Hellfire (2011)

by James Holland

  ‘Yes. Are you all right to keep driving to the next stop?’

  ‘El Teirieh? Course. It’s only about twenty-five miles. What’s going on?’

  ‘I’ll tell you later.’

  ‘Your neck – ouch, mate, that looks painful. Your voice don’t sound too clever either.’

  ‘Let’s just say the bastard’s got sharp nails.’

  ‘Want some water?’ He passed a bottle. ‘Take it.’

  ‘Cheers, Stan.’ Tanner patted Sykes on the back and ran back to the train. The guard and an Egyptian policeman at the El Khatatba halt were still overseeing the removal of the two dead men. Tanner had their wallets safely tucked away in his gas-mask case, and watched as the bodies were taken to the station building. He wondered what would happen to them – buried somewhere out in the desert, he supposed, shallow graves that would soon be picked apart by scavenging birds and animals. In a few weeks they’d be nothing but bones. He shook his head, and went back to the compartment where Tanja still sat opposite the unconscious Eslem Mustafa.

  He could still barely believe she was there. And to think she’d pistol-whipped Mustafa! The man who’d refused to lie down had been finally knocked cold by a woman. He couldn’t help admiring her for that. His mouth creased into a smile.

  ‘What?’ she said. ‘What is so funny?’

  ‘Nothing – I’m sorry.’ Good God, but she’d been angry, though. And what the bloody hell was she doing there?

  The guard had appeared – he’d obviously been skulking out of harm’s way – and people from the other carriages had begun pushing into the corridor to see what all the noise and fuss were about.

  ‘Get these people out of here,’ Tanner had told the guard, who had immediately started yelling at the passengers with officious self-importance. It had done the trick: they had scuttled back until the carriage had been clear once more. Tanner had undone Mustafa’s tie and used it to bind the Egyptian’s hands behind his back. Then, having collected his Sauer and MP40 – not to mention Mustafa’s pistol and flick-knife – he had ordered the guard to help him drag the still unconscious Mustafa into the nearest compartment, and the two bodies to the carriage door, ready to be taken off at the next stop.

  ‘Tanja,’ he had asked, ‘would you mind guarding Mustafa a moment?’

  ‘If I must,’ Tanja had replied.

  Soon after that, they had reached El Khatatba. Now they were on their way again, the train gathering speed, the next stop, El Teirieh, due around twenty minutes before midday.

  ‘So,’ he said, ‘what are you doing here? Why aren’t you in prison?’

  Her cheeks flushed, but not because of the heat. ‘You’re the one who reported me!’ she said angrily.

  ‘I saw you with bloody Mustafa,’ he replied.

  ‘When? I’ve never seen him before in my life.’

  ‘Tanja, I saw you talking to him yesterday in Khan El Khalili. I know what I ruddy well saw!’

  She peered down at him. ‘He’s covered with blood. It’s hard to see who he is.’

  It was true. Mustafa’s face looked a mess. ‘You were coming out of a shop,’ said Tanner. ‘I saw you talking to him.’

  ‘I cannot remember that. Maybe I was asking him for the time. I go to Khan El Khalili a lot,’ she told him. She glared at him. ‘This is what I told those stupid Field Security men. Those bastards ransacked my flat and what do they find? Nothing. Nothing at all!’

  ‘Then if you’re so innocent, what are you doing on a train with Eslem Mustafa?’

  ‘I’m not on a train with him, as far as I am concerned. I know nothing about this man. I had no idea I was on a train with someone who wants to kill you. Why was he trying to kill you, by the way?’

  ‘Jesus,’ Tanner muttered, shaking his head. He took a swig from his water bottle, then offered it to her.

  ‘No – thank you,’ she said. ‘Look, if I’m some kind of spy why would I be trying to save you from this madman?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘For which you have yet to thank me, by the way. And why would I have been so quickly released again?’

  Tanner felt his sore neck, then leaned his head back and briefly closed his eyes. ‘Thank you,’ he said, opening them again and looking straight at her. ‘Thank you for saving my life. Now, can you put the gun away?’ It looked like a Sauer. Or was it a Walther?

  She put it into her satchel.

  ‘Hold on a moment,’ he said. ‘May I see it?’

  She sighed, then delved into her bag and passed it to him. He looked at it. Yes, it was a Walther. A Walther PPK, very similar to the Sauer, also 7.65mm calibre. ‘It’s a German pistol.’

