Glenn Meade (28 page)

The Jeep came to a halt and the
British officer in the passenger side climbed down. His captain's uniform was
covered in dust and he held a Smith and Wesson revolver in his hand. Haider
went to move forward but the officer said, 'Stay right where you are and don't
move. Hands in the air, all of you.'

When they obeyed, the captain
stepped closer and studied them suspiciously. 'Who the bloody hell are you
lot?' he demanded.

'Thank God you found us,' Haider
exclaimed. 'I'm Professor Paul Mallory, and these are members of my
archaeological team.

Our aircraft crashed.'

The captain was still wary. 'Is
that a fact?' He flicked a glance back at his comrade. 'You'd better search
them, Hugo. See if they've got any weapons.'

'Now see here,' Haider protested.
'We've just come through the worst experience of our lives-'

'Just shut up for now, please. For
all I know you could be enemy agents. There's still a war on, you know.'

The second officer was a
fresh-faced lieutenant in his early twenties. While the captain covered them
with his revolver, he got out of the Jeep and searched each of them in turn,
including Falconi, disarming him of the Colt automatic and taking all their
wallets and riffling through their identity papers.

He came to Rachel last, and looked
back at the captain uncertainly.

'The lady, too, Hugo. My
apologies, madam.'

The lieutenant searched through
Rachel's clothes and belongings.

'They're all unarmed, sir, apart
from the pilot. And their papers look in order, except the pilot doesn't seem
to have any.'

'Show them here.'

'Can we at least put our hands
down?' Haider asked.

'You may, but stay perfectly
still.'

The lieutenant handed over the
papers and the captain examined them. 'So, you're an American, two South
Africans, and the lady's a German Jew?'

'That's right,' Haider replied.

'Quite a mixed bag.' The captain
looked over at Falconi, who appeared unconscious, and studied his American
uniform.

'What about your pilot? He had no
papers.'

'They must be at the crash site.
He's been badly injured. We had a first-aid kit on board and did what we could,
but he's lost consciousness.' Haider sounded impatient. 'Now, if you don't
mind, we'd like some help getting him to a doctor.'

'Anyone else injured in the
wreckage?'

'The co-pilot was killed. If you
could just-'

'Hold your horses, Professor, I'm
not finished yet.' The captain continued to cover them with his revolver.
'Where were you flying to?'

'
Cairo
,
and on to
Luxor
.'

'Part of an archaeological team,
you say?'

'That's right.'

'Doing what?'

'Working on a dig in the
Valley of the Kings
.'

The captain frowned. 'And what the
hell were you doing in an aircraft south-west of Alex?'

Haider pretended frustration with
the man's questioning. 'If you must know, returning from
Sicily
. We hit bad weather and had engine
trouble. The pilot crash-landed in the middle of a sandstorm.'

'And what exactly were you doing
in
Sicily
?’

'We were asked to examine an
archaeological cache found by the American Army. The Germans stole quite a
number of artifacts in
North Africa
, and took
some of them with them when they retreated. A very valuable cache it was, too.
Roman, second century AD.'

The officer considered for a
moment, then frowned in indecision.

'Well, your papers seem in order.
But I'll still have to check your story out with the proper authorities, back
at base.'

'And where's that?'

'El Amiriya, less than twenty
miles away. When did you crash?'

'About an hour ago.'

'To tell you the truth, I saw the
wreckage in my field glasses, before I noticed your little group. That's when
we decided to veer off course a bit and have a look.' The captain glanced over
at Falconi. 'This chap does seem in a bad way. Did he manage to send a distress
signal?'

'There wasn't time. I'll need to
get in touch with
Cairo
and tell them what's happened.'

'We can do that at Amiriya, and
we've got a doctor there who can attend to your pilot.' The captain removed his
cap and wiped his brow. He put away his revolver, his suspicion obviously
allayed, but he didn't return their papers. 'I'd better hold on to these until
we get things sorted out. You're most probably telling me the truth, but like I
said, there's a war on, old boy. I'm sure you understand.' He called over the
lieutenant.

'Let's get these people on board,
Hugo.'

'Right, sir.'

