The Alamut Ambush dda-2

by Anthony Price

  'Mr. Llewelyn, I presume?'

  'Is Audley coming?' Stocker echoed the question this time, and he was no longer smiling.

  'He should be here any moment.'

  The smile came back. So it had been Stocker's idea – and sure enough there was a suggestion of surprise crossing Llewelyn's face. One up to him: he had judged Audley better than Stocker, even after all these years. Two of a kind, evidently.

  'You are very persuasive too it would seem, Squadron-Leader Roskill,' said Llewelyn softly.

  'I had moral support from another quarter.' They had counted on dummy2

  Faith so he might as well throw her into the scales. 'But I wouldn't say he's any happier than I am.' Casually, now. 'In fact neither of us go much for your methods.'

  'Needs must when the devil drives, Roskill.' Stocker could afford to be conciliatory now. 'And to be fair you must admit that we wouldn't have got you both any other way. The situation was not –

  ah – straightforward, was it?'

  'It isn't straightforward even now as far as I'm concerned.'

  Llewelyn leaned forward. 'But you've worked with Audley before.

  And with quite remarkable success I hear.'

  'Only once. And I can't claim any of the success – I was a messenger boy. And there was an R.A.F. angle to that job, anyway.

  Whereas this one – '

  'This one is different, yes.' Llewelyn sat back agdn, considering Roskill speculatively. 'Do you know anything about Middle Eastern politics?'

  'Very little more than the next man.'

  'But you've travelled in the Middle East. You were in Israel just before your leave.'

  The last thing Roskill wanted was a question and answer session.

  Llewelyn must be made to do the talking.

  'If you want to know how to avoid a SAM, or whether the Sukhoi 7s the Egyptians are operating have anything approaching a Digital Integrated Attack System, Llewelyn, I can tell you. And I could give you a fifty-fifty guess on the attack system the Israelis are using. And if you pushed me I just might tell you how far I think dummy2

  they've got with the laser fire control ressarch – which is further than most people believe. And I could describe three strips of tarmac in the desert for you. That's the Middle East I know about.'

  Llewelyn grinned. 'I take your point. But which side do you favour?'

  'Professionally speaking, the combat effectiveness of the Israelis is as near 100 per cent as I've ever seen anywhere.'

  ' Not professionally speaking — personally.'

  'I don't give a damn either way.'

  'I can't believe that.'

  'I don't give a damn what you believe, either. But I'll tell you what I believe. I believe that if I'd been born in 1920 I should have flown a Spitfire in 1940 – unless I'd been born in Germany. In which case I should have flown a Messerschmitt 109. And just as happily, too!'

  'And there's no right and no wrong?' Llewelyn's Welsh lilt was stronger now. A true believer, thought Roskill – and God save us from the true believers...

  'The Arabs and the Jews? I should say they're both right and both wrong, and I wouldn't trust either of 'em. But neither of them is on my side, so for Christ's sake let's get down to business.'

  Audley would be bursting in any moment, and so far nothing of value had been achieved.

  Llewelyn and Stocker exchanged glances, as if to reassure each other that they had the right tool to hand, a crude one, but serviceable.

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  'Very well, Roskill,' said Llewelyn. 'It may not interest you to know it, but despite appearances there is at this moment an outside chance of some sort of Middle Eastern settlement. The best chance for a long time, in fact, despite recent events – perhaps because of them even. Just one gesture of mutual trust might tip the balance –

  and one gesture of mutual hate might tip it the other way.'

  'Such as your death?'

  Llewelyn regarded him steadily. 'Strange as it may seem – yes. I've been working behind the scenes – just how is no concern of yours.'

  Just as Llewelyn had been right about Audley, so Audley had been right about Llewelyn: he had been up to something.

  'Who wants you dead then? Who wants the balance tipped that way?'

  'That's the difficulty. There are hawks and unofficial groups on both sides. But we'll discuss that when Audley's here. It's Audley I want to discuss now – would you call yourself a friend of his?'

  'In as far as anyone is – yes.'

  Llewelyn nodded, unsmiling. 'Good. It's a friend we need to protect him.'

