The Secret War

by Dennis Wheatley

  Owing to the early hour at which they had started the morning was still only half spent, yet Lovelace was conscious of a growing anxiety as the time slipped away. They had formulated no plan as yet for their attack on Zarrif and had not even had an opportunity to reconnoitre the place where the Armenian was staying. Much thought and careful preparation would be necessary if he and Christopher were to stand any chance of pulling off this horrrible job and getting away safely afterwards. Lovelace was no fanatic and, although he felt that he must go through with the ghastly business now, he was determined to take every possible precaution which would give them the least hope of escaping with their lives. In a casual voice he asked Blatta Ingida Yohannes, “Do you happen to know Ras Desoum?”

  “Oh, yes,” the Abyssinian nodded. “He is one of the younger Rases; an able man who sometimes assists the Emperor in financial matters. He was educated in France but perhaps over-educated in some ways for he is not very popular among us.”

  “He has a castle on the north side of the town, hasn’t he?”

  “Yes. It is near my own home.”

  “I wonder if you’d mind driving us out there. I should rather like to see it.”

  “There is very little to see,” Yohannes replied, glancing at him with some surprise, “but I will do so if you wish.”

  Twenty minutes later they pulled up in front of a wide-spread rabbit-warren of low-roofed buildings, encircled by a wall, which abutted on the road. “This is Ras Desoum’s castle,” said Yohannes.

  “Castle!” echoed Christopher in amazement.

  The Abyssinian grinned all over his dark, cheerful face. “Yes. Any building which has three courtyards in this country is a castle. As you know the Ras, perhaps you would like me to see if he is at home?”

  “No, please don’t trouble,” Lovelace interposed quickly. “We don’t know him; only a friend of his whom he knew while he was in Paris. We’ll write him a line perhaps and ask if we may call in a few days time.”

  As he spoke Lovelace was thinking of the grim visit they intended to pay there before the night was out and his lazy, brown eyes were seeking to memorise everything possible about the ragged tangle of courts and structures. The place was rather like a miniature of Gibbi, the Emperor’s Palace. Through the open gates he could see natives swarming in the first court and passing in and out of long rows of squalid hutments which lined the walls. Further away a few higher roofs indicated more modern one-story buildings and at one spot there was a small watch-tower.

  Yohannes drove on again. “As you do not wish to make a visit here,” he said, “I will take you now to one of the most beautiful of our old churches.”

  His companions would have given much to escape this fresh excursion but there was no possible means by which they could do so.

  The church proved to be a gloomy, domed building something after the style of a mosque but lacking minarets. Its interior was dark and smelly. A number of incredibly dirty-looking priests squatted about telling their beads. The whole place reeked with decay and semi-pagan superstition.

  There were a few mosaics showing scenes from the life of Christ in which the figures had the big heads, great, staring, almond-shaped eyes, and thin, emaciated bodies seen in very early missals and Byzantine paintings.

  Yohannes treated them to a dissertation upon the importance of Abyssinia remaining free to develop her heritage of a distinctive culture, during which Lovelace found it difficult not to laugh.

  It might be true that with its warring barons, powerful churchmen, and slave population the real Abyssinia was eight hundred years behind the times but it possessed no chivalrous knighthood, seats of monastic learning, or gay-hearted troubadours as had medieval Europe; and to speak of this debased Coptic art, which had not advanced for centuries, as though it held the growing glory of early Gothic was patently absurd.

  Climbing back into the car once more they drove to Madam Idot’s café bar, where they drank cocktails of a sort.

  Valerie was growing used to the sight of lepers now that she had been in Addis Ababa for two days, they swarmed everywhere; but she was nearly sick when, as they left the bar, one woman tried to paw her with pale stumpy fingers from which the nails had fallen away. Yohannes drove the woman off with a sharp blow from his stick. It seemed that whips and sticks were the only method of enforcing order known to the ruling caste in Abyssinia. Even Christopher had realised now that, much as he liked Yohannes personally, his day and that of the class he represented was done. In common humanity it was high time that white men took over the administration of the hopelessly backward black Empire.

