Hellfire (2011)

by James Holland

  ‘At least we’re making progress,’ said Vaughan. ‘Our spy circuit must know we’re on to them. That’s going to make it harder for them to continue sending messages. RJ always said it was about closing the ring around them and that’s what we’re doing. If the tailor’s been involved, he’s certainly out of the picture now. I wonder where he’s got to. Lying low?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Tanner.

  ‘And while everyone had forgotten about Eslem Mustafa,’ continued Vaughan, ‘now the whole of FS and the Egyptian secret police are looking out for him. If he is still around, there’s got to be a good chance of catching up with him. And if he’s involved, it’ll be harder for him to continue.’

  Tanner nodded slowly. ‘I feel certain he is. I think we’re dealing with an operation that’s been going on for some time. I reckon this circuit’s been operating without anyone realizing, and that it was set up by the Romanian mission before they got the boot. All the connections with El Masri and Mustafa point to that. But I bet that’s how they got their radio set, or whatever it is they’re using. I’d also lay good money on that Eppler bloke being sent as a decoy.’

  ‘Eppler?’

  ‘I read through all those reports and, bloody hell, he was useless. No properly trained spy could be quite so bloody obvious. All that nonsense about dressing up and spending fake fivers. So we’re all busy looking for him and getting on his trail, and all the while the proper spies are operating right under our noses.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ mused Vaughan, ‘but it’s certainly possible.’

  ‘I doubt Eppler was in on it. He probably thought he was as cunning as a snake, but he never once managed to send a single meaningful message, did he?’

  ‘All he transmitted were signals trying to establish a connection.’ He laughed. ‘Maybe you’re right, Jack – but don’t tell Sammy. Those FS boys are terribly pleased with themselves for capturing him.’

  ‘I think you should keep this between us anyway. After all, we’ve still not got the proof we need, have we?’

  ‘Sadly not.’

  Tanner leaned forward, and spoke quietly: ‘But then our real spies go and do something they haven’t before. They send a specific signal, which could only have come from here in Cairo. They probably hoped the shooting down of Gott would be passed off as a chance encounter, but the pilot miraculously survived, and suddenly what was a suspicion that might otherwise have been dismissed is now ringing major alarm bells. It all fits. It’s just tying it down – getting that proof – that’s the headache. That’s what’s so bloody frustrating.’ He wiped his sleeve across his brow. ‘But I feel certain Mustafa holds the key. I’m sure of it. If we can find him, we might at last begin to get somewhere.’

  At just before five o’clock, Tanner was sitting in the 9th Scottish General Hospital, waiting to see the doctor. The air was heavy with the smell of sweat and carbolic. Flies crawled across the wall opposite as he jiggled his leg and glanced at his watch. Still not five o’clock. A little further down the corridor a VAD nurse sat behind a desk. She had told him Dr Chawley would not be long, and no one else was waiting.

  Tanner rolled his arm again. It was getting better, there was no doubt of it, and he was certain he’d be able to raise his arm and fire a rifle if necessary. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to for a week or so yet: the moon wouldn’t be full until the end of the month, and a full moon was what the enemy would most likely want for any attack.

  A buzzer sounded on the VAD’s desk.

  ‘Yes, Doctor?’ she said. ‘Yes … Of course.’ She turned to Tanner, who sat up expectantly.

  ‘Dr Chawley will see you now. Second door on the left.’

  Tanner loosened his shoulder and arm once more, then walked the few yards along the corridor and knocked.

  ‘Come!’

  Tanner went in, conscious that the air in the doctor’s room was noticeably cooler. Two large ceiling fans whirred above him, and the smell of disinfectant was sharp. Unlike the wards, there was no stench of decay and sweat, only an impression of cleanliness. The doctor, a colonel in the RAMC, looked to be in his fifties, with thinning grey hair and a moustache. Stethoscope around his neck, he was sitting upright at his desk, reading some notes.

  Tanner stood to attention and saluted, at which point the doctor looked up and smiled. ‘Lieutenant Tanner,’ he said. ‘You’ve been promoted?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Congratulations. Army needs more chaps who know what they’re doing, rather than young boys straight out of school, which is the kind of subaltern we mostly see in here.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  Chawley put the notes down and leaned back in his chair, fingers together. ‘So, how are you feeling?’