  ‘So what? So is yours. Does that make you a spy too?’

  ‘Where did you get it?’

  ‘It belonged to my husband.’

  ‘Your husband?’

  ‘Yes, Jack Tanner, my husband. We did have German makes of pistol in Poland, you know, and before you ask, he was killed before the war. By the Russians.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘So am I.’ She glanced out of the window, then back at Tanner. ‘Is the interrogation over?’

  ‘Just tell me one thing. What the bloody hell are you doing on this train?’

  ‘I am going to Alexandria for a few days’ leave. I was hoping to get away from Cairo and forget about what happened yesterday.’

  ‘But why not take the express?’

  ‘I just wanted to get out. It was the first train available. I do not care how long it takes.’

  Beside him, Mustafa groaned.

  ‘Can I go now?’ she asked, her eyes still cold with anger. ‘I’d like to continue my journey alone, if you don’t mind.’

  Tanner nodded. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘And thank you again – for saving my life.’

  Without another word, she stood up and left.

  Tanner got up and took her seat. From the window, he saw Sykes driving alongside the train, leaving thick clouds of sandy dust in his wake. He took another glug from the water bottle. It seemed so unlikely that she could be on the same train as Mustafa without knowing it, and yet in all other regards her story had seemed plausible. Mustafa groaned and rolled his head. He was almost unrecognizable, with his broken nose, blood-stained face and swollen cheek. And he had shaved off his moustache since the previous afternoon too. Maybe he and Lucie really had just seen a chance conversation in the bazaar. Maunsell had told him to resist looking for sinister reasons when usually the reality was far more mundane. And if she was lying, what the hell was she doing out of prison? He yawned. He had always liked to think he was a reasonable judge of character and that he could sense a liar when he came across one. But with Tanja Zanowski – he clicked his tongue against his teeth – well, he couldn’t tell.

  Soon after, Mustafa came round, eyes searching in confusion until he spotted Tanner and regained his focus.

  ‘Nice kip?’ said Tanner.

  Mustafa winced.

  ‘I’ve a good mind to cut your nails. Vicious bastard, aren’t you?’

  ‘I’ll kill you,’ Mustafa hissed.

  ‘I don’t think so, chum,’ said Tanner. ‘What I’d like to know, though, is what you’re doing on this train?’

  Mustafa glared at him.

  ‘Anything to do with Tanja Zanowski, by any chance?’

  Mustafa’s expression did not change.

  ‘What about your friend Orca?’ A flicker of Mustafa’s eyes. Ah! ‘Seen at your hideout this morning. Are you going to tell me about him?’ Mustafa remained silent. ‘No, I thought not. Well, you’re not really my problem any more. As soon as we get to Alexandria, you’ll be handed over, sent back to Cairo, interrogated until you’re blue in the face and then – well, God knows.’

  ‘You British tyrants will go to hell where you will be given pus to drink,’ muttered Mustafa.

  ‘What a bloody thought,’ said Tanner.

  ‘As Allah is my God, you will be driven from Egypt. If I am to die then I do so fo
r a noble cause. But I warn you, I am not dead yet, and while there is still breath in my body you should be very careful, Lieutenant. If we should meet again, I will kill you. I curse you,’ Mustafa continued, ‘a curse upon you and your children. May Allah—’

  Tanner punched him again in the side of the head. ‘Put a bloody sock in it, will you?’ Mustafa lost consciousness. Tanner sat back and pulled out his cigarettes. ‘Jesus,’ he muttered. ‘What a load of old bollocks.’

  Soon after, the train began to slow once more. Good, thought Tanner. He planned to take Mustafa off here, but he felt inclined to leave Tanja on the train. She was free, after all – it wasn’t his place to arrest her or start telling her what to do. And she had saved his life.

  Hoisting Mustafa over his shoulders, he carried him out into the corridor and then, as the train halted, opened the door, clambered out and dumped him unceremoniously in the back of the jeep.

  ‘Dead?’ said Sykes.

  ‘Sadly, no,’ said Tanner. ‘He needs a good grilling first.’ He hurried back to the train and walked down the corridor but saw no sign of Tanja. Where the hell was she? The guard’s whistle. Damn it. He hurried off the train to Sykes.

  ‘All right?’ said Sykes.

  ‘Just hold on a moment,’ said Tanner. ‘Wait until the train leaves.’

  A burst of steam, and then the wheels turned, the carriages jerking and chinking forward, and the train was on its way, gradually building speed until the station was empty once more.

