Hellfire (2011)

by James Holland

  ‘Where the hell is he?’ said Vaughan, now beside him.

  Tanner scanned ahead: Moussa was passing the ahwa.

  ‘He’s forty yards away,’ said Tanner. ‘Come on. Let’s see where the hell he’s going.’

  They followed him to the end of the street where he turned right, and briefly disappeared again. Hurrying forward, they spotted him taking yet another turning.

  ‘Where the bloody hell is he going?’ muttered Tanner. The road darkened as the shops began to thin. They were passing a series of warehouses, and at the end of the street, Moussa stopped, silhouetted against a faint light coming from one of the buildings, and looked around. He seemed to see the men, then calmly turned right.

  Reaching the end of the road, they could just see him ahead, but then he was gone again. Quickly, they followed, but the wide open streets of modern Cairo, with its grand, ornate buildings and blocks of flats, had been left behind. The tailor was leading them into the old quarter of Zenab, with its labyrinth of narrow lanes, alleyways and densely packed buildings of scavenged limestone and mud-brick.

  ‘Damn it!’ cursed Tanner, as they turned into a busy lane. It was after nine, with the curfew less than an hour away, but the narrow streets were still busy with people, animals and mule-carts, the many shops still trading. Tanner reeled at the stench of effluence and rotting food. A moment later, as they pushed their way through a throng of people outside a small mosque, he could smell only strong coffee, tobacco smoke and incense.

  Another ahwa, tables and people spilling out on to the street, but there was Moussa, still ahead, his dark jacket standing out against the sea of white and soft-coloured galabhiyas. Tanner hurried forward, conscious of Vaughan and Astley beside and behind him. People were watching them; it was obvious they were after someone. Tanner saw Moussa glance backwards, and quickened his pace. A pyramid of watermelons, then a stack of rough cages filled with chickens; flickering lights shimmered from within booths. A small crowd – an argument, a man with his hands raised in outrage. Tanner hurried on, Moussa just thirty yards away. Suddenly the tailor slipped into a side-street and Tanner began to run, pushing past several people. He heard Vaughan apologizing behind him, but when he reached the turning it was to find the alleyway deserted.

  There was no sign of Moussa.

  9

  As luck would have it, a number six blue bus had been approaching the Anglo-Egyptian Union just as Tanja walked outside, so she had hailed and boarded it. With a gust of exhaust fumes it trundled forward, the driver grinding slowly through the gears. It drove over the Bulaq Bridge, a cluster of houseboats and sails, and back into the hubbub of the city.

  She closed her eyes, angry with herself for losing control. She had no doubt that Alex Vaughan had meant what he’d said. He was a good, kind-hearted man – deluded, maybe, but his convictions were well intentioned. Yet, like most British, he was either oblivious or blind to the reality. Russia’s role in the invasion of Poland had been either ignored or forgotten, Soviet barbarity brushed aside. But she had seen it with her own eyes: the burning villages, the ransacked family homes, the wagons of men and women shunted east. And she had read the accounts of some of those who had survived and made it to Iran and Iraq. Such hypocrisy! How could Britain and America object so strongly to the Nazis yet ally themselves with Stalin and the Bolsheviks? The Communists should be brought down, not aided and abetted. She was no lover of Hitler or the Nazis, but if only the Allies would back down, they could be left alone to rid the world of an even greater threat.

  She looked out of the window. Cairo. This hot, impossible city, the beating heart of a free country that was not free at all. Britain, with her much vaunted democracy, ran Egypt like a dictatorship – the vast numbers of troops were testimony to that. Even now she could see several British soldiers arguing with an Egyptian water-seller.

  She got out at the Tipperary Club, where a number of drunken British officers were singing, and quickly crossed the road. Her flat was only a few minutes’ walk away. The streets were still busy, but as she moved through the throng, she thought of Vaughan again. He was a good-looking man, decent, intelligent, and with a sense of humour she could appreciate. It should have been a good evening – she had been looking forward to it. Yet now there would be no friendship between them; in truth, she had hoped for something more.

