Judas Country

by Gavin Lyall

  He turned to Eleanor and smiled his best smile. ‘If you’ve got any money, we could all go and have a quiet drink at the Ledra.’

  Chapter 11

  Miss Travis had a little trouble getting used to the idea that two grown men could be completely broke, right down to the point at which she had to pay off the taxi. I spent a little time explaining about the laws of receivership and none at all telling where our last mils had gone.

  We were just ahead of the lunchtime rush at the Ledra bar, so we got a corner table by the french windows and the waiter came across and said gravely: ‘Good morning, Captain Cavitt. It’s been a long time.’ And Ken said indeed it had and why didn’t we all just drink whisky sours to make the ordering simpler? When Ken gets sparking, you don’t find much room to argue, so we all had whisky sours; from Mitzi’s expression as she sipped, it was the first she’d ever met.

  When nobody was overhearing, Ken laid the folded paper on the table. ‘Your father posted it last night, the Sergeant took it out and opened it. Roy took it off him.’

  Mitzi’s hand reached for it, then stopped, as if she were suddenly scared.

  Slowly, hands trembling just a little, she unfolded the paper. ‘Have you read it?’

  I said: ‘We don’t read German.’

  She skimmed it quickly, ending on a frown. ‘But it does not say where is the sword.’

  Ken lifted his glass and took a gulp and put it down again, face expressionless.

  Mitzi said: ‘Who was it being sent to?’

  He gave her the envelope. ‘Have you heard of Pierre Aziz?’

  ‘I think my father … I think I have heard the name.’

  ‘How about Franz Meisler?’

  ‘Yes, he was working with my father in Israel. I think he is now in America.’

  I glanced at Eleanor. But she shook her head. ‘Say – d’you mind telling me just what that is?’

  Mitzi looked down at the paper again. ‘Only a … a description of a sword.’

  ‘May we hear it?’

  Mitzi sipped, cleared her throat and started. ‘The sword which we … in the tomb … at Akka … have found … is of … made of steel. With a name … on the … blade … of Ufert.’ She looked up doubtfully, but Eleanor nodded enthusiastically.

  ‘Ufert, that’s right. Twelfth-century German sword-maker. Go on.’

  ‘With … double-edged blade … straight … guardpiece … some traces of gilding on the Knaufl The knob?’

  ‘Pommel,’ Eleanor said.

  ‘Yes … which is of iron. With on one side … a gem of about 25 millimetres … perhaps a ruby.’

  Eleanor frowned. ‘That’s odd.’

  ‘Odd?’ said Ken. ‘A ruby 25 millimetres across? It’s a sight better than odd.’

  ‘No, I mean one set into a twelfth-century European sword. They hadn’t picked up the idea of decorating swords much, at that time. Sorry, go on.’

  Mitzi took another sip of her whisky sour, blinked and went on. ‘On the other side of the … the pommel … a … an inlay of gold wire … and enamel … in shape of a shield … three gold leopards on red.’

  ‘Three leopards!’ There was a sudden light behind Eleanor’s eyes – which were blue, I noticed for the first time.

  I said ‘So the owner kept a pet shop?’

  ‘No – it means the owner was probably Coeur de Lion. King Richard the Lion-Heart.’

  After a long time I said: ‘I suppose that would make it quite interesting, historical-wise.’

  Eleanor looked at me. ‘Just quite.’

  ‘I thought it was lions on the English whatsit.’

  ‘No, three leopards was Richard’s bearing. Lions came in just after. Mind, to a German sword-maker they were both as mythical as dragons.’ She’looked at Mitzi. ‘Is that all?’

  She’d been silently mouthing her way through the paper. ‘No … then is the measurements of the sword, and then where it was found: in the ruins of the church of Sainte-Croix.’

  I took out a pipe and started scraping it out. ‘What is that thing, then? – a sales brochure?’

  Eleanor said: ‘No. Well, yes. Sort of, perhaps. A sword like that would only have a limited intrinsic value—’

  Ken bent his eyebrows at her. ‘With that ruby?’