  But not entirely empty. Alone with her suitcase stood Tanja Zanowski.

  ‘What the devil?’ muttered Tanner. He called to her and waved, but she just stared at him. Then, from around the stone station house, several men emerged, Europeans, wearing suits. Tanner recognized Colonel Maunsell walking towards him.

  ‘What’s going on, Jack?’ said Sykes.

  ‘Your guess is as good as mine, mate.’

  ‘Jack,’ said Maunsell, stepping over the track. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’

  ‘I could ask you the same, sir. We’ve been following Mustafa and his men.’

  Maunsell looked at the prostrate figure in the back of the jeep, then glanced at his watch.

  ‘Don’t worry, sir,’ added Tanner. ‘He’s alive.’

  ‘Why didn’t you call for help?’

  ‘There wasn’t time. We only tracked him down this morning and then we nearly lost him.’

  ‘And the others?’

  ‘Two of them. They’re dead. We offloaded them at the last stop.’ He delved into his gas-mask case and took out their wallets. ‘Here.’

  ‘Good work, Jack, but I need you to get out of the way now, and very quickly too.’ He glanced at his watch, then to either side of him. ‘No,’ he said, ‘it’s too late to have you drive off. You’ll have to take the vehicle behind the station house and lie up in the date grove.’

  Tanner nodded. ‘Get going then, CSM.’

  Sykes did so. Some hundred yards away was the edge of the Nile Valley. As ever, the transition from green zone to desert was a single stride. They drove deep into the date grove, the palms towering above them and switched off the engine. Almost immediately they heard a faint whirr somewhere to the south.

  ‘What the hell’s going on, Jack?’ said Sykes.

  Tanner did not answer him, but instead got out of the jeep and walked forward through the palms a few yards. He was beginning to understand – no wonder Maunsell wanted them out of the way. Jesus. RJ must have had the shock of his life when he suddenly saw them. The sound of aircraft was much louder now and Tanner strained his eyes to see, but the strong sun was high above them and the sky blindingly bright. He hurried back to the jeep, grabbed his binoculars and saw, high above, two German fighter planes – Messerschmitts – circling. And then, breathtakingly near, he saw a twin-engine Junkers 88 roar into his field of vision, coming in to land. A few moments later, it touched down, rumbled onwards, then turned, its engines whipping up clouds of dust and sand. And there was Tanja, running across the desert towards it. A hatch opened, and a member of the crew jumped out, beckoning her. She ran on, the engines of the bomber still a noisy whirr. The man grabbed her hand and helped her in. Then the engines opened up to a thunderous roar, and the Junkers was rolling forward, speeding across the desert until suddenly there was a dark shadow on the ground and an ever widening gap of sky between the underside of the bomber and the ground.

  Some five minutes later, they drove back to the station house, Maunsell emerging to greet them.

  ‘That went off all right, I think,’ he said.

  ‘It explains a lot, sir,’ said Tanner.

  ‘How successful it will prove is another matter.’ Maunsell glanced at the now stirring Mustafa. He called over two of the men with him, neither of whom Tanner recognized. ‘Take him,’ he said.

  They hoisted Mustafa clear.

  ‘I’m glad to be shot of him,’ said Tanner. ‘Watch him, sir. He’s a slippery bastard.’ He rubbed his neck.

  ‘Don’t worry, we will. You’ve done well, Jack – he’s quite a catch, and thankfully, I don’t think your sudden arrival spoiled the party. Nip and tuck, but all right in the end.’

  ‘Actually, sir,’ said Tanner, ‘we have Sykes, here, to thank for that. He managed to get the tail on him yesterday.’

  Maunsell bowed his head. ‘Much obliged to you, Sykes.’

  ‘Pleasure, sir. Can’t say as I knew why I was doing it, but I’m glad it worked out.’

  Maunsell took out his pipe. ‘Jack, two things. One: make sure you get back safely from Tobruk because I’m going to need you and C Detachment very soon. Two: never mention this to anyone. Either of you. Do you understand? Not to anyone – not Vaughan, not anyone at all. Forget you were ever here.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Tanner. ‘You have my word.’

  ‘And your friend?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Sykes. ‘Mine too, sir.’

  ‘Good man.’

  ‘Vaughan, sir,’ said Tanner. ‘He’s all right, isn’t he?’

  ‘Humiliated and wounded, but no stain on his record. He doesn’t blame you, either.’