  Desolation descended on her. She was alone in this vast city, her former life gone for ever, and entangled in an operation that she had begun to question. Yes, she hated the Communists and despaired of the Allies, but she was tired of fighting; tired of living a lie; tired of loneliness and isolation. She wished she could be elsewhere, far, far away, the war, the Nazis and the Communists an aberration that had long since ceased to be. Perhaps then there might be a chance for her and Alex Vaughan.

  She crossed El Maghrabi and turned into her street. A few yards from the entrance to her block, she paused to look in her bag for her key. A car pulled up alongside her.

  ‘Hello, darling,’ called a voice.

  Orca. My God.

  ‘Jump in.’

  She turned and saw that the front passenger door was open, but the voice had come from the back, through the open window.

  ‘In you get,’ said the voice, as charming and easy as ever.

  She did as she was told, her heart pounding. The car reeked of leather and stale tobacco.

  ‘Madame.’ Artus was behind the wheel.

  Instead of replying, she turned to the man in the back, and saw only shadows: it was getting dark and was darker in the car. A hat low over the face, dark glasses. Impossible to tell.

  ‘Face the front, Marlin,’ he said, the voice now cold and firm. ‘I have a pistol pointing at your back.’

  ‘You wouldn’t dare shoot me.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I would. Without a second thought.’

  ‘Why have you come?’ she said, as Artus released the clutch and the car moved forward. She glanced out of the window, hoping to see someone she knew – the bawaeb, perhaps, but there was no sign of him.

  ‘We’ve a problem.’

  ‘What kind of problem?’ she said, her heart quickening once more.

  ‘Your signal about General Gott was picked up and has aroused suspicion.’

  ‘But that’s impossible. No one could break the code without the book.’

  ‘They haven’t broken the code, but the pilot and several of the crew survived the crash and confirmed that the Germans knew about Gott’s death before the British. They suspect a mole within GHQ.’

  Tanja fumbled in her bag for a cigarette.

  ‘Unfortunately they’ve worked out who my go-between is.’

  ‘Have they arrested him?’ She put a cigarette between her lips. Artus reached across and lit it.

  ‘Not yet, no. But he will talk if he’s interrogated.’

  ‘How do you know? Who is this go-between anyway?’

  ‘He’ll talk because he’s not strong enough to resist. British interrogation techniques are superb. But, hopefully, we won’t need to worry about him. Fortunately, Artus managed to visit him this afternoon without arousing suspicion. His place is being watched, but our man is going to slip out before the curfew. Artus has arranged to meet him in the Old Town where it should be easy to give the British the slip.’

  ‘So we need to close the circuit down,’ said Tanja. ‘Lie low for a while.’

  ‘No,’ said Orca. ‘This is the key moment in the campaign. But we have to face facts: a link in the circuit has gone, and it will no longer be possible to react immediately to any information we receive.’

  ‘How will you get information to me now?’

  ‘Through planned meetings with Artus.’

  ‘I do not need to know any of this, so why are you telling me?’

  ‘We need to warn Cobra. First I want you to contact them and get instructions.’

  Tanja exhaled. ‘And second?’

  Orca chuckled. ‘It’s a small world, isn’t it? Here we are in a city
of millions, yet you manage to befriend Major Alex Vaughan.’

  Tanja felt a stab of alarm. ‘What about him?’

  ‘You don’t know who he is, do you?’

  ‘Stop playing games with me.’

  ‘Major Vaughan is one of the key officers investigating this case.’

  Tanja closed her eyes. No, no, no.

  ‘He’s a Defence Security officer with Secret Intelligence Middle East, MI6’s counter-intelligence organization here. Fortunately for us, he’s still quite new to the job and would far rather be on active service at the front.’ He paused for a moment. ‘But we can use this to our advantage. I want you to cultivate your friendship with Vaughan. Become his lover, Marlin.’

  ‘Why? Surely it would make more sense to disappear from his life.’

  ‘On the contrary. You may be able to learn some important intelligence from him. Keep him close to you, Marlin. That’s an order.’

  Tanja bit her lip. ‘What about the transmitter?’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘I can hardly keep it in my flat while I’m entertaining Alex Vaughan.’

  ‘It’s small, isn’t it? Make sure it’s hidden properly. That’s your job, Marlin.’

  ‘But it will be your problem if I am caught.’

