Blood Ties

by A. J. Quinnell

  Relentlessly, Cady ploughed on:

  “An’ there’s Lascelles. He would have seen us pull Carlo out. Wouldn’t know if he was alive or dead, but he’d fear the worst. Right now he’s gotta be headin’ for Zanzibar. He’ll warn Okello that we’re right behind him.”

  “God!” Kirsty burst out. “They’ll kill Garret!”

  Cady shook his head. “Not necessarily. Depends on how much Okello needs Garret’s blood. But they’ll sure as hell take precautions.”

  Ramesh leaned forward and said urgently,

  “So we’ve got to catch Lascelles.”

  Cady shook his head. “Ramesh that gives us the dilemma. By now Lascelles will have changed course. Zanzibar is ‘bout six hundred miles away an’ he knows that over that distance we’d catch him easy — even by tomorrow. My guess is that he’ll plot a big loop. Trouble is, will he loop north or south? We’d have to toss a coin . . . then we’ve got no radar. It’s a damn great ocean, Ramesh. Navies send whole fleets out to find a single ship an’ come up with nothin’. Our chances of findin’ Lascelles are one in a million.”

  “So what do we do?”

  Cady looked at Kirsty. “We have a choice. Over the distance and with Lascelles’ detour we should arrive at Zanzibar a day or mebbe two ahead of him. Then we try an’ do somethin’ before Okello is warned.”

  He shrugged. “Or else we toss a coin – an’ go needle huntin’ in this haystack.”

  There was a silence. Ramesh was looking mournful. Cady was looking at Kirsty, who was staring down at the varnished table in front of her.

  “Howard Godfrey.”

  “Who?”

  She looked up. “He’s the US Consul in Dar es Salaam. That’s very close to Zanzibar.”

  “‘Bout twenty miles,” Cady confirmed.

  “And we can get there at least a day before Lascelles arrives in Zanzibar.”

  “Bet on it.”

  She made up her mind and stood up. “OK. We go straight to Dar es Salaam. Howard will know what to do. Garret’s a US citizen. My Government will get him out!”

  Cady slid Ramesh a look and Ramesh said.

  “Kirsty, Okello’s not going to admit that he has Garret. And I don’t know what influence your Government has in Zanzibar.”

  She looked down at them and said, “He’s a good friend of mine — and we’re a powerful country. He’ll do something.” Briskly she added, “Besides, what are the alternatives? Go searching for Lascelles or straight to Zanzibar and say to that animal, ‘Please Field Marshal give me back my son.”‘

  She was suddenly vibrant and confident.

  “As long as we get to Dar es Salaam before Lascelles gets to Zanzibar I’m sure Howard can do something.”

  There was logic to it, and the alternatives were bleak. Ramesh stood up, looked at Cady and said briskly,

  “What revs can we safely run the Perkins at?”

  Cady sucked air in through his teeth. “Hell, we’ll run ‘er at max. Jack did a hell of a job. I’ll sit in the goddam engine room with a can of oil and a spanner an’ nurse her all the way.”

  “Good.” Ramesh was assertive. “Meanwhile I am remembering an old stay sail which I think is in the fo’c’sle locker. We’ll fly that; if the wind holds on the beam it will help —only a fraction – but still a help.”

  Cady put his hands on the table and pushed himself to his feet. The effect of shock had left him weak. He grinned at Ramesh.

  “OK, Skip, go push the throttle. I’ll check the engine.”

  They moved round the table. Kirsty and Ramesh heading for the companionway and Cady to the engine room. Abruptly Ramesh stopped.

  “What do we do with Carlo’s body?”

  Cady didn’t hesitate. “Slide him over the side. Say a prayer if you want, but remember he helped deliver Garret to that goddam vampire – an’ tried to kill us.” He looked at Kirsty and saw her nod. To Ramesh he said, “Want me to do it?”

  Ramesh shook his head and a small smile twitched at his lips. “No, that’s a Master’s duty. By the way, Cady, what you did back there was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “Yes,” Kirsty agreed. “It’s thanks to you we know where Garret is – and why.”

