Redfalcon, page 7
Jaikie raised an unsteady hand to pluck the cigarette from his mouth. ‘I know Sir Archibald is an old and trusted friend of yours, sir, but was he really the only pilot available for this trip?’
Fortunately the roar of the Whitley bomber’s engines made his voice inaudible to the pilot in question and I couldn’t help but smile.
‘We were lucky to get him at such short notice,’ I said. ‘We haven’t a moment to spare in catching up with Dr Adriatis, not if we hope to find Lasalle before Ravenstein gets his claws on him. Going through official channels would have wasted precious hours.’
‘First we had to rescue Professor Owen,’ grumbled Dougal, ‘which now means we have to catch this Adriatis woman, and that’s just so we can follow after that Frenchman. It’s as if we’re chasing after a hare that’s always got a head start on us.’
‘You’re a Scotsman, Dougal,’ I encouraged him. ‘That means hunting’s in your blood.’
We had flown out of Portsmouth that morning and, steering clear of occupied France, had rounded the Bay of Biscay and followed the line of the Spanish coast. The five-hour flight had brought us at last within sight of Gibraltar, much to the relief of the passengers.
Archie’s co-pilot Toby appeared to have developed a method of steadying his nerves by sucking intently on peppermint lozenges, of which he kept a plentiful supply stuffed into the pockets of his flight suit. Toby was now on the radio arranging our approach while Archie guided us down.
Swinging round the southern tip of Gibraltar, we banked left, granting us a spectacular view of the east face. From this side it looked as though a giant axe had sheared away half of the ridge, leaving an unscalable cliff to challenge any hostile visitors approaching from the Mediterranean. Only a couple of small sandy bays showed any sign of welcome.
The whole peninsula was dominated by that great jagged spine of ancient limestone which some have likened to a crouching lion, its face turned watchful and defiant towards the mainland of Spain. Less than three miles long by three quarters of a mile wide, the Rock nonetheless was the most legendary bastion of British imperial power.
Following a complete circuit of Gibraltar, we swooped in from the west towards the single airstrip that ran across the narrow isthmus connecting the Rock to General Franco’s Spain. Gazing down through my window, I could see the British fortifications and gun emplacements. They looked daunting enough to give second thoughts to anyone attempting to cross over with hostile intent.
‘Brace yourselves, chaps!’ Archie cautioned us. ‘We’re going down pretty steeply.’
Toby engaged the retractable landing gear as we neared the ground. A jarring touchdown was nothing new for Archie and this one was no exception. The wheels bumped twice, causing us to lurch in our seats, before Archie pulled up sharply and the engine shut down with a loud cough. The relief on the faces of my fellow passengers was clearly visible as we disembarked and I half expected them to kneel down and kiss the solid safety of the runway. The air hit us at once, hot and dank, with a light swirl of dust. Luckily my two young friends had retired their Highland splendour in favour of some plain, light civvies, otherwise they would have been poleaxed by the heat.
‘Sorry I can’t go along with you on this jaunt,’ said Archie, hauling off his goggles and squinting in the harsh light. ‘Got to refuel and head back home. They’ve got a fresh bunch of young chaps coming in for flight training. They need my expertise to help whip them into shape before unleashing them on the Jerries.’
‘Archie, if they learn to fly like you,’ I assured him, ‘I’m quite sure they’ll put the fear of God into the Luftwaffe.’
Making our farewells to our pilot, my two young friends and I walked past the rows of Hurricanes and Spitfires jamming the airfield. At the bottom edge of the field was an area where an array of cars and trucks was parked. Out of the midst of them emerged a well-built, middle-aged fellow in naval whites and shorts. He waved as he walked up quickly to meet us.
‘You’ll be General Hannay, sir? We’ve been expecting you.’
‘Glad to meet you. This is Mr Galt and Captain Crombie.’
The seaman tipped back his cap and whipped off a jaunty salute. ‘CPO Sidney Stark at your service, sir.’
‘A chief petty officer?’ said Jaikie. ‘Should you not be on a ship?’
