The silhouette turned sharply, glanced back up at the towering hulk of the Marmaris, then beckoned to Lock.
‘Quickly, quickly, sahib,’ Singh called back softly.
‘Here, Sid. Catch!’
Lock tossed his Beholla to Singh who caught it like a cricket ball just level to his left shoulder. Lock pushed himself away from the hull and swam the few feet towards the dinghy.
Singh held out a huge paw and Lock grasped it firmly. The Indian practically yanked Lock up out of the water and dropped him into the dinghy. Singh released the tie-rope and with an oar pushed away from the Marmaris and out into the river. Soon the current grabbed ahold of them and with Singh pulling at the oars with graceful power, they were whisked rapidly away.
Lock kept low, chest heaving, as he caught his breath, and watched the Marmaris. But no one appeared at the bow. He turned, grabbed hold of the rudder and grinned up at Singh.
‘Thanks, Sid,’ Lock said.
Singh bobbed his head. ‘I was thinking … that you may be needing … a quick exit, sahib … when Bing Ham Smith … appeared at the Shaitan … with a purple face … that would make … the sergeant major … most jealous.’
‘Appeared?’ Lock said.
‘Yes, sahib … The Espiegle was soon … running aground … so General Townshend … Major Ross … and that horse’s arse … Colonel Godwinson … and that other … horse’s arse … if you will forgive … my rudeness, sahib … Bing Ham Smith … transferred along … with Captain Dunn … to the gunboat … Comet.’
Lock laughed. ‘Yes, I saw Dunn’s pennant on the Comet and guessed as much. But you tell it how it is, Sid. Horses’ arses, one and all.’
‘Yes, sahib … But there was much … arguing when … the officer sahibs … pulled up … alongside the Shaitan … and came aboard.’
‘Arguing?’
‘About you, sahib … Trouble … bad, bad trouble … sahib … Not good … Talk of … disobeying orders … of assaulting … a superior officer … of desertion … of this bloody rubbish … assassination and … court martial … business, sahib.’
Lock nodded his head sagely. Suddenly he didn’t feel so elated.
‘So nothing new, then,’ he sighed.
‘There was no … blue eyes on … the barges either … at all, sahib … Only brown … and green … and frightened … ones.’
‘I didn’t think there would be, Sid, but thanks anyway.’
‘And nobody seemed … to know the name … Binbaşi Feyzi … either, sahib … Or of … Wassmuss.’
Lock turned his head and looked blankly at the passing bank. ‘Bugger.’
‘Yes. Bloody … bugger, sahib,’ Singh said.
‘More than you think, Sid. I’ve just added murder to that list.’
‘Sahib?’
‘Lieutenant Harrington-Brown,’ Lock said, nodding over his shoulder at the receding bulk of the Marmaris. ‘I just stuck my knife in his chest. Trouble is, I didn’t have time to retrieve it before Bingham-Smith arrived on the scene.’
‘I do not … understand … sahib.’
‘It’s engraved. The knife. With my name, Sid. A gift from Amy. Pretty damning evidence.’
Singh shook his head and stopped rowing for a moment. ‘No, sahib, I do not understand. You say you killed the lieutenant sahib?’
‘In self-defence, Sid, I assure you. Bastard tried to kill me first.’
‘Oh,’ Singh said, looking dubious.
‘I was expecting, hoping, that Wassmuss as himself … or in the guise of Binbaşi Feyzi … or something … would be on that ship, Sid. Some evidence to help clear me of this ridiculous accusation. Only I didn’t find him,’ he sighed. ‘I found a dead German, all right. He had my knife in him, too, would you believe.’
‘Sahib?’
Lock waved the question away. ‘Never mind. He wasn’t Wassmuss. But the place had been ransacked and I think someone, which turned out to be Harrington-Brown, was trying to rig the ship’s magazines to explode. You know, to destroy the entire vessel.’
Singh was bobbing his head, but his face was a picture of confusion.
Lock smiled. ‘I think Harrington-Brown worked for Ross, Sid, for the White Tabs. Only he was the rat, too. The one we’ve suspected was working within our organisation helping the Germans. A double-agent. Hell, he could have been German as well, for all I know. The major will be able to find out. If I can ever get to him without being arrested first.’