  ‘We-ell … there’s rubies and there’s rubies, particularly around that time. Twelfth-century swords aren’t exactly common – most of them were still made of iron and rusted away when they didn’t break, and I wouldn’t believe in this one if it hadn’t been found in a tomb where it might have been properly protected … But still, there’s a few around and as works of art they’re nothing and not great swords besides: the real European arms and armour came much later. But if you can tie that sword to King Richard and prove it’s one he carried on his Crusade … Well, name your price.’

  I said: ‘I thought naming prices was your end,’ and began to fill the pipe.

  ‘Well – start at half a million and it could go as high as one.’

  Ken started to say something but it jammed in his throat like a fishbone. Finally he said huskily: ‘Dollars?’

  ‘Sure.’

  You can smell a million dollars; you can taste it. But I’ve never been able to do more.

  Eleanor went on: ‘The nice thing is, it was found at Acre: that’s where Richard sailed home from. Probably he presented it to somebody, you know: “I must away but let my sword stand guard in Outremer until my return”.’ She looked a little abashed. ‘They did say things like that.’

  Ken said: ‘I bet they also said: “Sorry I can’t pay the ten ducats, but keep this until I’ve pushed through a tax raise”.’

  ‘Yes – the Crusaders were always in money trouble. You know, he could have found the tomb of Henry of Champagne.’ She turned to Mitzi. ‘Didn’t he tell you anything about this?’

  She shook her head quickly. ‘He was good at secrets. Only he said that he had found a most valuable sword.’

  I asked: ‘Who was Henry?’

  ‘He took over from Richard. He was quite a diplomat: kept a small kingdom going there without any military back-up. But he died a couple of years before Richard. Fell out of a window while reviewing some troops.’

  Ken said: ‘No wonder he’s remembered as Henry of Champagne.’

  ‘They didn’t invent the wine for another four hundred years. Anyway, Henry was supposed to have been buried in Sainte-Croix. So, the regulation thing would have been to leave the sword in place and whistle up other archaeologists to witness the find.’

  ‘And give it to the Israeli government.’ Ken said. ‘So instead, he wrote out this description, got his assistant to sign it, and hid the description in one place and the sword somewhere else. The real value comes when those two get together again – am I right?’

  Eleanor nodded. ‘Something like that. The description’s worth nothing by itself; the sword could be worth a few thousand – but the big museums wouldn’t touch it without any documentation.’

  There was a time while we just sat and thought. The bar-stools were filling up rapidly. A BEA captain I’d known in the RAF at one end, the usual bunch of journalists at the other, some Swedish officers in the middle.

  Mitzi cleared her throat nervously and said: ‘Then perhaps I should go and talk to this Herr Aziz in Beirut. Do you know how much it costs to go there?’

  ‘Costs?’ said Ken, appalled. ‘Costs? You’re talking to two men who own an airline. You’re our guests. However—’ he looked at his empty glass and then Eleanor ‘— could you spring for another round?’

  Kapotas raked a trembling hand through his hair. ‘You want what?’

  ‘Just the seventy-five pounds I’m owed already,’ I said pleasantly. ‘Only now, before the banks close. And, of course, tacit agreement to us using the aeroplane. I’m not asking for permission, you understand; only that you don’t notice.’

  ‘But you don’t expect me to …’ He seemed as much muddled as dazed. ‘But this is absurd. What do you
want to do with the plane?’

  ‘We just want to pop across to Beirut on – what would you call it? A merchant venture, perhaps.’

  ‘And you can participate,’ Ken joined in. ‘Don’t get the idea that we’re limiting your contribution just to the seventy-five that you owe Roy anyway. If you want to put in some more of your own, then naturally you share, pro rata, in the eventual profit.’

  ‘Of which,’ I added, ‘we have every confidence.’

  After a time, Kapotas said in a calm but slightly shaky voice: ‘Have you been drinking?’

  ‘A jar or two,’ I admitted. ‘But nothing noticeable.’

  Ken said: ‘Are you really trying to tell us that you’re turning down this unique opportunity?’

  Kapotas just looked at him.

  I said: ‘All right, but you’ll be sorry. So just write me the cheque for seventy-five and I’ll get round to the bank.’