  Suddenly Cady was embarrassed. He looked down and coloured slightly and mumbled, “Hell . . . didn’t even think. Stupid really.” His head came up and he looked at Ramesh and said, “Well, you saved my goddam skin. You got a mean right arm with a harpoon. From now on I’m gonna call you Cap’n Ahab.”

  They both smiled and Ramesh said,

  “Cady, for an oil driller you are definitely over-educated.”

  Chapter 25

  It was, without question, the worst moment of Howard Godfrey’s life. It contrasted acutely with his delight when ten minutes earlier Kirsty had burst into his office past his secretary calling out, “Howard! We know where Garret is!”

  After hastily introducing Ramesh and Cady she poured out her story, and when she came to Zanzibar and Okello Howard got the same feeling in his stomach as when a plane starts to descend too abruptly. She finished and leaned forward, watching him intently.

  Slowly, but with his mind racing, he reached for the phone and spoke into it.

  “Get me the Ambassador – urgent.”

  A pause while his eyes studied Kirsty’s anxious face, then: “Hi, Frank. I just have word that we have a national in Zanzibar held personally by Okello . . . Yeah, several months. It’s very bizarre – and urgent. Can I see you right away? Yeah, the mother is here and two friends . . . OK. Can we have Richards in . . .? And I guess Murphy? OK.” He pushed a button on the phone console and after a moment said, “Godfrey here. Please ask Mr Richards and Mr Murphy to go to the conference room urgently.”

  He cradled the phone, took a deep breath and said, “Kirsty, it’s wonderful and extraordinary that Garret is alive and you found out where. I apologise profoundly for my scepticism . . . However, I must tell you that he is in just about the worst place he could possibly be.”

  She started to speak but he held up his hand.

  “Wait. In a moment we go into a meeting with the Ambassador, our ex-Consul in Zanzibar and Murphy . . . who is . . . well, sort of unofficial.”

  “You mean CIA?” Cady asked.

  Howard shrugged. “Let’s just say unofficial. We’ll put our heads together and try and come up with something . . . but it’s not going to be easy for all kinds of reasons which you’ll hear about at the meeting.”

  Kirsty looked exhausted. The others reasonably fresh.

  “You made a fast passage?”

  Ramesh nodded. “We averaged close to two hundred miles a day – motor and sail. We’re OK, but Kirsty hardly slept.”

  Kirsty said impatiently, “I’ll sleep when Garret is safe. Howard we don’t have much time. We might only be a few hours ahead of Lascelles.”

  “I know. Let’s go.”

  They sat around a large conference table. At one end of the room, the stars and stripes hung down from a tall pole. Next to it, on the wall, was a large colour photograph of President Johnson wearing a confident smile.

  Again Kirsty poured out her story. The Ambassador and Richards remained silent but Murphy, a beefy, red-headed man, occasionally interjected to clarify a point. When Kirsty came to the part about Okello having a rare blood group and a disease which required him to have frequent transfusions, he nodded slightly.

  Kirsty finished and waited, her eyes on the Ambassador. He was tall and very thin, with sparse black hair combed carefully across his balding pate. He was looking at Howard and said,

  “Tell me I didn’t just hear a fairy story.”

  “Look here!” Ramesh said angrily, but the Ambassador lifted a hand.

  “Tell me, Howard!”

  Howard sighed. “It’s true, Frank. Lascelles reported Garret missing on February 13th. You were up in Arusha at the time . . .”

  “Yeah, I remember the report.”

  “Another thing,” Murphy said. �
��We’ve been hearing rumours that Okello has a rare disease. We thought our informants might be indulging in wishful thinking . . . but this seems to confirm it.”

  “That man’s a lunatic,” Richard muttered.

  “Well?” Kirsty demanded, looking at the Ambassador, “what are you going to do?”

  The Ambassador’s brow was wrinkled in thought. He glanced first at Howard and then Murphy, his lips pursed, then he said:

  “Mrs Haywood, would you and your friends please wait outside for a few minutes?”

  “We haven’t much time!” Kirsty repeated vehemently.

  “I know,” the Ambassador said soothingly. “It won’t take long – please.”