‘I was on a ship,’ Stark answered with a grin, ‘but after a bout of Lassa fever I was reassigned to shore duty. Not to worry, though; there’s plenty here to keep me busy.’
‘I’m glad to hear it, chief,’ I said, taking an immediate liking to the man. His pleasantly homely face was open and honest and there was a relaxed confidence in his manner.
‘My car’s over here, if you’ll come this way, sir,’ he said, leading us off. ‘You know, Gib’s a lot like a ship when you think about it. That’s the bow up there, tethered to the Spanish coast, and down there’s the stern, facing towards Morocco. I like to think I’m doing my bit to keep the old girl shipshape.’
‘Where exactly are we going?’ asked Jaikie.
‘I’m to take you to the Convent,’ answered the chief.
‘The Convent?’ Dougal echoed. ‘We’re not bunking down with a bunch of nuns, are we?’
Stark uttered a low chuckle that sounded like water gurgling down a drain. ‘No fear of that, sir. It used to be a convent belonging to the Franciscans, but since the Brits got here it’s been the governor’s official residence.’
As we drove off, I could see on the crags above us the tower, terraces and battlements of the old Moorish castle, a reminder that Gibraltar had once been a jumping-off point for the Islamic invasion of Spain. The road took us past the expansive harbour where cruisers, frigates and destroyers were moored along with a variety of merchant vessels. These I supposed would form part of the relief convoy Stannix had referred to under the code name Pedestal.
On our left broad blocks of three- and four-storey buildings rose in tier upon tier up the lower slopes of the Rock. They were every shade of tawny and white, topped with distinctive red roofs. Between them ran narrow streets and steep stairways that plunged vertiginously down from the heights. There was a notable absence of women and children on the streets, most of the civilians having been evacuated some time ago in anticipation of a bloody attack, should Spain enter the war against us. Instead, soldiers of the garrison were very much in evidence, especially those sporting the distinctive dark green plaid of the Black Watch.
After a short drive we pulled up in front of the Convent. Whatever remained of the Franciscan religious house had been built over in a Georgian style with touches of Victorian architecture. The entrance was shaded by a marble portico over which a Union Jack fluttered in the warm breeze.
Once inside, Jaikie and Dougal were served afternoon tea in a downstairs lounge while I was escorted up to the office of the governor, Major-General Noel Mason-MacFarlane. We had met before at a regimental reunion and he came out from behind his desk to greet me with a friendly handshake. On the wall behind him was a detailed map of Gibraltar showing gun installations and new caves hollowed out of the rock to accommodate the expanded garrison, as well as the harbour defences and minefields.
Generally known as Mason-Mac, he had a ponderously handsome Roman head that inclined slightly to the left as the result of a car accident some years ago. He was every inch the military man both in his bearing and in his speech, and I knew from his reputation that he was only completely comfortable in the company of other soldiers, whatever their rank.
I accepted his offer of a vintage Glenfiddich and we clinked glasses.
‘Well, Hannay, I’ve got a notion they only bring you in when something pretty big is in the offing.’
‘I should think that applies to almost everything these days,’ I said, savouring the fine flavour of the Scotch, ‘given the desperate circumstances.’
‘Yes, well I’m sure you’re on one of those hush-hush jobs. I expect you can’t tell me about it any more than I can tell you what’s brewing down in the harbour.’
He nodded towards the large square window over-looking the bay. We both gazed down at the bustling activity below. The towering cranes were hoisting nets filled with equipment on to the decks of the ships while brawny dockers rolled fuel drums up the gangplanks.
‘At a guess, I’d say a relief convoy for Malta is on the cards,’ I observed.
Mason-Mac nodded soberly. ‘It’s certainly no secret that the place is likely to go under unless supplies reach them in the next few weeks. And as the gateway to the Mediterranean, Gibraltar has to hold firm.’
‘Gibraltar has been besieged before,’ I recalled, ‘and I must say your defences look formidable.’
‘The Spanish have some impressively huge guns lined up over on their side,’ said Mason-Mac, ‘and if they took it into their heads to start a bombardment, we’d be in for a rough time.’
‘Then it’s a good thing for us that in spite of being chums with Hitler and Mussolini General Franco’s chosen to remain neutral.’
