Chapter Forty-three
They left the barracks the following morning to drive back to Lydda Airport where the Dakota was waiting to fly them on to Cairo. The convoy was assembled in the compound. First the armoured car, Corporal Wilson perched in his turret.
Behind waited the staff car which Sergeant Mulligan would again drive. The time of departure had been advanced at the last minute by one hour so there was a last-minute rush.
The two motorcyclists who would bring up the rear waited behind the staff car. The riders smoked a final cigarette in the morning sun. It was going to be another beautiful crisp day.
There had been an argument, almost a stand-up verbal confrontation, between Mulligan and Whelby. Standing in Mulligan's office, hands tucked inside his jacket pockets with his thumbs protruding, he was stubborn as a mule.
'As you know, Sergeant, I've phoned Cairo. I'm expecting an urgent reply from London via Grey Pillars I must wait for that call to come through, so I'll catch you up. I need transport and a driver. Now don't fuss, I'll be there in time for the plane to take off. You don't make all that speed with an armoured car in the convoy…'
'You'll get a jeep – an open jeep with no protection,' Mulligan had snapped. 'It's all the transport I can spare. And a driver…'
'A jeep will be fine. That way we're bound to catch you up…'
'Please yourself. The plane departs on schedule. It's not waiting for anyone – not even you…'
Whelby had waited in the office, watching the four passengers climb into the staff car. Lindsay, Paco,
Reader and Hartmann in the back, two again on the. flap seats. No one beside Mulligan in the 'dead man's' seat. He saw the armoured car trundle away through the exit.
There were other watchers. From windows in the building enclosing the compound, men off-duty stood staring as the convoy left. Officially no one except Mulligan and the participants in the convoy knew its destination. But the grapevine inside a barracks is sensitive. The staring faces were quite motionless and there was an air of depression.
After waiting for the hundred yard gap to open up, Mulligan drove the staff car forward. Whelby stood perfectly still, aware of the clerk sitting at a desk behind him. The staff car disappeared beyond the gateway and Whelby forced himself to maintain his cool stance.
The motorcyclists had just left when a jeep drove at speed through the still-open gateway, braked savagely and turned a half-circle in the middle of the compound, sending up a cloud of dust. The driver dismounted and came over to where Whelby waited.
'Corporal Haskins reporting for duty. Mr Standish?'
'That's correct…'
The jeep Mulligan had summoned over the 'phone had arrived far more swiftly than Whelby had anticipated. He glanced towards the silent 'phone on the desk for effect.
'Ready when you are, sir!' the freckle-faced Haskins said cheerfully. 'And I know your destination.'
'Better take the weight off your feet, Corporal. Don't hesitate to smoke a cigarette while you wait. I'm hanging on for a call from Cairo.'
'That's good of you, sir,' Haskins replied and winked at the clerk as he sat down and took out his pack. Mulligan banned smoking anywhere in his vicinity. He thought Standish seemed a good sort, but this was always the impression Whelby created on subordinates. He was thinking of Vlacek's warning.
'Whatever you do, don't travel back with them to Lydda…'
'At last we're on our way to London,' said Paco joyfully. 'I can't wait to get there. I'm in seventh heaven…'
Her mood did something to lighten the rather quiet atmosphere inside the staff car. She occupied one of the rear seats facing Hartmann perched on a flap. Beside her Lindsay sat silent with Reader opposite. He was suffering from a mild relapse of the glandular fever. Hartmann put a hand towards his side pocket, withdrew it. The gesture was very familiar to Paco by now.
`Go on,' she encouraged him cheerfully. 'Light up your pipe.'
'There's not much air…'
'You are allowed the pipe before we get to Lydda. It's such a lovely morning.
She lowered the window on her side. The sun was shining out of a clear blue sky. Not a cloud in sight. Hartmann smiled his gratitude, took out the pipe and began filling it…'
'Where's Whelby?' Lindsay said suddenly.
He sat bolt upright. In the rush of their departure he had not realized the Englishman was missing. Alarm showed in his expression. He slid back the glass partition separating them from Mulligan and repeated the question.
'Following us in a jeep,' the sergeant called back laconically. 'Something about expecting a call from Cairo. Told him I'm not holding the flight so it's up to him…'
'I see. Lindsay replied slowly.
'Stop fretting, do!'
Paco clasped her arm inside his and hugged him.
Hartmann watched her with pleasure. She had never looked younger, her eyes sparkling, her manner displaying that extraordinary animation which had manifested itself ever since they had landed at Benina. He sucked contentedly at his pipe as the staff car began the long, winding descent to Lydda.
The nondescript civilian mending an apparent puncture to his cycle near the barracks had watched the staff car leave. He waited a few more minutes and then cycled off a short distance to a 'phone box. The number he asked for answered immediately.
'Danny here,' said the cyclist.
'Moshe speaking. Well?'
'The consignment is on its way.'
'Did they pack everything? Nothing missing?' Moshe asked.
'Nothing. I counted the items myself.'
'Good. So now you can arrange the next delivery.
The cyclist put down the phone. The next delivery was planned for tomorrow. Danny would cycle back to his hideout and wait for the 'phone call the following morning, the call which would tell him where to pick up the secret hoard of guns – and that would only come when the news appeared in the papers and over the radio.
Inside an old house on the edge of the city close by the road to Lydda, Moshe hurried to his motorcycle concealed in a shed. He had to hide the machine again after he arrived before he got into position.
In the turret of his armoured car Corporal Wilson's eyes were everywhere as his vehicle continued the descent. He was searching for the slightest sign of movement. The armoured car moved at the head of the convoy as protection against mines being laid in the road overnight. The weight of the vehicle would detonate any impact mine, guaranteeing safe passage for the staff car driving one hundred yards behind.
If the road were safe for the armoured car, then it was safe for the lighter-weight staff car. No other form of attack would be risked with the armoured car equipped with its machine-gun so close. The convoy proceeded on down the hill. Another two miles and they would reach Lydda Airport.
Moshe was concealed behind the same group of rocks he had used to watch the Dakota landing the previous day. But this time he was facing in the opposite direction, his field-glasses aimed uphill at a point where the road turned sharply.
Moshe considered himself a patriot. All that mattered was the establishment of the state of Israel. The British were enemies as were the Arabs. And the most valuable currency in his eyes to help buy them their homeland was guns. He would do anything to obtain more guns – whatever the source.
He saw the armoured car come into view, the soldier perched… in his turret swivelling his head from side to side. Moshe froze. The armoured car continued on down the hill. The staff car came into view.
Through his powerful glasses Moshe was able to see the passengers inside the car. Lindsay was in the back close to the window on his side. Beyond he had a glimpse of a girl with blonde hair. He mentally shrugged. How many Jewish girls had died in Europe?