  ‘You won’t find any trace back to me. The radio is best kept with you. If, however, there is an urgent reason to move it, we will find somewhere for you to take it.’

  ‘And what about the go-between?’

  ‘You don’t need to worry about him.’

  They had driven south, towards the edge of the Old Town. Artus now pulled over on a busy street, beside a cart filled with tobacco leaves.

  ‘And how will I pass on any instructions to you?’ Tanja asked.

  ‘We will contact you in the same way as before.’

  Tanja sat still for a moment, wondering whether to lean back and make a grab for those glasses and his hat. Would he really shoot her? Perhaps it would be better if he did.

  ‘Good night, Marlin,’ said Orca. ‘We still have very important work to do. All will be well. Now leave us.’

  Tanja opened the door and stepped out, then turned and looked through the passenger window. But she could see nothing: just a dark, featureless figure. But I know your voice. That, at least, was something.

  * * *

  Thursday, 13 August, around eight twenty a.m. There was still no sign of Moussa the tailor. The mood during morning prayers had been tense – tetchy, even. The convoy to Malta was suffering – Ohio had clearly been targeted – and progress on the spy circuit had ground to a halt. Meanwhile, Axis convoys had successfully reached Tobruk and Benghazi, and another transmission of coded numbers had been picked up.

  Vaughan had returned to his office to find Tanner standing at the window, smoking a cigarette and staring out over Garden City, while on his makeshift desk, a rickety table pushed up against one wall, there was a mass of files and reports. ‘You’re looking very pensive, Jack.’

  ‘I reckon I’m too impatient for this lark. My old dad used to din into me the importance of patience, but it’s deserted me. This is so bloody frustrating. Anyway, what’s happening with the convoy?’

  ‘It’s not good news. They’ve suffered three separate attacks. Last night it was by E-boats. Cairo, Nigeria and Ohio all torpedoed in the first attack.’

  ‘And sunk?’

  ‘Only Cairo, but Ohio’s in a bad way. It’s clearly being targeted. A short while ago, sixty Stukas turned up, all concentrating on the tanker.’

  ‘But she’s still afloat?’

  ‘God knows how. According to the message RJ received, one Stuka crashed on her deck. Amazingly, the fuel hasn’t fireballed yet.’

  ‘Jesus.’ He sighed heavily. ‘Does RJ think she’s being targeted because of intelligence they’ve received?’

  ‘Absolutely. He’s convinced of it. I tell you, Jack, I’ve seen pictures of Ohio, and she doesn’t look that different from the other merchantmen in the convoy.’

  ‘Bloody hell. And Cairo? She’s a cruiser.’

  ‘Oh, that wasn’t all. Another cruiser’s gone too – Manchester – and three of the merchantmen. Two set on fire and abandoned, and another sunk. Apparently she went down in three minutes – with most of the crew.’

  ‘Poor bastards. Christ, I’m glad I never joined the bloody navy.’

  ‘I’m glad I didn’t join the Merchant Navy. Half the escorts have buggered off back to Gib. How the hell the rest of the convoy will get through, God only knows.’

  ‘Sounds like a bloody massacre.’

  Vaughan digested this, then said, ‘There’s been another signal too.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘On the afternoon of the eleventh, from Cairo, and a message sent in the same code a few moments later from the Mersa region again.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ muttered Tanner. ‘And what about the signal from Cairo? Any idea where it came from? Although I’m guessing you’d be looking a bit more cheery if you did.’

  Vaughan shook his head. ‘Major Dennys’s signals people can narrow it down to around a mile and a half from the centre of the city but that’s the best they can do.’

  Tanner stubbed out his cigarette. ‘Very helpful – only around a million people to choose from.’ It was already growing warm outside so he closed the wooden shutters, the room darkening.

  ‘Any news from upstairs?’ asked Vaughan.

  ‘I’m afraid not.’ Tanner had seen Astley and Sansom half an hour earlier, but although they still had a section watching the tailor’s place, Lieutenant Matherson’s men had reported nothing of interest. Moussa’s assistant had turned up on two separate occasions but, getting no reply, had trundled off again.

  ‘Come on,’ said Vaughan. ‘Let’s get out before the heat gets too unbearable. I want to hand in my proposal, then we’ll get some coffee at Groppi’s.’