  ‘Fine, thank you, sir. Fit as a fiddle.’

  The doctor smiled. ‘I remember when you first came in, Tanner – you were in a hell of a mess. I’m surprised to see you so soon.’

  ‘I’ve been well looked after, sir.’

  ‘Well, let’s have a look at you. Shirt off, please.’

  Tanner slipped it over his head as Chawley came around to him, perched on the edge of the desk and turned Tanner around. ‘Hmm,’ he said, ‘the scars are healing well, but they still look a bit livid.’

  Tanner felt his heart sink. ‘I can’t feel them, sir,’ he said.

  ‘Not bothering you at all?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘And what about this arm? Lift it for me, will you?’

  Tanner clenched his teeth and raised it.

  ‘A bit higher.’

  A stab of pain shot down Tanner’s side, but he managed to hide it.

  ‘And down and round.’

  Tanner did as he was told. The doctor took his arm and rolled the shoulder. ‘And you can move this freely, can you?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Tanner. But not without pain. No point mentioning that.

  Chawley put the stethoscope into his ears. ‘I’ll just have a quick listen to your heart.’ Tanner felt the cold metal on his chest. ‘Perhaps a little fast.’

  ‘I’m nervous, sir,’ said Tanner.

  ‘Nervous, boy? What about?’

  ‘Failing this medical, sir.’

  Chawley took the stethoscope from his ears and returned to his chair. ‘Tell me, Tanner, why are you so desperate to get back to the front? You could easily sit out a few months here in Cairo. For all I know, you might even be able to get yourself a ticket home.’

  ‘I feel I’m letting the boys down, sir. I’m a soldier. It’s what I do best. I’ve appreciated the chance for a rest, but now I feel it’s time to get back.’

  The doctor looked at him a moment, then took out a piece of paper and a fountain pen. He began to write. Tanner watched him in silence. Did that mean he’d been passed fit? He couldn’t tell.

  Eventually Chawley folded the paper and put it into an envelope. ‘All right, Tanner, you can rejoin your battalion.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Tanner, brightening.

  ‘But give it another couple of days.’ He passed over the envelope. ‘It’s Thursday the thirteenth, now, so I’ve put Saturday down. It gives you the rest of this week.’

  ‘All right, sir. Thank you.’

  Chawley eyed the tall young man in front of him. ‘I hope you haven’t persuaded me against my better judgement. You know, Tanner, earlier this year I had a similar case. Young chap, desperate to get back to his men. He’d been decorated, too, but rather like you, his wounds could have kept him out of the fray for a good long time, if not for ever. Sadly, that young man was killed almost immediately, and I know that’s what happens in war, but I’ve always regretted giving him the all-clear. He’d still be alive if I hadn’t.’

  ‘I’ll be all right, sir,’ said Tanner. ‘And if I’m not, I promise I won’t hold it against you.’

  Chawley smiled. ‘All right, Lieutenant. Off you go. Good luck, and God speed.’

  Tanner saluted and left.

  Thank God, he t
hought. Thank God for that.

  Tanner had not gone back to Red Pillars that evening. Instead he had waited at the main entrance to the hospital for Lucie to arrive and had told her the news. She had smiled weakly, kissed him, and he had promised to take her out the following evening, her first night off and their last together for God only knew how long. Then he had taken the tram to Mena to tell Peploe that he would be returning in a couple of days. A few beers later, he headed back into Cairo, in a better mood than he had been all week.

  His conscience had taken him to Red Pillars. There was no sign of Vaughan, but Tanner had guessed his friend was with Tanja Zanowski. Instead, he had continued to go through the piles of reports he had borrowed from upstairs, trying to piece together a trail around Eslem Mustafa: every place he had been spotted, every person known to have been seen with him.

  He had been at his desk a little under an hour when Maunsell put his head around the door. ‘Ah, Jack – you’re on your own, are you? Why don’t you come and have a drink with me and Paddy? Only in my office, I’m afraid, but I’ve a half-decent bottle of Scotch. We’re celebrating.’