  It took twenty minutes. They waited in an anteroom with Kirsty in a fever of impatience. Occasionally through the closed door they could hear muffled voices raised in anger.

  When Howard opened the door and gestured for them to enter his face was still angry.

  Kirsty sat down with a feeling of great foreboding. Without preamble the Ambassador said: “Mrs Haywood, the current situation in Zanzibar is as follows: President Nyerere of Tanganyika, a reasonable and moderate man, is the nominal president of Zanzibar as well, since the so-called union. However, he has absolutely no power or control of what goes on there. The island is ruled, if one could call it that, by a revolutionary council, the head of which is one Abdul Karume. He is reasonably moderate but again has no power. ‘Field Marshal’ Okello, who seemed to come from nowhere, is Minister of Defence and Chief of the Armed Forces. He has all the real power although that may change in the near future. Karume and others on the Council are manoeuvring to replace him, but they do so carefully. He is cunning and sadistic and they fear for their lives. Everyone does on that island.”

  He paused and took a sip of water from the glass in front of him.

  “Now, under normal circumstances, if an American citizen is detained without just cause by a foreign country, we protest to that government and demand his or her immediate release. If that is not quickly forthcoming we bring pressure to bear: either economic or through third party countries, or on rare occasions in a military way. In this case, however, none of these pressures apply. Since the revolution we have had no economic ties at all with Zanzibar. The only third party countries which might have an influence there are all communist and unlikely even to believe the story, let alone be sympathetic. The military aspect is out of the question. Even if it was considered, the nearest US military units are thousands of miles away.”

  Kirsty’s face had reflected her increasing gloom during this monologue.

  “So what do we do?”

  With a sigh and a glance at the others the Ambassador said, “I have decided to go personally to see President Nyerere.”

  “But you said he has no control over there.”

  “That’s true but he has some influence, at least with Karume. The problem is that even if we wanted to protest to the Revolutionary Council we would have to do it through the British who represent our interests there.”

  Incredulously Kirsty asked, “We don’t have anyone there at all?”

  The Ambassador was looking embarrassed. “No. A few days after the Sultan was overthrown I received instructions from the State Department to make every effort to get on friendly terms with the new authorities. We had a very expensive satellite tracking station there-an important link for the space programme. I telephoned Richards and . . . well we used an unfortunate expression. He said that a Consul was not senior enough to make an impression on those people. I told him to start the process and, as soon as possible, I’d send over some bigger guns . . . Well Okello’s people were listening in and misunderstood the expression. He immediately broke off relations and expelled Richards and every other American on the island.”

  There was a silence and then Cady could not help it. He laughed.

  “Sorry,” he said to Kirsty. “But it’s so goddam ridiculous!”

  She hardly seemed to hear him. Her face showed she was close to tears. She said to Howard, “What do you think?”

  He spread his hands resignedly.

  “Kirsty, it’s a terrible situation. The fact that Garret is being secretly held makes it damned difficult.”

  Her eyes shifted to Murphy. He was sitting hunched over, the fingers of one hand tapping the table rhythmically beside a yellow legal pad. There were lines and arrows drawn on it as though he had been doodling. She looked back at the Ambassador, who said, “It’s really our only alternative Mrs Haywood and, I might add, the correct one from a diplomatic point of view.”

  Ramesh, silent until now suddenly said, “While we were outside we were hearing arguments in here. Were there other suggestions?”

  The Ambassador gave him a less than pleased look and said,

  “Of course, we examined every single possibility and naturally there were a variety of opinions. These were distilled into my final decision.”

  “What opinions?” Kirsty asked.

  The Ambassador looked uncomfortable.

  “I think that is not relevant. As I say, we touched all bases before . . .” He never finished.

  Kirsty erupted. “He’s my son!” she screamed at him. “That bastard is taking his blood like a vampire and you talk about relevance!”

  He visibly flinched. Kirsty looked at the other Americans for support. Richards was looking studiously down at the table. Murphy and Howard were looking directly at her. Almost imperceptibly Murphy was nodding his head.

  Howard said, “Frank, she has a point.”