  'Protect him? I'm not a bloody bodyguard,' Roskill demurred. 'I wouldn't know where to start – and I've never fired a shot in anger in my life. You need another sort of friend for that!'

  'Not from other people – from himself,' Stocker cut in. 'Audley's a brilliant man, but he's not a practical man and he goes his own way. This time he could run into something nasty if he does that, and we must have early warning of it – from you.'

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  'If there's trouble we want to handle it,' said Llewelyn soothingly.

  'But even if he doesn't run himself into anything we still have to know what he's doing. You kept an eye on him last time, Stocker tells me. We just want you to do the same again, no more, no less.'

  'Under protest, I did it – did Stocker tell you that? And did he tell you I wasn't very good at it, either? Audley's not a confiding soul at the best of times.'

  'But you know him better now – and it shouldn't be more difficult than persuading him to come up here. If you can do the one I'd trust you to manage the other.'

  Roskill looked at them woodenly, barely controlling the urge to smile: they were all so bloody good at computing the angles – and that went for Audley too – that it was a wonder they didn't disappear up their own orifices.

  Except that it was neither a laughing matter nor a game; the memory of Alan Jenkins spoiled the fun and ruined the game.

  'So you'll do it?'

  Actually it was appropriate that Llewelyn and Audley should each cast him to betray the other, for in a way the whole business was founded on his actions. He, and no one else, had set them on their collision course; how many more collisions would it take to resolve his cowardice?

  The knock at the door startled him, and before he could collect his wits he was looking up at Audley in the: doorway – Audley who had arrived just ten seconds too early, even though he knew the question had already supplied the answer.

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  Not to panic, though.

  He looked from Audley back to Llewelyn. 'Yes, I'll do that,' he answered.

  Audley's eyebrows lifted. 'You'll do what?'

  'My dear fellow, it's good to see you again,' Stocker rose elegantly from his chair beside the table. 'And good of you to come.'

  Audley grunted, staring over his spectacles directly at Llewelyn, who stared just as directly back. The pot and the kettle; the Mountain and Mahomet. Old acquaintances who had forgotten nothing over the years – and learnt a little too much.

  'Llewelyn needs no introduction, I know,' continued Stocker, overcoming the impossible simply by ignoring it. 'But I don't believe you've encountered Yeatman before.'

  Audley tore his gaze away from Llewelyn and nodded to the smaller of the nondescripts.

  'And – ' began Stocker.

  'Cox,' said Audley. 'Special Branch.'

  'We've never met, Dr. Audley.' Cox didn't seem put out by being pinned like a butterfly in Audley's memory, merely curious.

  'Rome '68. You were pointed out to me,' said Audley, reaching for a chair. Ignoring everyone else he turned back to Llewelyn.

  'So someone wants you dead.'

  'It would appear so.'

  'Is there a short list?' Audley spoke as though the list ought to be long rather than short.

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  'Anyone with a vested interest in another Middle Eastern war,'

  answered Llewelyn equably.


  'Like the P.F.L.P.?'

  'It's possible. Or the Sons of Eleazar.'

  Audley shook his head. 'If – ' he underscored the word heavily ' if the Sons of Eleazar wanted you dead you're on borrowed time. But it isn't their policy, anyway.'

  'Policies change.'

  'Has there been a change of policy then?'

  Llewelyn considered the question for a moment. For a man discussing his own death he was remarkably cool, Roskill thought.

  'To be honest – no, not as far as I know.'

  'Have there been any similar killings in recent months? Or attempts?'

  'Not in Europe as far as I know.'

  'I'd like that checked out.'

  Llewelyn nodded towards Yeatman.

  'And I must have a complete run-down on what you've been doing recently.'

  'Yeatman will supply you with whatever you need.'

  Roskill squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. He never found an upright chair yet that fitted his behind. Worse, Audley seemed to be steering the conversation away from what seemed to him to be the crucial questions.

  'Who are the Sons of Eleazar, for heaven's sake?' he asked.

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  'Second generation of the Jewish terrorist groups – like the Stern Gang and the Irgun Zvai Leumi, you might say,' said Llewelyn.

  'Another war would suit them very nicely and assassination is part of their tradition.'