  ‘Really? Good news?’

  ‘Three ships have safely reached Malta.’

  ‘That’s something,’ said Tanner. ‘What about Ohio?’

  ‘She’s still afloat, about a hundred miles out. And while she’s afloat, there’s always hope.’

  He followed Maunsell down the corridor and into his office. Maddox was sitting there, fingering a glass tumbler.

  ‘Malta, Malta,’ said Maunsell, walking over to the side-table on which stood a tray of glasses and several bottles. ‘Ever been there, Tanner?’

  ‘Only for a couple of nights on the way to India. But that was years ago.’

  ‘A tiny place, and there it is, slap-bang in the middle of the Mediterranean.’ He jabbed at the island on his large wall map. ‘You know,’ he said, pouring Tanner a generous glass, ‘I’ve never been able to understand why on earth the Huns went for Crete when they could have had Malta for the taking. You were on Crete, weren’t you?’

  Tanner nodded. ‘With Alex Vaughan.’

  ‘A bad business, but it’s proved next to useless for the Huns. More of a hindrance, really. A bit humiliating for us, but no long-term disaster – one thing less to worry about, really.’

  ‘We lost a lot of ships and good men there.’

  ‘Yes, and that was obviously a terrible waste, but strategically, Jack, it’s a dud for the Axis. Now Malta, on the other hand, had Hitler tried a bit harder there, that really would have been catastrophic. I don’t think it’s over-stretching things to suggest that if the Axis lose in North Africa it’ll be down to their failure to capture that island.’

  ‘They haven’t lost yet, RJ,’ muttered Maddox.

  ‘True, and I suppose Malta might still fall, although I think that’s unlikely as we have three ships unloading in Grand Harbour. The island won’t starve now.’

  ‘But Malta can’t strike at the Axis shipping lanes without that fuel on Ohio,’ said Maddox.

  ‘No, and that might make all the difference as to whether or not Rommel can attack successfully. Armies run on fuel – without it they grind to a halt.’ He put his pipe into his mouth. ‘I fancy we’re looking at Rommel’s last chance. He’s got to strike soon. If we survive that, then I think the tables really will have turned.’

  ‘Actually,’ said Tanner, ‘I’ll be one of those facing Rommel’s forces. I’ve just been passed fit for active duty.’

  ‘You’re pleased?’ said Maddox.

  Tanner nodded. ‘I’ll be glad to get back to fighting an enemy I can see.’

  ‘Better the enemy you know, eh?’ said Maunsell. ‘Well, good for you, Jack, although I’m sorry we’re losing you so soon. You’ve done some invaluable work this week. Quite a breakthrough, really.’

  ‘I’m not so sure about that. Really, we’ve only confirmed what you’d already suspected. I’m not sure we’re any closer to catching the buggers. Our mole’s still sitting pretty, isn’t he?’

  ‘We’re getting there, Jack. I’ve been in this business a long time, and it can be frustrating, but we’ve made great strides at a critical time. If I was that mole, I’d be feeling pretty damn twitchy at the moment – wouldn’t you agree, Paddy?’

  Maddox shifted in his seat and crossed his legs. ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘And if, by what we’ve done this week, we’ve made it harder for him and the circuit to operate effectively and, more importantly, to pass on important information, we’ve already played a key part in the battle to come.’

  Tanner took a sip of his Scotch. He wanted to ask them something, but wondered whether he should. Sod it. Where was the harm? ‘I keep thinking about who our mole might be,’ he said. ‘We’ve been assuming he’s in GHQ, but doesn’t it worry you that it might be someone here? We knew about Gott’s movements at SIME, and presumably they did at MEIC too.’

  Maunsell lit his pipe. ‘Of course it worries me. We’re all under scrutiny, as are our colleagues at ISLD and MEIC. But tell me this: have you seen any new top-secret information this week?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And neither have many others. We’ve already implemented a new clampdown, further limiting access to top-secret information. And, actually, I’ve got a further development I can report.’

  Maddox looked up. Oh, yes?

  ‘Earlier I met the new C-in-C over at Grey Pillars. It wasn’t just me, I hasten to add, but all the intelligence chiefs.’