The lieutenant helped Kleist and
Doring carry Falconi to the Jeep. He was still out of it, moaning as he was
loaded on. Haider had a sudden and terrible fear that he was really unconscious
and might utter something in Italian. The captain produced a cigarette case.
'Smoke, Professor?'

'Thanks.'

'And you, miss?'

Rachel declined, and when the
captain lit the cigarettes, he said to her, 'Damned bad luck, crashing like
that, and especially about your copilot.’

'Yes, it was.'

'I studied classics at
Cambridge
, myself. Always
had a keen interest in archaeology. What's the dig you're working on in
Luxor
?'

'A tomb from the
New
Kingdom
period.'

'It's been worked on throughout
the war?'

'More or less. With a slight lull
when Rommel threatened
Cairo
.'
Rachel gave a weak smile. 'No rest for us archaeologists, I'm afraid.'

'It seems not.'

'We were lucky you came along when
you did,' Haider interrupted. 'Were you on patrol?'

'Good Lord, no. We were on our way
back to base after a poker session with some army friends in Hammam, but got
lost when the bloody storm blew up. Had to sit it out in the shelter of some
rocks about five miles west of here. But we're all right now, we know our way
home. Right, let's mount up and have a quick look at this aircraft of yours.'

'Captain, our pilot is badly
injured-'

'I'm well aware of that, but while
we're here I really had better check out your story - it'll save a lot of time
and trouble afterwards. Besides, it's on our way, and we'll be as quick as a
breeze. It'll be a tight fit in the Jeep, but we should just about manage to
squeeze all of you in.'

Before Haider could protest, the
captain tossed away his cigarette and strode back to the vehicle. Haider
lingered where he was, turned to Rachel, and gave a faint smile. 'You did well.

A slight nervousness in your voice
to start with, but apart from that you were up there with Marlene Dietrich and
the best of them.'

'What choice did I have?' she
whispered back. 'What happens now?' ^ 'God knows, but we'll have to think of
something. As soon as our two friends see the tracer holes in the Dakota, our
cover's blown.'

The captain had already climbed
into the back of the Jeep, Doring beside him with Falconi, Kleist up front with
the driver, and there seemed barely enough room for all of them in the cramped
vehicle. 'Are you ready, Professor? Miss?' the captain called over.

Haider tossed away his cigarette,
took Rachel's arm, walked across and helped her into the back of the
overcrowded Jeep. He climbed in beside her, the engine started up, and they
drove away.

'You're sure it was a Dakota?'

Weaver nodded to Sanson. 'That's
what Alex Coastal Command said when I spoke with them on the telephone.

The Beaufighter's pilot confirmed
the sighting about ten minutes before he disappeared from radio contact - just
after four thirty a.m. He asked the Alex tower to let him know if there was any
known traffic in the area, but the reply was negative. They told him to bring
the intruder back to the airfield. But neither aircraft showed up and the
Beaufighter's radio was dead when the tower tried to call him up at four-forty.
At first the tower wasn't unduly alarmed - the storm had been causing their
communications to act up - but after that they got suspicious.'

Sanson stared at the wall map. It
seemed his mood hadn't improved since their talk in the restaurant, and there
was a noticeable coolness in his tone. 'Anything else, Weaver?'

'There've been no subsequent
sightings of either aircraft in our airspace. Air Command pointed out that the
Dakota's usually not armed, and the Beaufighter should have been able to take
him back, no problem. They say it's possible both of them were forced to land
somewhere because of the storm, or collided in midair.'

'Are they looking for wreckage?'

'They're sending up a couple of
spotter planes to search the coastal area, and the desert south of it. And
they're requesting any air traffic due to fly over the sector to keep their
eyes open.'

Sanson reflected for a moment.
'Those sandstorms can get pretty rough. They play bloody havoc with aircraft.
There's probably a good chance they both could have got into trouble and
crashed.'

Weaver joined Sanson at the map.
'But it still doesn't tell us what the Dakota was doing where it shouldn't have
been at that hour of the morning. I checked with RAF HQ - there's been no
notification of any missing aircraft, British or American, in the last eight
hours, from either
Egypt
,
Sicily
or mainland
Italy
.'