  ‘I keep telling you, I can do nothing until Harborne, Gough—’

  ‘And we both know Harborne, Gough’s reckoning they can screw me by waiting until I get so bored I’ll fly the aeroplane home for nothing rather than pay my own fare. And we know the hotel’s got money in the bank here and, you must have some discretion about using it. So start.’

  He just looked stubborn.

  I sighed. ‘Well, we’ll get the girls to lend us the fare to Beirut and I’ll ring my bank and they can cable through a few quid there.’ I reached for my room key. ‘We’ll be checking out, then.’

  ‘But wait …’ Kapotas frowned at me. ‘What about the plane?’

  ‘It belongs to Castle. Harborne, Gough’ll probably send another pilot down to fly it back. You can’t expect me to stay on forever without pay, can you?’

  ‘But … the boxes of champagne—’

  He jerked his head in a small, significant nod at Ken.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I said cheerfully. ‘You can speak openly in front of my partner; he’s older than he looks. Those boxes? Do what you like with them. They’re not mine.’

  ‘But … what is in them …’

  Ken said quickly: ‘Does anybody know what’s in them?’

  ‘I don’t,’ I said. ‘They haven’t been opened.’

  ‘The one we … I opened here …’ Kapotas stuttered.

  I shrugged. ‘I don’t know what happened to that box. But I’m sure that if there was anything, say, illegal in it, then you’d have reported it to the police.’

  He glared. ‘I can still report it!’

  ‘Twenty-four hours late? And when you’ve had police crawling all over your hotel for half that time? Dear me.’

  There was a long silence.

  At last Kapotas said between his teeth: ‘I call this blackmail.’

  ‘It’s certainly a fascinating moral problem,’ Ken said thoughtfully. ‘There’s no doubt but that Roy is owed that seventy-five and that you’ve refused to pay—’

  ‘As receiver,’ Kapotas went back to his old refrain; ‘I am not responsible for debts incurred before Harborne, Gough took over. Therefore, I am not strictly acting for the old Castle International board, who hired Mr Case, but for the new owners, the debenture holders.’

  ‘But strictly,’ Ken said, ‘we aren’t blackmailing you: it’s not your money we’re after. I suppose you might say we’re putting the bite on your beloved debenture holders, but only by offering to help conceal what one of their agents – that’s you – did while acting on their behalf: to wit and namely, failing to disclose the illegal importation of what may be twelve boxes of unlicensed firearms by Castle International or their agent. That’s you,’ he said to me.

  I said: ‘I admire the grammar, but I lost the moral in there somewhere.’

  ‘I told you it was a fascinating problem. I bet they set it as a passing-out exam for Jesuits one day. And it gets better.’ He looked back at Kapotas. ‘You see, you don’t propose yourself to have anything more to do with those boxes, do you? But in order to protect you completely, we can’t be so negative. We have to act positively, possibly even commit a crime, by knowingly taking those boxes somewhere else.

  ‘You see the difficult moral position you’re putting us in?’ he added.

  ‘I’m putting YOU?’ screamed Kapotas.

  Ken nodded gently and said: ‘And we haven’t even begun considering your responsibility towards those boxes as assets of the company, which they must, prima facie, be assumed to be.’

  ‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘I hadn’t realised how fascinating it all is.’

  There was another long silence, except for Ken tapping on his front teeth and trying to make a tune by opening and closing his mouth while staring blankly at the switchboard.

  I asked: ‘What is that you’re trying to do?’

  Kapotas said: ‘But legally, you understand—’

  Ken said: ‘Vilja, Oh Vilja from the Merry Widow. It’s a difficult one, there’s a jump of over an octave in the beginning there.’

  ‘Ah, the Viennese influence, of course.’

  ‘Legally—’ said Kapotas.

  Ken looked at him, seeming surprised that he was still there. ‘Legally, you can go around and look up our old friend Inspector Lazaros and tell him you’re sorry you’re a day late but you’ve something important to confess. We won’t stop you.’

  I said: ‘I didn’t know anybody had done an arrangement of it for top third molars.’

  Kapotas took a cheque-book from his inside pocket.