‘Our chaps in Madrid are busy keeping all the important Spaniards sweet with everything from flattery to out and out bribery,’ said the governor with a rueful smile. ‘Of course, after the horrors of their civil war, Spain’s in a ghastly state. What they want is security to rebuild and food to eat. If they were to be blockaded, it’s likely the whole country would starve.’
I waved my glass in the direction of Spain. ‘So those guns out there are likely to stay silent, then.’
‘Well, Hitler would dearly love to send an armoured column down through Spain to come blasting across the isthmus.’ Mason-Mac flexed his shoulder like a boxer readying for a fight. ‘Fortunately the Spaniards have too much pride to simply step aside and let them pass, so we’ve been spared such an assault so far.’
‘From what I’ve seen at the airfield, you’re well equipped for an aerial defence.’
‘Those planes’ primary purpose is to guard the convoys passing into the Med. We’re too far from the Italian airfields for them or the Germans to maintain any sustained bombing campaign against us. Back in ’40, after we’d sunk the French fleet to keep it out of Hitler’s hands, some Vichy bombers showed up to take their revenge. Since then though they’ve stayed out of the picture. No, our danger comes from a different direction.’
He gazed down at the waters of the bay. ‘If you look out over to the mainland you can see Algeciras. The Italians have set themselves up in a villa there where they keep a very expensive pair of binoculars trained on our harbour. Somehow they’ve managed to establish some sort of base under the noses of the Spaniards and they use it to send divers out to plant explosives under our ships.’
‘That’s a long way to swim.’
Mason-Mac took a moment to refresh our drinks before explaining further.
‘Well, it seems one of their chaps is a bit of a genius at this underwater stuff. He’s designed a two-man torpedo they can ride under the waves. It has a detachable explosive head that can be attached by magnets to the hull of a ship. We do our best to catch them with depth charges, and our own divers work like blazes to find the mines and pull them loose before they go off.’
‘Perhaps Spain isn’t as wholeheartedly neutral as one might like.’
‘There are certainly plenty of Nazi sympathisers over there. With eight thousand workers coming across the border every day, we have to be on constant alert for spies and saboteurs. That isn’t why you’re here, is it, to help us weed out the bad ’uns?’
‘I’m afraid not. I’m here to find a Greek archaeologist, a Dr Adriatis.’
‘Adriatis?’ Mason-Mac raised a vexed eyebrow. ‘Well, she’s here all right, and frankly she’s a right bloody headache.’
12
AN ENCOUNTER WITH ARTEMIS
This comment of the governor’s did not sound promising.
‘How do you mean, a headache?’
‘At this point we simply don’t know what to make of her.’ Mason-Mac made a disgruntled noise at the back of his throat. ‘She arrived here aboard a Polish freighter and started making enquiries about transport to Morocco.’
This seemed to confirm what Professor Owen had already told us. ‘But she wasn’t able to get away?’
‘When an unknown foreigner turns up on Gib trying to get into Vichy territory, it sets off a few alarms, so we brought her in for questioning. All she would tell us was that she wanted to carry out some archaeological excavation, but exactly where and with whom she wouldn’t say. Some of our security chaps are afraid she might be a spy. You’ll appreciate what a concern that is, so we’ve confined her to the Regent Hotel while we look into her background.’
‘I can tell you that she did graduate from Oxford with a first class degree in history and archaeology,’ I assured him, ‘and I believe she is engaged in some sort of historical research.’
‘I suppose you can vouch for her, then?’
‘I’ve never actually met her, but I’ve been told that she has knowledge vital to our operation.’
The governor was sceptical. ‘I don’t see what archaeo logy has got to do with the war, but I suppose you know what you’re doing.’
‘To be honest, it might turn out to be a wild goose chase,’ I confessed. ‘On the other hand it could mean the difference between victory and disaster.’
Mason-Mac swallowed the last of his Scotch and set the empty glass down on his desk. ‘Tell you what, then, I’ll have Stark book you and your party into a couple of rooms at the Regent. You can talk to her there yourself, see if you can get more out of her than we could.’