'What about traffic coming east
from
Tunis
or
Algeria
, or the chance that some
unlucky pilot got blown off course?'

Weaver shook his head. 'Apart from
air patrols, Alex or
Cairo
hadn't any scheduled traffic for last night or early this morning - American or
British - mainly because of the expected bad weather.' He pointed to the map,
at the desert areas south and west of Alex. 'It occurred to me there are lots
of remote, abandoned airfields up near the north coast that would probably be
ideal for a covert drop. And it seemed kind of suspicious, the Dakota appearing
and vanishing like that - I thought we might look into it.'

Sanson turned back. 'Contact Alex
again. Ask them to double-check the traffic reports for last night and this
morning, just to be certain none of our aircraft went missing, apart from the
Beaufighter. See if they've got any information that we don't already have, and
tell them to keep us posted if anything turns up. And if they spot any
wreckage, tell them we want to see it.

Get to it, Weaver.'

Haider tried to assess the
situation as he sat in the back of the Jeep. As soon as the officers saw the
tracer-damaged wreckage, the deception would be over. Up ahead, he could see
the crash site looming closer. He glanced over at Doring. The SS man made a
fleeting gesture across his throat and his eyes flicked towards the captain,
suggesting the obvious. Haider didn't have a chance to indicate a reply,
because at that moment Falconi moaned, and shuddered in pain.

Haider felt the Italian's brow. It
was feverish, and he knew Falconi wasn't acting. He saw damp patches of blood
on the bandages; the bleeding had started again. 'Captain, we have to get this
man to a doctor, urgently. God knows what internal injuries he might have.'

The captain leaned over and lifted
one of Falconi's eyelids, then felt his pulse. 'His heartbeat does seems a bit
slow. It's probably delayed shock.'

'If he dies, I'll see you're held
personally responsible.'

'Steady on, Professor. I've got a
bloody job to do.'

'And this man's life is in
danger.'

The captain chewed his lip in
indecision. 'There's a village about half an hour from here. It's closer than
our base and I believe there's a local doctor.'

'Then I suggest you get us there
as quickly as possible.'

'Of course. Just as soon as I
examine the wreckage.'

Haider made to protest again, but
the captain put up a hand to shield his eyes as he peered ahead at the mangled
Dakota.

'Christ, it looks like you had a
bad time of it. You were bloody lucky to survive.'

The lieutenant pulled up a short
distance from the wreckage, and the captain climbed down. 'I won't be a moment.
Keep the engine running, Hugo.'

'Yes, sir.'

Haider tensed as the captain moved
towards the Dakota. The tracer holes weren't immediately noticeable in the
tangle of metal, but when he had gone only a few steps, he turned round,
ashen-faced. 'This plane's been shot at-'

He reached for his sidearm, but in
the Jeep Kleist grabbed the lieutenant's revolver as Haider's arm went around
the young man's neck and Kleist pointed the gun at his head.

'I really wouldn't, Captain,'
Haider said. 'Now toss that weapon over here, quick as you can.'

The Avro Lancaster was a robust
British bomber, one of the most successful Allied aircraft of the war.

The one that Weaver and Sanson
flew in that morning was a transporter, its mission ferrying an urgent cargo of
artillery munitions to
Italy
,
with a brief stopover in Alex.

The aircraft had definitely seen
better days. Part of the cabin skin had been shot through by flak and left
unrepaired, the interior was freezing, and the noise from the four Merlin
piston engines sounded like a million angry wasps gone mad.

Weaver tried to ignore the noise
and discomfort as he and Sanson sat on a couple of munitions boxes up near the
cockpit.

They were twenty miles south of
Alex, and at five thousand feet they could see the white clusters of flat,
mud-bricked buildings where the suburbs began. The
Lancaster
was buffeted violently by a heavy
gust of wind, then settled.

'Couldn't you have found us an
aircraft with a safer cargo?'

Sanson asked.

'It was the only available flight
to Alex this morning - we were lucky to get a ride.'

'Let's just hope it's worth all
the trouble, Weaver.'

They had hit the tail-end of the
bad weather during their climb out from
Cairo
,
and there was rough turbulence. Sanson just sat there, stone-faced, but Weaver
felt as if he wanted to throw up.