  'Absolute balderdash!' Audley growled. 'There's not a shred of evidence to prove continuity. I grant you they were terrorist groups, the I.Z.L. and the Stern Gang, but the P.L.F.P.'s their equivalent today. They were occupied territory phenomena —

  Lohamei heruth Yisrael, "Freedom fighters of Israel", that's what the Stern Gang called itself. The Sons of Eleazar are simply the lunatic fringe of the Israeli hawks, and even they don't think war is desirable – just inevitable.'

  'It's the same family tree,' said Llewelyn. 'They don't like peacemakers now any more than they did when they murdered Bernadotte in '48.'

  'And Abdullah and Nokrashi? My God, man – if it's murder statistics you want I can give you ten Arab ones for every Jewish one. It was the Arabs who gave us the word assassin, not the Jews.'

  'And the Jews gave us zealot,' said Llewelyn mildly. 'But I don't think etymology is going to help us much. The concepts of political murder and fanaticism are somewhat older ihan our words for them, after all. The point is that in my opinion it could have been either of them, Roskill. What I want you and Audley to try and find out is which one. You can leave the rest to us then.'

  'But so far your evidence is merely hypothetical, Arabs and Jews have been known to kill people. Some Arabs and Jews don't like dummy2

  peacemakers. You are a peacemaker. Your car blows up. Therefore it was blown up by Arabs or Jews. I don't think my old algebra master would have gone much on that – and algebra's another arabic word.'

  Roskill looked round for support.

  'Aye,' said Butler. 'And when it comes to peacemakers I could give you the name of two Belgian firms and a Swiss group – and a Czech one, I shouldn't wonder – who'd weep bitter tears the day peace was declared. There's not so much profit in ploughshares these days – small arms shares pay better dividends.'

  'And some of their salesmen have been known to protect their terriitory with their product,' said Roskill. 'So far we haven't got a shred of proof about anything.'

  'Two shreds – so far we've got two shreds,' said Cox. 'One from Bicester, one from the car.

  'We did Bicester pretty thoroughly yesterday, because there was just a chance someone might have seen the car while it still had someone in it. We drew a blank there, but two people think they saw something very near where it was left at about the right time.

  One said "Wog", meaning apparently "Middle Eastern, inclined to Arab"; the other was more educated – he said "Cypriot, maybe", which could mean "Middle Eastern, inclined to Israel".'

  'That's a shred, right enough,' said Butler.

  'Agreed – just a shred. The car's a bit stronger, though.' Cox consulted a small red notebook for a few seconds. 'T.P.D.X. – do you know what that is?'

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  'At a guess, one of those innumerable plastic explosives?'

  'Quite right. A plastic explosive. Russian, very new – and strong medicine. Just the thing for guerrillas, and sure enough the Russians obligingly supplied them with a consignment of it in January. It was the first time anyone received any outside the Soviet Union, as far as we know.'

  'Well, that pins it on Fatah – if that's what was used in the car,'

  exclaimed Roskill.

  'It was used on the car all right, but it doesn't pin it on Fatah,' Cox shook his head sadly. 'That would have been too easy!

  Unfortunately they moved it — or a good deal of it – to one of their front line posts in the Ghor as Safi area, south of the Dead Sea.'

  Roskill groaned. 'Don't tell me! The Israelis raided the place!'

  'Right again. Softened it up with an air raid on January 20. The next day what they euphemistically call a "purging operation" was effected. In this instance they purged Fatah of a large amount of T.

  P.D.X., among other things of lesser importance.'

  'So it fits the Bicester evidence exactly – Wog or Cypriot. It could have been either of them.'

  'Was the Ghor as Safi raid laid on to take the T.P.D.X.?' Audley asked.

  Cox looked questioningly at Yeatman.

  'We rather think it was,' said Yeatman. 'I'd lay you three to one on.'

  Audley tapped the table. 'Then what you're saying is that they're so damn good they can scoop up the stuff within a fortnight of its dummy2

  arrival, and then so damn clumsy they can't wrap it up properly.

  Frankly, I don't think they would use it – ever. They just wanted it out of circulation. But if they did use it, it would go off under the right man.'

  Roskill caught his breath: Audley was temping fortune now.