The drive to the hotel took us to the very highest level of Gibraltar town, which granted us a lofty view out over the harbour and the Atlantic beyond. Once inside, CPO Stark left us to make enquiries on our behalf. We did not have long to wait.
‘The Greek lady is out in the side garden, sir, indulging in some sort of exercise, so I’ve been informed,’ he told us when he returned.
‘You don’t suppose she’s out there doing calisthenics, do you?’ Dougal wondered.
‘Whatever she’s up to, I think I’d better speak to her alone,’ I said. ‘From what the governor told me, she’s wary of authority and has been keeping tight-lipped about whatever she knows.’
‘If that’s the case,’ said Jaikie, ‘then the sight of a whole gang of us would most likely make her close up like a clam.’
‘While you find the lady, so to speak, I’ll sort out your rooms and get these two gents settled in,’ Stark suggested.
‘Right you are, chief,’ I agreed.
‘One last thing, sir,’ he cautioned as we parted. ‘I hear she takes quite a bit of handling, so you be sure to watch out for yourself. Lay on plenty of the por favor, if you take my meaning.’
I gathered his advice was for me to take a gentle approach as opposed to the more pressing interrogations the archaeologist had been subjected to thus far. He even seemed to imply that my own safety was at stake. Only when I stepped out on to the lawn did I fully appreciate the warning.
The sinking sun was casting long shadows across the grass. Beyond them, thirty yards ahead of me to my left, stood an athletic young woman of middle height with a wave of luxuriant black hair pouring down her back. She was dressed in a short-sleeved blouse, khaki trousers and hiking boots, and a quiver of arrows was slung under her shoulder.
In her left hand she gripped an ashwood longbow while her bronzed right arm was flexing back on the string, her narrowed eyes fixed upon a target far off to my right. As I walked towards her she pivoted elegantly about to face me and gave the bow a full draw with the arrow pointed directly at my chest.
I stopped in my tracks and raised both hands to signify my harmless intent.
‘Are you another policeman?’ she demanded, with only the barest trace of an accent.
‘No, I’m not a policeman,’ I answered, keeping my hands up and summoning what I hoped was a winning smile. ‘I’d like to think I’m a friend.’
Her head tilted quizzically. ‘A friend? We shall see.’
With that she swung about and loosed off the shaft, driving the arrow directly into the gold, right in the middle of a cluster of four others.
I took a hesitant step closer. ‘You are Dr Karissa Adriatis?’
Lowering the bow, she turned to face me directly. ‘Of course I am. Why else would you be bothering me?’
It was impossible not to be struck by that beautiful, olive-toned face. The noble length of her nose suggested a perpetual curiosity, while her wide grey eyes bespoke the broad intelligence which drove that questing nature.
‘My name is Richard Hannay,’ I told her, judging it best not to mention my military rank. ‘It was your colleague Professor Lucius Owen who told me I might find you here.’
‘So you have seen Professor Owen. He is well?’
‘He is recovering. He was abducted by German agents, though he is now safely back home.’
The girl’s full mouth tightened at the edges. ‘The professor mixed up with spies? Surely you are joking.’
‘I’m deadly serious. I believe you may be in similar danger.’
Dr Adriatis sauntered over to the target and began pulling out the arrows one by one. Over her shoulder she asked, ‘Why should I be in danger? I am a scholar pursuing innocent research.’
‘Even if you really believe that, it won’t protect you,’ I warned. ‘There are others who think you’re on the trail of something very dangerous.’
‘Then they are deceived by myths and legends, as many fools have been in the past.’ She examined the points of her arrows then dropped them into the quiver. ‘Tell me, how long do you intend to keep me a prisoner here?’
Her tone made it more of a challenge than a question.
‘It’s no intention of mine to make you a prisoner.’ With lowered hands I made a placating gesture in the hope of softening her defensive attitude. ‘I know you are on your way to meet Dr Armand Lasalle. It’s important that I find him too.’
Walking back from the target, Dr Adriatis positioned herself assertively before me with one end of her bow planted on the ground, her fingers grasping the other. I had the impression that in the barest instant she could snatch the weapon up and snap an arrow into place.