  “Damn right I do!” she was glaring at the Ambassador. He took a deep breath, expelled the air in a sigh, and said, “OK. Mr Murphy here suggested a rescue plan. He thinks he might know where Okello is holding your son. After some discussion I had to veto it.”

  “Why?”

  He sighed again. “Mrs Haywood. I know this is going to sound heartless to you, but you must remember that my job is to promote good relations with this country. It has not been easy, but I won’t bore you with the problems. Now, for Murphy’s plan he would have to use his own people – all Americans – there are no mercenaries in this area. You can imagine they are not popular here. Mr Murphy has three . . . um . . . associates here and he planned to fly in four or five more from Kenya and Uganda this afternoon. Problem is that the risk element is too great. If one American is killed, or worse – captured – the outcry throughout East Africa would be immense. Imagine it. The US meddling again. They would conclude that we were trying to assassinate the new leadership there, who are mostly communists if they’re anything. It would set back our relations a whole decade.”

  Fiercely Kirsty said. “And my son’s life – an American life – is not worth it?”

  “I’m sorry Mrs Haywood, but we don’t even have proof that your son is alive – just the word of a man who was dying- a criminal.”

  The implications of his words stunned Kirsty into silence, but not Cady. Scornfully he said, “So you go, cap in hand, to Nyerere and say ‘Please sir, Mr Okello is holding one of our citizens prisoner and using him as a blood bank. Please slap his wrist and tell him to give him up!’” He snorted. “Okello’s been killin’ people for months. Nyerere could have sent his army in any time. There were Africans dyin’ there – even Tanganyikans. Nyerere did nothin’ to save his own people. You think he’s gonna move to try an’ save one American?”

  The Ambassador said nothing but his set face showed his determination.

  Suddenly Ramesh spoke up. “Well, you can forbid Mr Murphy to try a rescue, but you cannot stop us – and we have guns.” He looked at Cady, who nodded vigorously.

  “Forget it,” Murphy said kindly. “There’s only two of you. I was gonna use eight guys – all highly trained. That’s the minimum.”

  “We are four,” Kirsty said, her eyes more animated.

  “Who’s the other one?”

  “A Chinese girl. She’s back on the boat. They wouldn’t let her land because she has no papers.�
��

  Murphy was shaking his head, half in awe and half in negation. He said, “Excuse me, Mrs Haywood. I admire your guts-all of you. But Jeez! Two guys – sorry Mr Patel – one who’s middle-aged, and two women. That island’s swarming with armed men. Hell, they’re not trained much but they all carry guns – and use ‘em at the drop of a hat. It’s true – my plan was risky – and I was going in with a skilled team.”

  “You think you know where he’s holding Garret?” Cady asked.

  Murphy glanced at the Ambassador, who was looking bemused by this turn of events.

  “Sure. In fact if he is on that island I’m pretty certain.”

  “Where?”

  “Wait,” the Ambassador said sharply. “This is crazy you’ll all get killed.”

  “It’s our decision,” Kirsty said. “I can’t speak for the others but I’d risk my life to save Garret – I’d risk it a thousand times.” She looked at Howard. He studied her closely and then said to the Ambassador, “They have the right to try. Murphy could give them advice and maybe help with some untraceable equipment. They’ll have to go in tonight or it might be too late. You could delay seeing the President until the morning.”

  Murphy was muttering, “Crazy-you’re crazy!”

  The Ambassador’s brow wrinkled in thought. Then he nodded and stood up.

  “Very well, but I cannot be any party to it. Murphy, whatever help you give is to be on a personal basis – and hear this. Neither you nor any of your people are to set foot on Zanzibar, or go into its territorial waters.” He turned to Kirsty and his voice softened. “Mrs Haywood. I’m profoundly sorry that the circumstances make it impossible for me to be more positive. Whatever happens I will see the President first thing in the morning and be assured that I will make the strongest possible representation. Personally I get on well with him. I shall bring as much pressure to bear as I can.”

  She nodded indifferently and, with a final hard look at Murphy, he left them.

  “So what guns have you got?” Murphy asked dubiously.