The Suicide Exhibition

by Justin Richards

  Wiles was late. But the others used the opportunity to update each other on their progress, or lack of it.

  “I’ve been wondering,” Guy said. “Do you think these UDTs only started coming recently?”

  “We know one crashed in the Black Forest in 1936,” Davenport reminded him.

  “True, but has their activity increased? And if so, why?”

  “To do with the war, maybe?” Sarah suggested. “Perhaps the upheaval, the fighting, the bombardments and troop movements have woken something up.”

  “The Coming Race talks about a civilization under the ground,” Brinkman said, “so that’s possible I suppose.”

  “There are all sorts of legends about underground civilizations, or sunken societies,” Miss Manners agreed. “From Atlantis to Agarthi, which is thought to be in Tibet.”

  “More likely UDTs have been around for a long time,” Davenport said, “and it’s only because of RADAR that we’re picking them up now. That and the fact we’re on the lookout for aircraft that we can’t account for. There are all manner of reports of strange things flying about in antiquity, usually put down to gods or monsters.”

  “And don’t forget it’s only in the last few years that we’ve had aircraft up there ourselves,” Brinkman said, checking his watch. “Perhaps Wiles will have some answers for us.”

  When Wiles finally arrived, he was armed with rolled up maps and a stack of handwritten notes. He proceeded to pin up the maps alongside and sometimes over the ones already on the walls. He rearranged the cotton threads, still in place from the last time he’d been.

  Finally, happy with his handiwork, Wiles slumped down in a chair. “Well, there you go,” he said, gesturing at the walls as if this explained everything.

  When this was met with silence, he sighed and went on: “Using the dates and times from Crowley’s séances, together with the data contained in the transcripts, we managed to trace most of the Y intercepts. Thanks for your help with that, by the way. Anyway, to cut a long story short, if a transmission was picked up by more than one station, and using the varying reported signal strengths, we managed an approximate triangulation for quite a few of them. We also extrapolated the lines of flight for the UDTs, though that was less conclusive. The reason being that the craft can evidently change course, whereas a radio wave cannot.”

  “And you’ve found—what?” Brinkman prompted.

  “A point of origin. Well, actually several possible points of origin, but one in particular seems to be a focus. Almost like the transmissions are searchlights pointing it out to us.”

  Jumping to his feet, Wiles pulled a wooden ruler from his bag. It was hinged and doubled over, and he unfolded it into a straight length a yard long. He placed the extended ruler over one of the maps and drew a line. After repeating the process several times, he turned. “You get the idea. In fact, to save the effort of drawing all the lines in, Douglas and Eleanor produced this for me.”

  Wiles unfolded another map. It showed most of western Europe and north Africa. A web of lines was drawn over the top of the map—most of them originating in different parts of Britain, but others from different places too, mainly within territory controlled by the allies. Most of them converged on a single point on the map.

  “North Africa?” Davenport said. “Where is that—Libya?”

  “Someone over at the War Rooms was saying that we took the Halfaya Pass yesterday,” Brinkman said. “Is that anywhere near?”

  “That’s here.” Wiles pointed to a location to the east of where the lines converged. “We’re looking at somewhere much farther south, in the middle of the desert.”

  “But Allied territory, yes?” Sarah asked.

  “At the moment,” Brinkman said. “But I doubt we’ll push Rommel back much farther.”

  “There’s a real danger he may launch a counterattack,” Guy said. “From what I’ve heard from my friends at the Foreign Office, German supplies are getting through again. The Mediterranean fleet isn’t in great shape, and now the Seventh Armored Brigade along with a couple of Australian divisions have been moved out to the Pacific.”

  “Still won’t be enough to stop the Japs,” Davenport said. “They’ll be in Australia before we know it, if we aren’t careful.”

  “Whatever is here…” Brinkman leaned over and tapped his finger on the convergence of lines. “We have to find it. Find it, assess it, and if necessary neutralize it. Certainly we must make sure Himmler’s people don’t get to it.”

  “And if Rommel really is about to launch a second offensive,” Sarah said, “we’re up against a deadline.”