‘I think, sahib, that the major sahib is well aware that you are in deep deep trouble. He was the one who signalled for me to slip away. I took him to be meaning that I get you out of there.’
‘But where to?’
‘The Shaitan, sahib. We are to rendezvous upriver where the reed marsh ends.’
‘How far?’
‘Perhaps two miles.’
‘Well, let’s hope the Comet doesn’t catch us up.’ Lock glanced over his shoulder again, but could see nothing coming up behind them.
‘Do you think, sahib,’ Singh said, ‘that this Wassmuss could be in Amara?’
Lock turned back to face his friend again. ‘Perhaps, Sid. But I’m beginning to think that he was never here in the first place. Nasiriyeh is where I was supposed to have killed this Turkish general, so why would Wassmuss, or Feyzi, not be there? Ross said he had intelligence that Feyzi was one of the commanders on the Tigris front, but I’m beginning to think that he’s been playing me, Sid.’ Lock shrugged. ‘Either that, or perhaps it was false information supplied by Harrington-Brown, to throw me off the scent and get me into more trouble. I just don’t know what to think anymore.’
Singh took up the oars again and started to row once more, pulling their dinghy smoothly and rhythmically on upriver and away from the burning Marmaris and the wrath of Bingham-Smith and Godwinson.
Lock shook his head. ‘Shit, Sid. I can’t get arrested again. I must get to Ross before anyone else.’
Singh bobbed his head and smiled. ‘Do not worry … sahib … The major sahib … is on the Shaitan … also … He did not return … to the Comet.’
Lock let out a sigh of relief. ‘All right then, Sid. The Shaitan it is.’
He leant back and then remembered the pack of Pall Mall’s he’d taken from Harrington-Brown. He put his hand in his pocket and swore, pulling a soggy mess of tobacco leaves and paper and card out of his pocket. He cursed and tossed them into the river, turning his gaze to the passing landscape again, flat, empty and reed-choked.
The moon was still high and bright as they glided on towards another turn in the Tigris. Rounding the bend, Lock could see up ahead in the next reach of the river, pushed right against the western bank, another marooned vessel. As they got closer, Lock could see it was the Turkish steamer Mosul. Strung out behind her in a ragged row, all at odd angles like a discarded toy, was a lighter and seven mahailas packed with soldiers. They were crying and moaning against what must be a suffocating crush. The steamer was signalling downriver towards the British and Lock glanced over his shoulder to see a distant light flashing back. The Comet perhaps?
The thought that he should search this vessel crossed Lock’s mind, but he quickly dismissed it as a foolish idea. He knew Wassmuss wasn’t here now and he didn’t have time to delay, not with Bingham-Smith somewhere close behind. Getting to Ross was the priority now.
Singh rowed quietly past the Mosul, and Lock watched as the haunted faces of so many Turk Mehmetçiks stared back at them, all as white as ghosts in the moonlight.
‘That lot should slow the general and his entourage down for a while,’ Lock said. ‘All right, Sid, hand me an oar and let’s try and catch up with the Shaitan as quick as possible.’
2. See Kingdom Lock
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Two hours later, just as the first streaks of dawn were beginning to break up the steel-grey sky, Lock was sat behind the wheelhouse of the Shaitan having his latest head wound cleaned and stitched. He sucked his teeth against the stinging pain as the young sai
lor designated with the task of being the gunboat’s M. O. worked away diligently with a hot needle and thread.
Major Ross was standing nearby watching, arms folded, unlit pipe jammed between his lips, a deep scowl etched on his forehead. Lock’s eyes kept being drawn to the major’s face, but neither man said anything, as they waited for the M. O. to finish.
‘There you are, sir. Nasty gash, but it’ll heal in time. Try to keep it dry.’
Lock nodded. Thank you …?’
‘Ralph, sir, Able Seaman Ralph Amos.’ He gave a quick smile, and began to pack away his medical kit.
‘You done this before, Ralph?’ Lock said, tentatively touching the tender and jagged scar above his ear.
‘Mmm, hmmm, yes, sir. I was practising to be a vet before the war.’
‘A vet?’
‘That’s right, sir. Well, if that’ll be all?’
‘Have you a cigarette? Mine got a little … damp.’
Able Seaman Amos pulled out a packet of Capstan Navy Cut and offered them to Lock.