  ‘How was he?’ asked Tanner. ‘The general, I mean?’

  ‘Looking fit, well and mustard keen to get stuck in. Anyway, he’s been here a few days now, and I’ve got to say he’s not that impressed with what he’s seen around Cairo. He reckons it’s all a bit slack. Says there are too many staff officers, too many distractions in the city, and that the General Staff need a proverbial kick up the backside.’

  ‘No disrespect, RJ, but I’d agree with that,’ said Tanner.

  Maunsell bowed. ‘Obviously we need to stay in the city, but he’s moving most of the staff out to Mena. He’s setting up a new camp there for GS bods.’

  ‘And does that include all the GSI chaps?’ asked Maddox.

  ‘Absolutely. It might make life a bit more difficult for our mole, don’t you think, stuck out on the edge of the desert?’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Tanner. ‘If he’s one of those being moved.’

  ‘Look,’ said Maunsell, ‘as I said to you before, Jack, it’s all about tightening the ring. Making it harder for our circuit and our mole to operate. Whoever it is, we will catch him, maybe not tomorrow, maybe not this week, but one day. Rest assured of that.’

  This time, there had been no disagreements, no cause to walk out early. And not because of what Orca had told her, but because she had found Alex Vaughan to be good company. He had apologized for being a prig and for his insensitivity, and had done so with a graciousness that had impressed her. After that, he had carefully kept off the subject. The drink she had suggested had developed into dinner, at Shanti’s in the Ezbekiyeh Gardens, and for a blissful couple of hours, Orca, Artus and the web of deceit that was her life had been put to one side. She had laughed, too, more than she had in a long time; Alex had been a good raconteur.

  At a little after half past nine they had left the restaurant, and she had allowed him to walk her to her flat.

  ‘So this is where you are,’ he said, as she stopped by the entrance and looked in her bag for her key. ‘A convenient place to live. Very central.’

  ‘Yes. I’ve been lucky.’

  They were silent for a moment, then Vaughan said, ‘Tanja – thank you. I’ve had a lovely evening. I’m glad we’re friends again.’

  ‘Me too.’ She looked up at him, his strong features half in shadow from the streetlight. Not this time. ‘Thank you for dinner. And for walking me home.’ She leaned towards him and kissed him, not on the cheek, but on the lips. Then, brushing his arm, she headed inside. When she
turned back, she saw he had already begun walking away.

  Once in her flat, she pulled off her earrings, kicked off her shoes and lay on her bed, her mind a jumble of conflicting thoughts. What to do? She had yet to make contact with Cobra; indecision had paralysed her. Orca had repelled her: the bullying, hectoring tone; the threats; the contempt he had shown her. And what of the go-between? What would happen to him? She dared not think.

  Her motive had always been to help overthrow Stalin and the Communists, yet the iron certainty, the conviction that this was the single course she should follow, now seemed open to question. Polish men were training in Iraq to fight against the Germans, not the Reds, which meant she was actively working against her countrymen. And yet they were still a long way from the front line. The 2nd Polish Corps now being formed would not see action this year, or possibly even next. They were too ill, too weakened, for that. That meant Germany might defeat the Soviet Union before the Polish Corps entered the fray.

  She lay there, staring at the featureless white wall. Not for the first time in recent weeks, she felt overwhelmed by the situation in which she found herself. She was suffocating. Anger, grief and desolation had fuelled her decision to spy for Germany, but now she faced a wall of doubt. What would happen if she told Cobra the circuit was compromised? What would Orca do if he found out? There had been something rather crazed about his insistence that they continue feeding information to Cobra. Reason, she was certain, dictated they should lie low, yet Orca was seemingly prepared to risk all.

  She wondered what would happen if that tanker, Ohio, failed to reach Malta. She wondered what would happen if Rommel attacked and failed to smash through the British defences. And she wondered what would happen if she offered herself to the British as a double-agent. What would Alex Vaughan think of her then? Alex, who was a secret-service agent himself. Would spying for the British help rid Poland of the Reds? Perhaps, if the Western Allies could smash the Nazis. Would they then insist Poland be returned? Might Britain honour her pledge after all?