  For lunch Yohannes took them to the Deutsches Haus, a pension run by an honest German couple, renowned for having the best food in Addis.

  Over the meal he began to make plans for the afternoon. A visit to the hospital where the Empress herself supervised the tending of the wounded. It was very modern; a real sign of the progress they were making. Then they should see the new palace which the Emperor had built some years before to accommodate the Crown Prince of Sweden during his visit to Addis. But Valerie complained of a splitting headache and declared she was quite incapable of doing any more sightseeing that day. Her pitifully drawn face touched Lovelace to the heart, yet he was profoundly glad of this genuine excuse to get rid of their charming, but most unwelcome, cicerone.

  Blatta Ingida Yohannes expressed the most solicitous regret at Valerie’s indisposition, drove them back to their hotel at once and, having received their thanks, declared his intention of calling for them at the same hour the following morning.

  Christopher watched him go with some regret. In their short acquaintance he had developed a real liking for the sensitive, well-mannered young man, and he knew that it was the last they would see of him. By the following morning they would either be dead or on their way out of Abyssinia. Slowly, his heart working overtime, he followed Valerie and Lovelace up to their private sitting-room.

  “It’s an inside job,” Lovelace said immediately they had got rid of the interpreter and servants Yohannes had hired for them, whom they found lounging about the place.

  “A what?” asked Christopher wearily, sinking into a chair.

  “I mean there’s no hope of our breaking in from the outside as we did at Zarrif’s house in Athens. There’ll be niggers sleeping all over the place and we’d be certain to rouse some of them if we came in over the wall On the other hand, if we can once get inside we may succeed in remaining unnoticed among that big crowd made up of Ras Desoum’s household and hangers-on.”

  “How could you?” exclaimed Valerie.

  “Oh, not dressed as we are.” Lovelace gave her a reasssuring smile. “We’ll have to disguise ourselves as natives. I wish to God I spoke the language but I thought out a way to get over that coming back in the car. I mean to rig myself out as an Arab merchant. I can speak Arabic and I’ve posed as one before. We’ll buy a stock of goods from the bazaars and Christopher can come along as my porter. They’re used to Arabs peddling goods, all over Africa, so they’ll have no reason to suspect we’re not what we appear and Ras Desoum’s head servants probably know enough Arabic to barter with me for odds and ends. We must move quickly though. If we’re not inside that outer court by sundown we’ll be done, because they’re certain to close the gates then for the night to keep out beggars, robbers and hyenas.”

  “Aren’t we going to have an awful job getting this kit together in the time?” Christopher inquired.

  “I don’t know. I’m banking on the chance that Henrick Heiderstam will help us. I’m going down to the airport to try and get hold of him now—so long!”

  As Lovelace left them Valerie and Christopher stared miserably at each other. After a moment he came over and perched himself on the arm of her chair.

  “This is rotten for you, Valerie—isn’t it,” he said gently, “all your life mucked up because I’m a crazy fellow who must be risking his neck and the safety of his friends because he wants to make a better world;
but I’ll do my best to see that he gets out.”

  “He,” she repeated dully.

  “Yes, it’s my show—not his, and I can’t help liking him, although there’re moments when I’d gladly see him dead after what he did last night.”

  “Oh, Christopher!” she moaned. “I thought you promised you’d forget about that, and it wasn’t his fault—really.”

  “I know, I know,” he stood up impatiently, “but it needs two people who’re drawn to each other to make love, just as it needs two people who’re angry with each other to make a quarrel. Never mind about that though. He’s taking his chance with me when he might well remain here with you and leave me to do this ghastly job on my own. There’ll be time enough to talk of other things if either of us comes out alive.”

  “Oh, Christopher, don’t! don’t!” she pleaded and began to dab her eyes.