  “Oh no, hang on,” Guy said. “I’ve just remembered something.” He turned to Davenport. “Didn’t Hoffman say that your friend Streicher was off to North Africa soon?”

  Davenport nodded grimly. “I believe he did say that, yes.”

  “You think there’s a connection?” Wiles asked.

  “Streicher is an archaeologist, or so he maintains,” Davenport said. “It’d be a huge coincidence if he just happens to be going to North Africa now. More likely, they’ve assessed their own data and come to very similar conclusions.”

  “Then we have to get there first,” Brinkman said. “Miss Manners—you and Sergeant Green organize troops on the ground. And I mean that literally. Guy, Leo—be ready to leave. Miss Diamond, you’d better sort out the logistics of getting us all there.”

  Wiles passed the map to Brinkman. “I’ll leave this with you. And I’m assuming you won’t want me traipsing off to the middle of nowhere with you.”

  “I doubt I’d be allowed to take you,” Brinkman said. “I doubt I’ll be allowed to go myself. But we’ll see. I need to clear this with the Prime Minister, just as soon as I can get to see him.”

  “I wonder,” Wiles said, “might I make a phone call? There’s something I’d like to get checked out.”

  * * *

  As Brinkman had suspected, there was no way that he would be permitted to go to Africa.

  “Can’t take the chance of losing you,” General Ismay said. He had managed to find ten minutes to speak to Brinkman, and he wasn’t a man to waste time. He came straight to the point. “Can’t afford to lose any of you really, but certainly not you, Oliver. So how important is this really?”

  “Honestly? We won’t know until we go and look.”

  “We could send some of the locals.”

  “With respect, they won’t know what they’re looking for. Or how to deal with what they might find.”

  “And you think it’s urgent?”

  “I do. Dr. Wiles checked with Station X, and there is Ultra material that suggests a special group of the Afrika Korps, supplemented by an SS unit, is being sent to the area. The deployment makes no military or strategic sense, so we have to assume they’re after the same thing we are.”

  “Whatever it is.”

  “Whatever it is. We’ve no details of the enemy’s schedule or route, so we can’t intercept. We can only hope to get there ahead of them.”

  “Recommendation?” Ismay demanded.

  “Major Pentecross to take command of local forces, whatever can be spared, with Sergeant Green assisting.”

  “Very well.”

  “I’d like Davenport there too. He has experience of the archaeological side of things, and Mrs. Archer is obviously not up to the trip.” This was probably not true, but Brinkman knew she was even more vital to the continuing effectiveness of Station Z than he was himself. None of them had as much experience of the extraordinary, or knew as much about what they were facing, as she did.

  “Agreed. And how will you get them there in a timely manner?”

  “I’m sure we can arrange something, sir.”

  Ismay gave a short laugh. “I’m sure you can. But whatever happens, I don’t want Miss Diamond involved in frontline operations. She’s not some SOE agent, she’s not trained for combat situations. She’s a pilot. Understood?”

  “Understood, sir. Transport onl
y.”

  Ismay nodded. “Then you’d better get on with it. I’ll inform Winston. Report back to me as soon as you have any information. And good luck.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Brinkman said. He had a feeling they were going to need it.

  CHAPTER 45

  The landing strip was little more than a short length of concrete across the sand. They flew in over the Jalo Oasis as they approached. Only as they got lower could Sarah make out the tents and camouflage netting against the undulating desert. There were planes and vehicles concealed under the nets. A narrow road snaked between sand dunes, clogged with military vehicles—trucks, Jeeps, and a light tank—waiting to move out.

  A soldier waited at the end of the landing strip to usher the Avro Anson to where more soldiers were waiting with nets ready to cover it.

  “Good landing, sir,” the soldier called as Sarah opened the door and jumped down. “Er, ma’am,” he corrected himself.

  Guy and Davenport jumped down after her. Guy was in a lightweight major’s uniform. Davenport wore khaki shorts and shirt with a Panama hat that set him apart from the military. Sarah shrugged out of her flying jacket, the dry desert heat a contrast to the British winter they had left behind.