  'Perhaps it did,' said Butler, thoughtfully. 'Perhaps –'

  'Blow up what's his name — Jenkins? In the way most likely to ensure the Special Branch and heaven knows who else would be called in?' Audley ridiculed the idea with a wave of the hand. 'Let's stick to what's within the bounds of probability at least. And I think that rules out the Israelis.'

  'They have been known to miscalculate, you know,' Llewelyn protested. 'Karameh, for example. The Nahal Diqla business and the Abu Zaabal raid.'

  'By our standards that's not a very high striking rate,' Audley replied. 'But don't worry. I'll check out the Cypriots its well as the Wogs.'

  'When you do, Dr. Audley,' Yeatman said, 'you might make a special effort in the case of your friend Colonel Shapiro.'

  Now at last, thought Roskill, they were coming down on the target area. Shapiro was Audley's special Israeli buddy: he had been at Audley's wedding, and at Cambridge with Audley years before.

  And though the man seemed rather comical, his was top grade military intelligence and hard as nails, blooded in '56 and '67.

  'And what has Shapiro been doing?'

  'He left town, as the Americans would say, in a sudden cloud of dummy2

  dust the morning of the day Llewelyn's car was stolen. Instead of having lunch with you, Dr. Audley – your regular Wednesday lunch, I believe – '

  Audley blinked unhappily.

  ' – he plunged into rural Sussex and lunched with another friend at Lewes.'

  'And then, apparently, he drove cross-country,' Llewelyn took up the story, dead-pan, 'to dine at All Souls, four places away from me.'

  Roskill strove agonisingly to listen and to think at the same time.

  Lewes was – what – maybe ten minutes' drive from East Firle?

  'One of those little coincidences which make life interesting,'

  continued Llewelyn. 'In the terms of personal alibis. Colonel Shapiro has what might be called a watertight one. I can testify that he didn't lay a finger on my car. But in any accessory role,
or as a mastermind, I'm afraid he's guilty until you can prove him innocent. It does rather look as though he put the finger on me, if that's the correct term. Don't you agree?'

  They had ambushed Audley neatly and cruelly. But with Shapiro as their No. 1 prospect, it was no wonder they'd wanted him above everyone else.

  'As a matter of fact, I don't agree at all. Jake Shapiro would never set up anything so crude. And since Americanisms are de rigeur this morning, I'd say it's much more likely that he's been framed.'

  Audley spoke calmly, his composure quickly restored. 'Besides, he'd be even less likely to miss you than Eleazor's sons – if he dummy2

  wanted you dead you'd be dead. The only surprising thing is that he's in this position.'

  He turned from Llewelyn back to Yeatman. 'And since you're so well posted on comings and goings, where were all the other possible suspects? The Fatah man, for instance – I don't even know who the current top man here is now – did he leave town? And the P.F.L.P. man? And that new Egyptian who's got Howeidi's job –

  what's his name? – Razzak? He's new in town.'

  It was Yeatman's turn to look put out, but it was Stocker who answered.

  'You can count Razzak out – unless leaving town on Wednesday according to plan is suspicious circumstance in itself, that is. I happen to know that he went to Paris to see their ambassador. He asked me on Monday which was the best early boat train.'

  A premonition rose in Roskill's mind like a telltale wisp of smoke from a haystack, catching him unaware.

  'Boat train?' he echoed.

  Stocker looked at him sardonically. 'Unlike you, Squadron Leader, there are people who are not enamoured with flying.' (How little they knew!) 'Colonel Razzak only flies when he has to, it would seem, and in this instance he was in no hurry.'

  'We'll check it out all the same.' Audley hadn't missed it either, evidently. 'Dover-Calais, I take it?'

  'Newhaven-Dieppe as a matter of fact. A longer sea trip but a less depressing journey, I'm told.'

  Roskill stared stupidly at his knee, not trusting himself to look dummy2

  anyone in the eye. If Lewes was in easy driving distance of East Firle, Newhaven was almost within easy walking distance. Razzak and Shapiro were like two bearings on a map: their point of intersection in time and space could have turned that peaceful stretch of downland into a place of danger. The coincidence once again was too glaring to ignore.