  Instantly he was all solicitude and knelt down to comfort her. For a long time they remained like that and Lovelace found them still huddled together when he returned.

  “It’s all right,” he announced abruptly. “I had the devil’s own job to persuade Heidenstam into helping us as, naturally, I couldn’t give away what we are up to. He consented in the end though; after I’d sworn by everything I hold sacred we intended nothing which could possibly harm the Emperor. Once he’d agreed he proved a real trump. He’s at the bazaar now getting us the merchandise we shall require and the kit necessary for us to rig ourselves out as Arabs. I got the stain for our faces at the chemist’s on the way back and I’ve hired a small car, in which we can drive ourselves out there, to be here at five o’clock. We’ll park it near Ras Desoum’s place so it’s handy for a quick get-away if our luck holds out. Heidenstam’s coming here immediately he’s got the goods and whatever happens he’s promised to take care of Valerie. He’ll take her to the airport directly we’ve gone and help her to see her plane’s fit to leave at a moment’s notice without any bother from the aerodrome people. If we fail to turn up he’ll place her in the care of Connolly at the American Legation by breakfast time to-morrow. The thing that worries me though is these cursed mountains. If we do get away dare we risk a flight through such difficult country by night?”

  “It’s that or a hundred to one on our being arrested for murder,” Christopher said slowly. “You see, we’ve got to leave here dressed as Arabs in daylight; there’s no time now to arrange for our changing anywhere. Even if we’re not recognised someone’s certain to notice us on our way out. Ras Desoum will raise the whole place directly I’ve had my talk with Zarrif and, as everyone knows everybody else’s business in this wretched town, the hotel people will remember Valerie paying the bill here and that they never saw either of us leave. Then someone’ll remember the two Arabs and guess they were you and me. Our only chance is in the lead we may be able to get by making a dash for the airport in this car you’ve hired, but if we wait there till dawn orders are certain to arrive to stop all planes leaving.”

  “The only alternative is to go to earth, but that’s going to be mighty difficult among a native population. We’d never be able to get hold of the plane again then and we’d be almost certain to be recognised if we tried to get away later by the railway.”

  Valerie sighed. “Don’t worry. I only wish a night flight through the mountains was the worst we had to face. The plane’s a good one and there’s only about eighty miles of dangerous country to cover. After that we shall be able to follow the valley of the Awash river. If you can only reach the airport I’ll back myself to do the rest.”

  “Bless you,” said Christopher, while Lovelace looked his admiration and his thanks.

  She shrugged. “That’s nothing. I’ve tackled far more difficult flights in these last few years. It’s Anthony we should thank for having made all these arrangements so skilfully.”

  “Yes, he’s a wonder,” Christopher agreed.

  “No.” Lovelace shook his head. “Just fairly competent, that’s all, and as nervous as a two-year-old. I wish to God we were all safe out of here. Let’s have tea, shall we?” He rang the bell and slumped into a chair.

  Valerie thought her heart would break as she looked at him. He seemed years older than he had the night before; the lines about his mouth and eyes were deeper now. She felt she could not possibly let him go—yet she knew that she must.

  Over tea they spoke little, although Lovelace strove to keep the conversation going. He did not feel like a pipe. Somehow even smoking seemed an effort at this high altitude but he put one on, after his second cup, in order to try and appear normal, while he talked of the difference between the show-places they had seen and the stagnant poverty which met the eye in every street.

  Soon after, Henrick Heidenstam arrived with a big suit-case and the three men went into Lovelace’s room to change.

  When they returned Valerie would not have recognised either of her lovers if she had met them in the street. Lovelace had transformed himself into a fine-looking Arab and Christopher into an unusually handsome black with a hump on his back; which was actually formed by a ruck-sack beneath his burnous containing certain kit they might require.

  Henrick Heiderstam looked at her. “You know, of course, the work your friends are engaged upon?”

  She nodded silently.

  “Will you add your assurance to theirs that they intend nothing which could harm the Emperor? The fact that he cannot afford to pay my salary any more does not affect my loyalty to him and I must be certain on this point.”