  “We’ll get this crate under cover and look after her for you,” one of the ground crew assured Sarah.

  “Thanks.” She looked round at the other planes under netting at the end of the makeshift runway.

  “Kittyhawks and Tomahawks, mainly, miss,” the crewman told her. “American. Got a bit more bite to them than the old Hurricanes. Rather have Spits though.”

  “I thought I saw a Hurricane as I came in,” Sarah remembered.

  “Got a couple of Hurri-bombers. They’re Hurricanes converted for ground-attack. Pack quite a punch as a fighter-bomber, actually. I’ll, er, I’ll show you one later if you like,” he added with sudden diffidence. “Just ask for Jimmy.”

  Sarah smiled her thanks. “I’d like that, Jimmy. But I’d best be getting on now.”

  Their contact was Lieutenant Mike Maguire. Tall and thin, with a messy thatch of hair bleached blond by the sun and blotchy skin, he was waiting for them in one of the tents, where a map of the area was laid out across several packing cases that served as a table.

  “Not a lot of detail,” he apologized. “Most of the area hasn’t been mapped yet. We make charts as we go along, really. They set up a Survey Section last year to sort it, but they’ve barely made a start.”

  “So where are we?” Guy asked.

  “Right here, sir. By the oasis. This whole area to the east is called the Great Sand Sea, appropriately enough. As I understand it, you want to be heading down this way.” He pointed to the area south west of their location.

  “And this is the closest landing area?” Sarah asked.

  “It certainly is. From here it’s truck, which is where we come in.”

  “Long Range Desert Group,” Davenport said. “So what do you do, exactly?”

  “Much of the time, transport. Like now. As you can imagine it’s not as easy as it looks navigating round this empty space full of sand, especially if you’re heading behind enemy lines.”

  “Does that happen often?” Guy asked.

  “Often enough. But you’re better asking Captain Henderson about that. He’s a bit spiky, if you don’t mind me saying, sir. But he’s all right. Good at what he does.”

  “And what does he do?” Guy asked.

  “On this occasion, you tell me.” The man who had entered the tent as Guy was speaking was shorter than Lieutenant Maguire, but broader. He had dark hair and a mustache above several days stubble.

  “Henderson?” Guy asked.

  “That’s right, sir. With L Detachment of the Special Air Service Brigade.”

  “Air service?” Davenport said. “You’re paratroopers?”

  “If we need to be. But to be honest the name’s nothing to do with our role, it’s just to confuse the enemy if they hear about us. L Detachment suggests there are other detachments, which there aren’t. Air Service, well—it doesn’t really mean anything. Think of us as North African Commandoes. And may I ask who you are?”

  “Oh, I’m a civilian.”

  “So I see.” Henderson looked Davenport up and down, then sniffed. “Maguire here doesn’t take joyriders. No excess baggage.”

  “Mr. Davenport is an essential member of my team, Captain,” Guy said. “And let’s get one thing clear before we start.”

  “That you outrank me, and you’re in charge, you mean?” There was a noticeable lack of “sir.”

  Guy met the man’s confident stare. “Both those things are true. But what I was going to say is that your job, together with Lieutenant Maguire, is to get us safely and swiftly to where we need to be. Then secure the area, and bring us back again together with whatever material we recover from the site.”

  Henderson made to reply, but Guy cut him off.

  “You will see things that you don’t understand. You will be in as much danger as you have ever been—if not more. You will not speak of this mission to anyone ever again. Now, having said all that, you and your men are the experts here, you have the experience. How you do your job is entirely up to you and I won’t interfere unless I have to. Davenport and I are new to the area, and have no idea of the conditions here. So in all operational and tactical matters, you are in charge.”

  Henderson nodded. “Sir.”

  “But if I do have to interfere, or if Mr. Davenport has to, you listen to what we say and you obey without hesitation. It may seem that we’re being obtuse, or that the orders we give are strange. But I promise you, it will be essential that you follow them. Are we clear?”