  Chapter 12

  I phoned in a flight plan for takeoff at 3.45. We went out in a taxi, collecting Eleanor from the Ledra on the way, and she was pleasantly surprised to see me handling my own money again. I didn’t bother her with the details of how I’d got it.

  The others parked in the café while I arranged for refuelling. In fact, the Queen Air still had over thirty gallons aboard, which was enough to reach Beirut although not with legal reserves. But I was thinking well beyond legality: I wanted enough in the tanks for a fast departure if somebody blew the whistle on us. Back to Cyprus or further if the Lebanese got snotty, up to Adana in Turkey if the Cypriots asked for extradition. I didn’t really expect either, but a good pilot is always flying a hundred miles or so ahead of his aeroplane.

  Of course, one thing I couldn’t be sure about was where we’d go if Harborne, Gough suddenly woke up and decided we’d stolen the Queen Air. Maybe Baffin Land had some pensionable openings in civil aviation.

  Ken came into the Met office with me, just to remind himself. The map showed that last night’s storm had been part of a cold front going through; it was now somewhere in Syria, with its low-pressure hinge up in Turkey. Beirut was reporting about three oktas – or eighths – of cloud and 20-odd knots of wind from the south-west, visibility five miles. Fair enough; it is a north-east wind that brings the dust and smoke from Beirut out across the airport. I made a few notes and then switched to studying the weather further west and likely to come our way sooner or later. I’d been out of touch for a couple of days myself.

  We all make jokes about the Met boys, but most of their mistakes are matters of degree. A low gets deeper than expected, a front moves faster. But you can count on both low and front existing. And a pilot lives with the weather like living with a family. He watches the patterns of mood and illness come and go and, if he stays awake, he knows where he is in the pattern and doesn’t get any nasty surprises. If the North Atlantic has measles this week then Europe will have it in a couple of days; maybe more so, maybe less, but it’ll be there. God doesn’t wake up in the morning and say: ‘Now what shall I give ’em today?’ Except with hurricanes, maybe.

  Bar a few gaps, I’ve lived with the weather myself for the past twenty years. I knew what Ken meant when he said not knowing made you feel cut off.

  We got aboard at about half past three and the inside smelt like a hot oil well, so I left the door hanging down – the inside of it forms the steps – as long as possible. The interior of a Queen Air is about the height and width o
f a Volkswagen Microbus but there’s no standard layout. Castle Hotels had chosen to have five largish passenger seats and had scrapped the lavatory in favour of extra luggage space just aft of the door. Now part of that space was filled with the two frontmost seats which had been pulled off their rails to make room for the champagne boxes stacked either side of the narrow aisle, behind the cockpit. It looked a bit clumsy, but it put them right over the centre of gravity. Anyway, I hadn’t expected to be flying passengers until I’d got the seats back in place.

  Ken was already in the right-hand pilot’s seat when I squeezed through and started unpacking the checklists and Aerad guide from my briefcase.

  ‘God, but you keep a shitty aeroplane when I’m not around,’ he said. Well, I suppose the floor was just slightly smothered with pipe ash, used matches and crumpled pages off my navigation pad. I’d been meaning to do something …’

  I said: ‘I got involved. Have you remembered which way is up, yet?’

  He smiled, jerked his head back towards the stacked boxes and asked softly: ‘How did you resist opening that lot?’

  ‘If it’s what we think it is, we’ve got no alibi at all once they’re opened.’

  ‘I suppose not.’ He picked up the checklists and sorted them.

  Both side windows were open and a bit of breeze was limping through, but it wasn’t any snowstorm outside. Already my shirt was sticking to my back, and it would be nasty and clammy when we cooled off at 5,000 feet.

  The hell with it. Let’s get started. I went aft, whistled up a ground crewman with the statutory fire extinguisher, shut the door, made sure the girls were strapped in, then went forward and sat down.

  ‘Let’s go.’

  Ken started to read the checklist. ‘Brakes on … beacon light on … circuit breakers in … master switch …’

  I turned the ignition key and the aeroplane began to wake with a gentle hum. Needles stirred sluggishly on the dials. A thin whine as the boost pumps came on, and now we were working. I set up the engine control, Ken watching my hand, memorising the moves.