  That’s something. ‘Sir, just one last thing,’ he added. ‘Tanja Zanowski. Was she always working for you?’

  Maunsell lit his pipe. ‘Is she now? That is the question.’ He patted Tanner on the shoulder. ‘One day I’ll explain everything, but for now – skedaddle.’

  Tanner saluted, then Sykes opened the clutch and they drove away, following the railway as before.

  ‘You know,’ said Sykes, ‘it’s still all pretty hazy to me. To be honest, I don’t even know why we were chasing those blokes on the train, and then we get here and some Englishman in a suit appears, there’s that Polish bint standing by the tracks, and a few minutes later the Luftwaffe shows up and whisks her away.’

  Tanner lit a cigarette. He wasn’t quite sure what he should tell Sykes, if anything. So far, he’d barely said a word, except that Mustafa was a much wanted subversive. Yet since that chase through the bazaar the previous afternoon, Sykes had seen a great deal. He’d also given a pledge of secrecy to Maunsell, so surely it wouldn’t do any harm to give him the bare bones. And it wasn’t over yet – whatever Vaughan was planning for after the Tobruk raid clearly had Maunsell’s involvement too. Sod it. His neck hurt, his body felt battered and he was tired. All this cloak-and-dagger stuff – he was fed up with it. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you a little bit. But, like the colonel said, don’t bloody breathe a word, Stan, all right?’

  ‘Course,’ said Sykes. ‘Goes without saying, mate.’

  ‘The bloke in the suit,’ Tanner began, ‘is Colonel Maunsell, head of Secret Intelligence Middle East. The Egyptians we were chasing were part of an anti-British movement called the Ring of Iron, or they might be the Muslim Brotherhood. I’m not too sure, but Eslem Mustafa—’

  ‘The bloke you knocked out but didn’t kill?’

  ‘Right. Well, he’s not only a highly connected subve
rsive and agitator, he’s also been part of a spy cell called Operation Cobra.’

  Sykes whistled. ‘Christ alive! I had no idea.’

  ‘Before I rejoined the battalion, I was working with Major Vaughan and Maunsell at SIME, trying to break the cell.’

  ‘So he really is a big catch, then?’

  ‘Yes – that was why I was so pissed off when he got away yesterday. He was heavily involved with rousing anti-British sentiment last year, working with an Egyptian general called El Masri.’

  ‘I remember something about that.’

  ‘Then he disappeared, and it seems that during that time he was helping to set up Cobra in Cairo.’

  ‘And the bint?’

  ‘She was part of the cell, and sleeping with Vaughan at the same time. But I only realized that yesterday. Now I’m not so sure.’

  ‘Bloody hell! And the major knows about this now?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I imagine he’s a bit cut up about it because he’d fallen for her in a big way.’

  ‘Poor bastard.’

  ‘I know. Deserves better. Anyway, it looks like she’s a double agent. At least, that’s what I’m guessing. All I’ll say is this: on that train old Mustafa was about to have me beat when she comes along behind him and pistol-whips him.’

  Sykes laughed. ‘Good for her. So she can’t be all bad, then?’

  ‘Maybe not. So now you know.’

  ‘Christ,’ said Sykes. ‘Makes you bloody think, don’t it? There’s us fighting our arses off at the front and all the while there’s this kind of malarkey going on behind the scenes. I bet you’re glad you’re out of it now, aren’t you?’

  ‘That’s just it, Stan,’ said Tanner. ‘I don’t think we’re out of it at all. I think we’re just about to get ourselves in even deeper.’

  23

  Monday, 14 September, around 1.30 a.m. It was a dark night, with no moon, but from the prow of MTB 270, Tanner could see with uncomfortable clarity as tracer cut across the sea and flares lit up the sky almost as bright as day. A short distance up the coast, at the mouth of the long, narrow harbour into Tobruk, another MTB burned, with silhouettes of men jumping overboard, while beyond, on the far side of the harbour entrance, two destroyers were standing offshore, their guns blazing. Men were struggling down netting draped over the side, whalers bobbing on the surface below, several more already rowing towards land. The flare died and the destroyers were once more shrouded in darkness. Then a shell hit one of the ships near its stern, causing another flash. More shells landed around them, huge plumes of water erupting into the sky. From the inner harbour, a searchlight had been lowered, sweeping back and forth across the mouth of the harbour, then occasionally catching a vessel in its beam.