.'
'By what route?'
'Well if you must know now.'
'I must.'
'Back to Cairo in a couple of days, after you've rested up. Then on to dear old London…'
A uniformed sergeant of the Palestine Polite had joined them and was showing obvious signs of restlessness. He butted in on the conversation, ignoring Whelby, addressing Lindsay.
'Excuse me, my chaps are getting a bit trigger happy. We're exposed standing about here – and I'd like to get you safely to Jerusalem before nightfall…'
'Sergeant Mulligan – Wing Commander Lindsay,' Whelby introduced. 'I suppose you're transporting us to the Hotel Sharon in that old tin can…'
'Better not let Corporal Wilson hear you,' Mulligan snapped. 'Last time you referred to it as 'that iron monster'. Now it's become an old tin can. Maybe you'd like to know Wilson has survived three bomb attacks and has grown rather fond of his mode of transport. There are five of you, so four of you travel in the back, two on the flap seats. be driving.'
'I don't mind sitting beside you, Sergeant,' Paco offered.
'Much as I'd enjoy the pleasure of your company you're taking a back seat, if you'll pardon the phraseology. The front passenger is the dead man's seat. You've just entered a war zone.'
'I've just left one,' Paco replied pleasantly.
'So,' Mulligan informed her, 'you're entitled to all the safety you can get. Now, Mr Standish, I'm sure you won't blench at the idea of sitting alongside' me? Shall we go…?'
Lindsay was beginning to get the distinct impression that Standish was not Sergeant Mulligan's favourite person. Interesting in view of his own feelings.
Moshe watched the convoy leave the airfield and turn onto the curving road which climbed the hillside leading to Jerusalem. The armoured car first. The trail-blazer in case the road had been mined.
One hundred metres behind, the staff car followed. All five passengers aboard. The Palestine Police sergeant driving at a pace which maintained the gap. Headlights on because dusk was falling. Moshe had switched to his night glasses.
One hundred metres behind the staff car, two British Army motorcyclists protecting the rear. They could prove to be a bit of a problem. Behind them at a reasonable distance a vegetable truck took the road to Jerusalem. The driver would check the convoy's route and report later to Moshe. Halfway to the city at a turn-off the vegetable truck would disappear – to be replaced by a grocery van – driven by another member of the Stern Gang. Moshe stood up, hoisted the pack on his back and walked to the spot where he had hidden his own motorcycle.
They were driven to the barracks. There had been a brief confrontation about their destination before they