Lock took one of the cigarettes. Amos struck a match and Lock leant towards the flame and inhaled deeply.
‘Much obliged,’ Lock said, with a sigh of tobacco smoke.
Able Seaman Amos gave a quick salute and left the two officers alone.
Lock pulled himself to his feet. ‘Good to see you, sir.’
Ross took his pipe out of his mouth and stuffed it in his pocket. ‘I’m sure it is, laddie, rather than the colonel.’ He shook his head. ‘Good God, Lock, what in the hell were you thinking?’
‘Sir?’ Lock frowned, a little mystified as to why the major was being so short with him.
Ross glanced into the wheelhouse and at the backs of the two naval men standing there, the coxswain and Lieutenant Singleton. Ross took Lock’s elbow and guided him out of earshot, towards the stern. He lowered his voice.
‘You know very well what I mean, running around with an important prisoner behind enemy lines, risking him getting shot while you join the attack on the redoubts. You should have brought him to me straight away.’
Lock pulled up. ‘I wasn’t going to jeopardise my mission by stopping and escorting the liva amiral back to the Espiegle. I was behaving like a Kommando, sir, as you instructed. And it worked.’
‘And how do you come to that conclusion?’
‘I disabled the electric switch to the mines, capturing a senior enemy officer along the way. As well as some important documents and other … evidence.’
‘Documents?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You have them now?’
‘No. I gave them to Bingham-Smith to pass on to you.’
Ross shook his head. ‘I received no such thing.’
‘Bastard,’ Lock said, taking a thoughtful puff on his cigarette. ‘Still, it was mostly rubbish, dull administrative papers, memos and stores lists, quartermaster stuff. A few maps of the redoubts, as well as a detailed circuit diagram of the mines. I kept hold of that. And, more importantly, I kept hold of this. Here.’ Lock pulled a damp, folded piece of paper from within his hatband and handed it to the major.
Ross opened up the document carefully and read through it.
‘Do you recognise any names, sir?’
Ross shook his head. Then he nodded. ‘Yes, a few.’
‘How about …?’ Lock leant over and tapped Godwinson’s name.
Ross pursed his lips. ‘I see it, laddie. I see it.’
‘And the signature at the bottom, sir. ‘G’. Remember the telegram Aziz Azoo intercepted?3 About the raid on Basra? That was also signed ‘G’.’
Ross nodded. ‘Yes, I thought then that it could refer to Lieutenant Colonel von der Goltz, the vice-president of the War Council under Enver Pasha.’
‘And you don’t now?’
Ross stroked his moustache, but didn’t commit to an answer.
‘What’s going on, sir?’ Lock pressed.
‘I really don’t know, laddie. Tell me,’ Ross said, looking up from the paper, ‘why didn’t you have the prisoner transferred to the Espiegle?’
‘The liva amiral? Because he was of more use being on the Shaitan, sir. Helping to spot the mines and so let us keep pace with the retreating Turks.’
‘That’s not the only reason, though, is it?’
Lock avoided the major’s glare, and stared off at the passing landscape.
‘Lock?’
‘Wassmuss,’ Lock said after a moment.
‘Wassmuss?’ Ross repeated.
Lock nodded. ‘Or Binbaşi Feyzi. They are one and the same, sir. The liva amiral informed me that a German was running operations, so I followed up on that, followed the clues.’
Ross sniffed and gave a faint shake of his head.
‘Am I or am I not a White Tab agent?’ Lock said, a hint of anger building in his voice.
‘Yes,’ Ross said.
‘Then, sir, as a White Tab agent, I acted on the evidence I found that suggested Wassmuss was nearby, or at least that a member of his spy network was.’
‘What about this other evidence you mentioned?’ Ross said.
Lock took a final drag on his cigarette, then dropped the stub to the deck and crushed it out with his boot. He pulled out the red-spotted handkerchief and the postcard he had taken from Harrington-Brown. He handed the postcard to Ross and carefully opened the handkerchief up in his palm to reveal the six translucent pearls.
‘I discovered these on the Marmaris. The liva amiral also had a bag of pearls in his possession. But he said they were payment. For military duties. One thing is for certain, though, these pearls seem to be in the possession of a great many senior officers along the Tigris.’