  “I give you my word of honour,” she said slowly.

  “Thank you.” The young Swedish airman smiled at her before turning to the others. “My servant has put the goods from the bazaar into the back of your hired car. I went down to see to that while you were dressing, so all is ready for your departure now.”

  Christopher took both Valerie’s hands in his and gave her a long, steady look while he pressed them so hard that she thought he would crush her fingers. He raised them to his lips, released them suddenly and strode out of the room.

  Lovelace hesitated for a second, gave her a last smile, and made to follow; but Valerie raised one hand to stay him and he caught her jerky whisper: “I meant every word I said in—in my letter.”

  “Letter?” he repeated in a puzzled tone. Then Christopher’s voice came impatiently from the corridor, “Come on! We don’t want the whole hotel staff to see us in these clothes.”

  “Coming!” Lovelace sang out. Heidenstam was still with them in the room and there was no time to ask her now to explain what she meant. With a murmured, “Good-bye—my dear,” he left her.

  Valerie pushed past Heidenstam and ran to the doorway. She was just in time to catch a last glimpse of the two white-robed figures as they turned out of the corridor to go down the service staircase. She closed her eyes and leant against the wall wondering if she would ever see either of them alive again.

  CHAPTER XXIV

  THE MILLS OF GOD GRIND SLOWLY …

  Lovelace and Christopher saw that they would have no difficulty in getting into the first courtyard of Ras Desoum’s so-called “castle.” They had escaped all but casual glances from the numerous servants as they left by the back entrance of the hotel, found Heidenstam’s man waiting round the corner with their hired car, drove out in it and parked it ready for immediate flight under cover of some low trees. Now, with a miscellaneous assortment of goods dangling from their arms and shoulders, they walked towards the entrance of the Ras’s residence.

  A stream of natives was constantly passing in and out, the big doors in the low wall stood wide open, and no guards or porters were present to challenge newcomers. The two pseudo-Arabs trudged through the gates, bowed under their burdens, and glanced cautiously round.

  The scene was not unlike that in a mean quarter of Baghdad or Damascus, Lovelace thought, except that it lacked colour. These people seemed cursed with a dreary spirit in addition to their poverty and hardly a splash of red, blue or green broke the monotony of black, wh
ite and grey. The court proved far larger than it had appeared from outside as the many buildings in it tended to obscure the full view. In one corner there was a big corral for cattle; further along one into which several hundred mangy-looking sheep were tightly packed. Humans swarmed everywhere, men, women and children; all but the latter robed in clothes to their necks. They wandered slowly and apparently aimlessly about; stood in groups heatedly disputing or sat on their haunches gazing listlessly before them. There were mules, donkeys, goats, chickens and half-starved dogs all over the place, the beasts of burden tied up casually to anything that came handy, the rest scavenging among the offal that stank to heaven.

  Christopher noticed two negroes chained to each other. They squatted side by side and were chatting quite happily together. Lovelace caught the direction of his glance and muttered, “a debtor and his creditor; they’ll be chained like that until the debtor pays. These people are Gallahs, Guragis and Beni Shankalis—mostly freed slaves, I expect. Come on, let’s try our luck at getting into the second court.”

  They made their way slowly through the maze of squalid hutments until they reached another gate. It was open but a fierce-looking Gallah warrior leaned indolently against the heavy, wooden door post. As they approached he barred their passage by lowering his long spear.

  Lovelace spoke to him in Arabic but the man obviously did not understand so they began to display their goods and act a pantomine of selling with a handful of small money. Still the fellow shook his head with a sullen frown. Lovelace slipped a few gersh into his hand, about a shilling, upon which he bared his white, even teeth in a fearsome smile and allowed them to pass.

  The second court seemed to be allotted to Ras Desoum’s household troops and their families. They were better clad, more prosperous-looking, and many of the men carried rifles slung over their shoulders.