  Henderson nodded. “Crystal clear, sir.”

  “When do we leave?” Davenport asked.

  “Tomorrow, first thing.”

  “Why not today?”

  “With respect, sir,” Henderson said, “we’ve only just got back from a raid on enemy airfields this morning. It will take the rest of the day to get everything sorted, re-armed, and packed for another expedition.”

  “Fair enough,” Guy said. “A successful outing, I hope?”

  “Destroyed sixty planes on the ground with no loss to ourselves. So yes, I’d call that a success, sir.”

  “Excellent.” Guy nodded. “Seems we’re in good hands, then. Carry on, Captain.”

  * * *

  Davenport and Guy shared a tent on the edge of the small camp. Sarah was given a tent to herself close by. They ate an evening meal of canned stew straight out of mess tins from a camping stove. Guy suggested they should get an early night, as Lieutenant Maguire wanted to leave at dawn.

  The light was fading when Sarah summoned up the courage to go and find Guy. When she reached the tent, she almost bottled out, and went back to her own. There was nowhere to knock, and she couldn’t just go inside—they might be getting ready to bed down for the night.

  “Are you decent in there?” she called finally.

  “More than decent, my dear,” Davenport’s voice replied. “We are superb.”

  She took this as a yes and pushed through the tent flap. Davenport was standing in front of a pile of crates on which he had laid out his shaving kit and hairbrush, apparently checking his hair in a shaving mirror. Guy sat perched on the edge of his low camp bed, untying his boots.

  Having got this far, Sarah wasn’t going to back away. “So, you going to explain why you’re avoiding me?” she asked.

  Guy looked up. “What? No. I mean, I’m not. What do you mean?” He didn’t meet her eye.

  “I mean I’ve hardly seen you since you got back from Wewelsburg,” she said.

  There was an awkward silence. Then Davenport said: “You know what? I think I’ll take a short walk down to the oasis. I could do with the air.” He paused in the entrance to the tent. “Unless you’d rather I stayed here and you two went for that walk? I thought not,” he added when there was no reply.

  “All right,” Sarah s
aid when Davenport had gone. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

  “I haven’t.” He still wouldn’t look at her.

  “Don’t lie, that just makes it worse. We have files and records to go through, and you take the ones you’re looking at off to another room. We used to go for a drink when we left the office, but not recently. Not even over Christmas. You just leave, without asking. Without saying anything at all most often.”

  “I didn’t like to ask you. I…” He did look up now, staring across the tent at Davenport’s makeshift wash stand. “I didn’t think you’d want to.”

  She couldn’t believe that. “Don’t be stupid.”

  “I’m not—I just assumed. You never asked me for a drink, or came to find me if I was in another office.”

  “Because you were avoiding me. Why? Tell me, Guy—just tell me, that’s all I ask. Do you really dislike me so much? Can’t you bear to be with me? You won’t even look at me.”

  “No.” He stood up, looking right at her now, deep into her eyes. “No, how can you think that? Don’t ever think that.”

  “Then what should I think? Tell me.”

  “Do we have to talk about this now?”

  “Yes,” she told him. “Yes we do. Because tomorrow you’re going off into the desert. And I don’t know how long you’ll be gone, or even if you’ll ever come back again. I hope to God it isn’t, but this could be our last chance to talk. Ever. So yes, we have to do this now, or we maybe never will.”

  Guy nodded. He rubbed his hand across his eyes before he spoke. He sounded tired, wrung out. “When I was in the cellar at Wewelsburg and that man drew your picture … When I saw that you were with the Ubermensch … I was so scared. I felt cold and numb and empty, and I couldn’t do anything. I was useless. Just watching. Like a spare part. You were about to die, and I was stuck there watching as that thing killed you. And there was nothing I could do about it.”

  “But it didn’t kill me. I was all right.”

  “No thanks to me,” Guy told her. “I did nothing—nothing at all. You needed me, and I failed you. Completely failed you.”

  “You were miles away. It’s only sheer fluke that you even knew I was in trouble.”