‘Well, these are in the possession of most of our men along the Tigris, laddie,’ Ross said, looking down at the postcard of the naked girl.
‘The other side, sir.’
Ross turned the postcard over and squinted.
‘The writing’s a little faded, been in the water. But it’s still legible. Just,’ Lock said.
Ross was frowning again as he read through the list of names.
‘I think Braut and Bräutigam are German for—’
‘Bride and groom,’ Ross nodded. ‘Yes, I know, Lock. But what does it …’ He trailed off, frowning, tapping the card against his teeth as his eyes glazed over, deep in thought.
‘A kill list? Your name’s on there. As is the general’s.’
‘Bride and groom,’ Ross repeated with a shake of his head. ‘I don’t …’
‘Amy and Casper?’ Lock said. ‘It would fit with the general and Colonel Godwinson being on the list.’
‘But they are all men, Lock. There’s no women’s names.’
‘There is that, sir, yes.’
‘Where did it come from?’
‘I can’t be certain, but I think from the German officer I found dead on the Marmaris.’
‘Can’t be certain?’
‘Well, the card and the pearls wrapped in the handkerchief weren’t actually on the German officer when I found him.’
‘I don’t understand, Lock,’ Ross said, scowling as Lock put the handkerchief in the major’s palm.
‘They were on Harrington-Brown.’
‘How did he explain them?’
‘He didn’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I didn’t have the chance to ask him.’
Ross gave Lock a cold, hard stare. ‘Why?’ he said slowly.
‘I killed him.’
‘Jesus Christ!’ Ross blurted out, glancing back at the wheelhouse and pulling Lock further away. ‘You did what? Why?’ he hissed.
‘Self-defence.’
‘Balls!’
Lock shook his head. ‘The rat, sir.’
‘The rat? What rat? Christ, what ar—’
‘The rat in the White Tabs, sir. It was Harrington-Brown.’
Ross stared back at Lock in stunned silence. ‘My God … But that would mean—’
‘That w
ould mean,’ Lock said, ‘that Wassmuss has been one step ahead of us all the time. Sir.’
Ross shook his head and stared down at the items in his hands, at the pearls and the postcard. He quickly put them in his pockets and fished out his pipe again and tobacco pouch. He began his ritualistic filling of the pipe, his hands working automatically. He patted his pockets for a match.
‘Oh, here, sir,’ Lock said. He pulled out the Ronson ‘wonderlite’ strike lighter he’d taken from Harrington-Brown’s body, and offered it to Ross.
‘What’s this?’ Ross said, with a questioning frown.
‘Now you won’t have to keep borrowing my bloody matches. Sir.’
Ross snorted. He opened up the lighter and struck a flame, cupped it against the breeze and puffed his pipe to life. ‘Hmm, much obliged,’ he mumbled.
‘Harrington-Brown is a White Tab, isn’t he?’ Lock said.
Ross nodded absent-mindedly as he continued to puff away.
‘I have a theory, sir. It’s a little … fanti, a little wild, but …’
‘Go on,’ Ross puffed.
‘That Wassmuss is more than just one man.’
‘How so?’ Ross frowned, refocusing on Lock’s face.
‘Could it be that he isn’t a “he” at all, but a group, like the White Tabs?’ Lock said. ‘A group given a man’s name to add an air of mystery.’
The major pulled his pipe from his mouth. ‘I’m listening.’
‘It would explain how “he” seems to be in more than one place at a time,’ Lock added. ‘First “he’s” just ahead of us on the Tigris outside of Amara. Then “he’s” supposedly held up in Nasiriyeh.’
Ross nodded. ‘My God, laddie. But that’s brilliant. I don’t know why it never occurred to me. I mean, all the evidence points to such a … “fanti” theory, as you put it. Before I left Basra, I heard tell that Wassmuss, “he”, was believed to have been leading a raid in Russian Persia. It would explain quite a lot. Perhaps even your shooting. After all, espionage is also about misinformation and misdirection. Sowing the seeds of doubt is just as powerful a weapon as planting a bomb or inciting jihad.’
‘It would also explain the ridiculous legend of Wassmuss’s mastery of disguise. One minute a fat businessman, the next a wiry Persian camel dealer, the next a stocky chauffeur to the APOC.’
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