  Vaughan was just putting his proposal into an envelope, when there was a knock on the door and one of the secretaries came in. ‘This just arrived for you,’ she said, handing a letter to Vaughan. ‘It came over from GHQ.’

  Vaughan thanked her, then saw the stamp of the Polish Red Cross on the back of the envelope and tore it open. ‘It’s from her,’ he said, his face lighting up. It was handwritten, and dated the previous day.

  Dear Alex,

  I hope this reaches you. I want to apologize for my outburst last night. It was very wrong of me and I know you meant well by what you said. I should not have reacted in such a way, but it is painful to think of what has happened to Poland and to my family and many others who were once dear to me. I hope that you can forgive me and that we may still be friends. And if you are not busy perhaps I could buy you a drink tonight? I do not have your address but you can find me here, at the Polish Red Cross.

  Tanja Zanowski

  He folded the letter and smiled.

  ‘She still loves you, then?’ Tanner grinned.

  ‘Come on,’ said Vaughan. ‘And after we’ve been to GHQ, maybe we’ll go to Groppi’s Garden instead.’

  ‘Oh, yes? A bit closer to the Polish Red Cross, is it?’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Vaughan laughed.

  While Vaughan headed into GHQ, Tanner waited outside the wire, sheltering under several large palms. He watched the kites wheeling high above, then the traffic heading in and out of GHQ. He’d heard there were some six thousand staff officers there. It was a hell of a number, and certainly in the twenty minutes he was kept waiting, he saw a steady stream – most in neatly pressed shirts and shorts, socks pulled up just under the knee. He looked down at his own attire – khaki trousers, battered suede boots – and wished he could be back out with the boys in the desert. Fingers crossed. That afternoon he’d have his medical. By the end of today, he would know his fate.

  Vaughan reappeared, a broad grin on his face. ‘You’ll never guess who I’ve just seen.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Only the C-in-C!’

  ‘General Alex
ander?’

  ‘The very same. Only he’s not officially C-in-C yet – not until the fifteenth.’

  ‘Well done, mate. How come?’

  ‘He was with the new COS. I went in and saw Brigadier Bill. He was with Peter Fleming, who seemed very taken with the idea and took me straight away to see General McCreery. We knocked on his door and there, sitting on the edge of his desk, was General Alexander.’

  ‘What did they say?’

  ‘Peter said I had an excellent idea for them, repeated what I’d just told him and then the general said, “Very interesting. We were just talking about something along those lines.” He thanked me and said they’d have a good look at my suggestion.’

  Tanner clapped him on the back. ‘I told you he was a good bloke. I’ve always rated Alexander. When I was out in India on the Northwest Frontier, he was a brilliant brigade commander. Last man off at Dunkirk, too. He’s not stuffy. Always open to ideas. If he thinks it’s got legs, he’ll do it, I’m sure.’

  They took a taxi to Groppi’s Garden, Tanner watching the rush of the city from the open window. He could sense that Vaughan was distracted – there was much to think about – but was happy to leave his friend to his thoughts. It was only a little after nine, but already the temperature was rising. Tanner was less bothered by the heat in the desert, where for the most part the air was clean and empty – if anything, the freezing cold nights of winter were more of a hindrance – but the city, with the smoke and the mass of people, beasts and machines, was appreciably hotter and more oppressive.

  He thought again about his medical, and prayed he would be given the all-clear to return to the battalion. It was time. Detective work was not for him, and he yearned for the camaraderie of the men he knew so well. He’d missed Sykes these past weeks, and for all the good that this period of recuperation had done him, and the pleasure he had gained from his time with Lucie, he was impatient to return to what he knew best. He rolled his shoulder and pumped his arm. It felt all right – bit of a twinge, perhaps, but nothing he couldn’t hide from the doctor.

  Groppi’s Garden was on El Maghrabi, the rather bland coffee-house leading out into a walled garden filled with brightly coloured umbrellas that shielded every table. The scent of jasmine, coffee and freshly baked pastries wafted across the tiny oasis. Tanner and Vaughan found an empty table and sat down. They ordered thick, sugary Turkish coffee – so different from the ersatz variety they were given in the desert – and lit cigarettes.