Half an hour after he had
contacted Alex RAF HQ, they had called him back. A further check had revealed
no air traffic missing in the Med or northern
Egypt
, nor had there been anything
scheduled to fly at that hour of the morning, apart from the missing
Beaufighter, and three coastal patrol Tomahawks which had returned safely to
base. Something else had turned up. A low-flying Lysander en route from Mersa
Matruh to Alex had reported the wreckage of two aircraft in the desert,
approximately twenty miles south-west of the city, one of them still smouldering.

'Ten minutes to landing,' the
pilot called over his shoulder, and looked back at Weaver, who was still
white-faced. 'What's the matter, sir? Don't you like flying?'

'I love it,' Weaver replied, as
the aircraft bucked in another pocket of turbulence. 'Especially in a plane
that looks like a sieve, and is packed full of explosives. Definitely the only
way to travel.'

The pilot laughed, and turned back
to set up his approach.

7.55 a. m.

Haider waved the revolver and
moved the two officers inside the Dakota. 'Remove your uniforms, both of you.'
He turned to Kleist and Doring. 'When they're done, tie them securely to the
fuselage. Use some of that cargo webbing.'

The officers undressed as they
were told. The captain looked astounded, and fearful. 'You're Germans, aren't
you?' he said to Haider. 'You mind telling me what's going on?'

'Questions, Captain, will get you
nowhere. Be quiet, please.'

When Kleist and Doring finished
tying up the men, they secured them to the fuselage. 'What do you want us to do
with the uniforms?' Kleist asked.

Haider looked at them for size.
'I'll take the captain's.' He tossed the lieutenant's papers and uniform across
to Doring. 'Put that on - see if it fits.'

Doring tried on the clothes and
they fitted reasonably well.

The SS man grinned down at the
young lieutenant, who was naked except for his underwear, and tapped his ribs
with the toe of his boot. 'Well, do I pass for an Englander’ The lieutenant's
face was strained, and he was rigid with fear.

'Leave him,' Haider warned Doring.

'It's all right, Hugo. They're not
going to harm us.' The captain looked up at Haider as if for reassurance.
'Under the rules of the Geneva Convention-'

'I'm well aware of the rules, and
you both have nothing to fear. Though I'm afraid we'll have to leave you here.'

'We could be dead from thirst by
the time we're found.'

'I'll give you both a fill of
water before we go. I'm sorry, there's nothing else we can do. But I've no
doubt one of your patrols will find the wreckage.'

Haider indicated for Doring and
Kleist to join him outside.

When they went out, he jerked a
thumb at Doring. 'See if there's a map in their Jeep. Kleist, give our friends
some water, and a couple of our canteens in case they manage to free
themselves. Make it quick, then let's get moving.'

'Are you insane? You're going to
let them live?' Kleist said in amazement.

'And what would you suggest?'

'We shoot them.'

'Forget it, Kleist. They're
innocent men.'

'They're the enemy, and you're
making a grave mistake.

They can give their comrades our
descriptions. Alive, they sign our death warrants. Dead, the enemy knows
nothing.'

'I'm not going to murder anyone in
cold blood. And we're in deep enough trouble as it is. Now do as you're told.
Give them the water and get back here, on the double.’

Kleist made to protest, his face
livid, but then seemed to think better of it. He hurried towards the wreckage,
picking up the water canteens as he went, just as Doring came back.

'There's no sign of any map, sir.'

'Damn.' Haider turned to Rachel.
'Quite a mess, isn't it? Still, look on the bright side - at least we have
transport.' He removed his shirt and pants, pulled on the captain's shirt and
uniform, buckled on the Sam Browne belt and holstered the revolver, then tried
on the boots. 'A bit tight, but they'll have to do for now.'

'You might bear a passing
resemblance to the captain, but if those papers are checked thoroughly, you'd never
pass inspection.'

'A fact I'm well aware of, but let
me worry about that if it happens.'

'What now?' Rachel asked
worriedly.

Haider pulled on the captain's
cap, set it at a jaunty angle, and touched the peak in a mock salute,
impersonating a British accent. 'God only knows, my dear, but we'll do our
jolly best.'

