'It's two different worlds, Peter. Alien to each other?'
The remark kept coming back to him later after they landed. It's two different worlds… Alien to each other. Like the two alien worlds he held inside his own head. Kept always separate from each other. He smiled as she said something, her pale face flushed with pleasure.
By the time they were landing at Lydda he knew she was ready for an adventure. He had done nothing special to lead her on. It was a relationship which the younger Wing Commander Lindsay could never have contrived.
He took an instant dislike to Sergeant Mulligan, a dislike he was careful to conceal. Mulligan, a tall, terse man of about thirty years old with his hair cut very short, reciprocated his attitude, but not his finesse.
“I have an American lady with me, a Mrs Climber. I'm going to see her settled in a hotel in Jerusalem.'
'Who is she? Sir…' As an afterthought. 'Security here is very tight.'
'I'll take full responsibility, Sergeant You know the Hotel Sharon? She'll probably want to put up there, subject to seeing the place…'
He made it sound as though the suggestion had come from Linda. They waited in blazing sunshine as she alighted from the plane. Lydda Airport was little more than a field with the grass trimmed short – like Sergeant Mulligan's hair.
'She's from the American Embassy in Cairo,' Whelby murmured. 'Nothing to worry about.'
'If you say so…'
Disapproval of the whole arrangement was patent in Mulligan's voice and manner. He was courteous when introduced, then led the way towards an armoured car standing close to a building. Beneath dark, bristly brows his eyes darted everywhere, one hand close to the holster at his right side. Whelby noticed the flap was now unbuttoned.
'We travel in this thing?' Whelby called out.
'You must be joking,' Linda Climber whispered. 'I'll snag my stockings.'
Mulligan stopped in the lee of the armoured car, a narrow space between the vehicle and the building. He gave his lecture in short, sharp bursts. A British soldier seated behind the controls stared down at them, frozen- faced.
'This armoured car is a good introduction to what you've come to,' Mulligan began. 'Did you by any chance when you flew in see the straight line, desert one side, fields on the other?'
'We did.. Whelby replied in a bored tone.
'Both of you listen. It may save your lives. South of that line is Egypt, peace now Monty's put a boot up Rommel's backside. North of that line – here where you're standing – we're in a state of war. Don't go roaming round on your own. If you do go out, avoid back alleys.'
'Is all this really necessary, Sergeant? You're frightening the lady.'
'I'm trying to scare the living daylights out of her…' The sergeant regarded Whelby with active dislike. 'I had twenty-four men in my unit. Note the past tense. In the past eight weeks three of them have been killed by the murdering swine in the Jewish underground. Shot in the back. Never had a cat's chance in hell. They're worse than the Germans – at least they wore uniform and fought clean. That's it. We travel in that.'
He pointed to a staff car with amber net curtains drawn over the windscreen and parked in shadow.
'The armoured car?' queried Whelby. The driver had started up the engine. The protective metal plates vibrated.
'This poor bastard leads the way. We follow one hundred yards behind. Then if the Jews have sown any mines he takes the blast. Say thank you to Corporal Wilson up there…'
Open hostility now, in Mulligan's speech and manner. Whelby pursed his lips, carefully not looking up at Wilson. The sergeant walked them to the staff car, then turned to Linda Climber, his voice soft and polite.
'I'll. take your case. You get inside and make yourself comfortable. It'll be all right. Not far to Jerusalem…'
He held open the rear door, took her elbow in his free hand to help her inside, ignoring Whelby. She leaned forward on the edge of the seat and smiled with genuine sympathy.
'Thank you, Sergeant. I'm beginning to understand how awful it must be. Please do say thank you to Corporal Wilson from me, if that isn't ridiculous…'
'He likes an attractive lady. It'll make his day…'
The road to Jerusalem from Lydda was uphill, a series of steep bends which took them higher and higher above the plain. Ideal ambush country. Sergeant Mulligan drove, a sub machine-gun on the empty passenger seat beside him. Drove keeping a good hundred yards clearance from the armoured car grinding ahead up the ascent.
The staff car was a luxurious vehicle with spacious room in the back. A sheet of sliding glass – closed before they started – divided them from Mulligan and gave them privacy to chat. Linda Climber, normally ebullient, was quiet for the early part of the journey. Whelby squeezed her hand once reassuringly and was then careful to say nothing. He always let a woman make the running. At the outset.
They had almost reached the top of their zigzag ascent, could feel the road levelling out, when Whelby leaned forward and slid back the glass panel.
'Could you stop a hundred yards short of the Sharon? Give me a moment to inspect the place?'
'I think that could be arranged…'
'Will that iron monster still be keeping us company?'
'Corporal Wilson will escort us inside Jerusalem and will then go his own way.'
The clipped tone, the distant glance Mulligan shot over his shoulder at Whelby expressed his controlled fury at the reference to 'that monster'. Whelby closed the panel and smiled to himself. It had worked. He had distanced himself from the probing Mulligan.
'I don't think he liked what you just said,' Linda remarked.
'I'm not very good at expressing myself. I think I did put my foot in it. What do you do at the embassy? Or am I being nosey?'
'I'm an assistant to one of the officials. It sounds very grand but really I just type, take down the odd letter in shorthand – my shorthand's good – and do masses and masses of filing. You must be an important man – to warrant this attention and protection – or am I being nosey?'
'You're being nosey,' he said easily. 'Don't be impressed by my reception. I'm taking a vacation – as you Americans call it – myself. They said to me, 'Do us a favour, old chap, carry these papers to Jerusalem for us. They're rather important. We'll lay on transport for you at Lydda.'' He smiled diffidently. 'I'm really nobody…'
The lie came out smoothly, convincingly. He had thought it up on the spur of the moment. They didn't speak again until they had arrived in Jerusalem and Corporal Wilson's 'monster' trundled off in a different direction at an intersection.
Whelby returned to where Mulligan had parked the staff car by the kerb a hundred yards from the Hotel Sharon. He opened the front passenger door, dipping his head, checked to see that the divider panel was closed, sealing off the rear where Linda Climber sat waiting, and spoke so quietly Mulligan had to lean over to catch what he said.
'The Hotel Sharon looks reasonable enough for Mrs Climber. I think I'll bunk down there myself.' 'The barracks for you. All laid on.'
'Which is just the place anyone looking for me will watch. I do have freedom of action. I intend to exercise it. This fits the bill nicely – an out-of-the-way hotel. Security, Sergeant Mulligan. I'm not an amateur.'
He was adopting the same tactics he had used with Carson in Cairo when the Lieutenant had tried to incarcerate him in Grey Pillars He spoke as though there was simply no point in arguing the matter. Mulligan had one more try, keeping his own voice in low key.
'Even at that small hotel you'll have to register, show your passport…'
'I'm travelling on false papers…'
'Jesus Christ! You people think you're God.'
'Make up your mind which of those exalted gentlemen you want me to be. Meantime, give me a phone number where I can contact you. I'm in Room 6 at the Sharon.'
He took the folded piece of paper on which Mulligan, tight-mouthed, had scribbled the phone number, then opened the rear door. Linda emerged onto the pavement, shook the creases out of her skirt and turned to take her