'You're crazy. We'll never get out
of this alive.'

'Oh, I don't know about that. You
always have to live in hope.'

Suddenly, Falconi gave a low moan,
and Doring said, 'I think you'd better take a look at him, sir.'

Haider knelt over the Italian.
Falconi's skin looked sickly grey, and dark patches of blood were seeping
through the bandages. He loosened the belt tourniquet again, then tied it more
tightly.

'He's in a bad way. The heat's
going to be unbearable in another hour, and he'll only get worse. Without
proper medical attention, he'll bleed to death. It's probably still worth
trying the landing strip, in case our contact hung around. If so, he may know
of a trustworthy doctor who can help.' He turned to Doring. 'Tell Kleist we're
moving out.'

Suddenly two shots exploded from
inside the Dakota.

Haider went white and turned
towards the wreckage, knowing instinctively what had happened. 'Kleist - you
bloody animal!’

When he reached the aircraft door,
Kleist was stepping out, the revolver in his hand, a faint plume of smoke
rising from its barrel.

Haider looked in and saw the
twisted bodies of the two young officers, each shot through the head. He
grabbed Kleist by the lapels, enraged. 'You callous bastard - you killed them
in cold blood!'

'If you couldn't do it, I could,'
Kleist said, unrepentant. 'This is war, Haider-'

Haider punched him in the face.
Kleist was flung back against the wreckage and dropped the revolver in the
sand.

He staggered to his feet, his nose
dripping blood, hate in his eyes.

'You're dead, Haider. Fucking
dead!'

Kleist came at him fast, his arms
open like those of an angry bear, his full weight hitting Haider and toppling him.
He lunged on top and punched Haider savagely, fists slamming into his face.

Haider fought back and managed to
roll away, but when he tried to unholster his gun, Kleist came at him again.

This time he was ready. His foot
came up and kicked Kleist below the knee. Kleist roared in pain and staggered
back, clutching his leg. Haider got to his feet and his fists went to work,
punching Kleist hard and fast. The dazed SS man was spun round, and Haider's
arms locked around his throat, but Kleist's hand came up, gripping Haider's
hair, almost wrenching the scalp from his skull. Haider tightened his hold.
'Enough, Kleist, or I'll break your bloody neck!'

Kleist managed to scream hoarsely,
'Doring - the gun!'

Doring hesitated, uncertain for a
moment, then ran to recover Kleist's revolver from the sand, but Rachel tripped
him, he fell forward, and she reached for the weapon. As Doring got to his
feet, she pointed the gun at his face.

'You bitch!' Doring moved towards
her.

'Another step and I'll kill you.'

Doring halted instantly. The look
in her eyes suggested she meant it. Rachel kept the gun trained on him and said
to Kleist, 'Unless you want your comrade to die, do as Haider says.'

Kleist gave a look that suggested
he knew when he was beaten, and did as he was told. Haider pushed him away and
pulled out his revolver, as Doring said sheepishly, 'Major, I-’

'You stupid fool. I could shoot
you for insubordination.'

'A grave mistake, Major, I - I
didn't think-' Doring stammered.

'Shut up and get over beside
Kleist.'

Doring obeyed, and Haider levelled
his gun at them. 'I ought to finish the matter right here. And you, Kleist,
you're beyond contempt. You deserve a bullet.'

The big SS man wiped blood from
his nose. 'See sense, Haider. We didn't have any choice.' He jerked his head
towards the Dakota. 'If they were found alive, we'd be caught before we knew
it. This way, at least we have a chance.'

There was a brutal logic to it,
Haider knew, but Kleist's ruthless savagery made him loathe the man. 'Except
now we're responsible for murdering two British officers. A fact I'm sure will
make their comrades all the more determined to catch us.

You've put us in even worse
jeopardy.'

Kleist had no answer to that, and
he stood there, sullenly.

'You're also forgetting we have a
mission to complete,'

Haider reminded him. 'This is
still a military operation and I'm still in charge. Until we're either killed
or captured. Is that understood?'

'Yes, Major.'

'Now both of you get in the Jeep.
Up front, where I can keep an eye on you.'