The Doomed Oasis

by Innes, Hammond;

  It was Gorde who answered. “Do you think it would have occurred to him to have the body flung at our feet like that if Charles had been killed by one of his men?” He was staring down at the bloody figure lying in the dust, his hands clenched. Then he looked up at the Emir and demanded to know where the body had been found, and when the Emir replied that his men had picked it up at the foot of the cliffs directly below the tower, he nodded his head slowly. As far as he was concerned, that settled it.

  It was very hot there in the sun, yet a cold shiver ran through me. I was remembering the solitary shot we’d heard that morning, and into my mind came Mrs. Thomas’s words: It was never Dafydd that was going to die.

  Colonel George was the first to recover. Ignoring the body, he dealt with the terms on which the fort would be evacuated and his forces withdrawn. And when the Emir finally agreed, he made the prearranged signal to his troops waiting on the Jebel al-Akhbar and withdrew his force into the desert, taking Whitaker’s body with him.

  Back at our old encampment we found the helicopter gone and one of the trucks belonging to the Jebel al-Akhbar detachment already returned. After interviewing the driver, Colonel George announced: “David Whitaker is apparently still alive. The helicopter’s gone up to bring him out.” He said it flatly, and behind me I heard Gorde murmur: “God help him! He’d have been better dead.”

  The helicopter took off from the fort, and when it landed they carried David to the shade of the headquarters-truck awning. When I saw him, I thought for a moment it was all over. His face was relaxed, the eyes closed; the flesh, tight-drawn, was bloodless. It was a death’s head, all skull and bone, and the skin like parchment. But then the eyes flicked open and he saw me. The cracked lips smiled and he tried to say something, but no words came. He was too dried up to speak. The eyes closed again and he went into a coma.

  The helicopter had also brought bin Suleiman out. He was badly wounded and very weak, but he was alive. Only Hamid was dead. They brought his body down and buried it beside Colonel Whitaker’s within sight of the Jebel al-Akhbar. Gorde stood with bared head and hard, frozen eyes as they laid his old friend to rest in his shallow desert grave, and Ruffini was there, sitting on the ground, his pencil moving steadily across the pages of the notebook held against his knee.

  The burial over, I went to talk to him. I wanted to persuade him to soft-pedal the fatal news. I was thinking of Sue rather than David. The boy was a hero and the newspapers were avid for news. And now the world was going to be told that he’d killed his father. I was probably the only person who could justify it, who understood the provocation. The public’s reaction would be one of revulsion. Sue would be torn to bits, her life made hell. I touched Ruffini on the shoulder. “About Colonel Whitaker,” I said.

  He paused, his face creased against the sun’s glare as he glanced up at me. “We talk about ’im later,” he said. And he added: “It is fantastic, the most fantastic story I ever write. There is this boy David, who by ’imself has forced the British Government to take action. And now this man they ’ave just buried—’is father, who is a great figure in the desert, a sort of …” He clicked his fingers, searching for a name. “It doesn’t matter. What matter is that ’e is dead, killed by a stupid tyrant, a sort of Arabian condottiere, in a lousy little mud town in the desert.”

  “You mean you think the Emir …” I checked, staring down at him.

  “And for what?” he demanded, his mind concentrated on assembling the English phrases he wanted. “’E kill him to blacken ’is son’s name, a ridiculous attempt to destroy this heroic young man. It is a tragedy, a great tragedy. And with the death of Colonel Whitaker, it is the end of an epoch in the desert, the last great Englishman in Arabia.…” He bent his head, his pencil flying again.

  I stared at him in astonishment. He’d been there. He’d understood what the Emir had said. And he didn’t believe him. His story would accuse the Emir of Colonel Whitaker’s murder, and because he was the only journalist here, the press would carry his version. I could only hope that the authorities would leave it at that.

  Colonel George took that story with him when he left shortly afterwards in the helicopter. He also took David, and because of that Gorde was left to travel by Land Rover. I was standing beside him as the helicopter took off. He turned to me, and I can still remember the rasp in his voice as he said: “If that little bastard of Whitaker’s lives, you’ll have a lot to answer for.”

  “How do you mean?” My mouth felt suddenly dry.

  “You sent him out here, knowing he’d killed a man, knowing he was a self-dramatizing little gangster. Fellows like that don’t change, and patricide is something every society abominates. He’s a hero now. But when the public learns the truth …” He stared at me, his eyes cold and hard. “Charles Whitaker was a man in a thousand, probably the greatest Englishman who ever made the desert his home. I’ve known him since I first came out to Arabia, and you can rest assured I’ll see to it that the truth is known.” He turned abruptly, without giving me a chance to say anything, and I watched him as he limped across to where Berry was organizing his convoy.

  Colonel George had placed a Land Rover at Gorde’s disposal and he left immediately, so that I had no opportunity to talk to him. And when I finally reached Sharjah, he was on his way back to England and it was already too late. David had been placed under arrest and an official statement had been issued to the press.

  part 3. the Court Stands Adjourned

  1.

  It was the third day of the trial and David Whitaker had gone into the witness box immediately after the lunchtime recess. Counsel for the Defence had taken him through the salient points arising from my evidence, with the object of showing his relationship with his father in the best possible light. Now, late in the afternoon, he had arrived at the crucial point—Colonel Whitaker’s visit to Fort Jebel al-Akhbar. The packed Court was very still, every eye on the fair-haired boy standing, neat and tidy, in the box, his arm in a sling and the sun-burnt face looking almost black in contrast with his light tropical suit.

  “I would like the Court to have a clear picture of your situation on that particular morning.” Counsel glanced down at his papers, his hands resting lightly on the desk in front of him. “By then you had been on the Jebel al-Akhbar seven days. Is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And there were only two of you left. Salim, Ali, and Hamid were dead; Grant had gone. There was just yourself and bin Suleiman, and you were both wounded.”

  “Yes.”

  “Had you been attacked during the night?”

  “No, it was some days since they’d made any attempt to take the fort.”

  “But you were under fire?”

  “They’d got men lying out in the rocks all round the fort, but we were all right as long as we remained in the tower. They’d fire a few shots once in a while just to remind us they were there, and at night they’d move up to the walls. But they didn’t bother us much. We were pretty used to them by then, you see.” Just the trace of a Welsh accent to remind the Court that this was the same boy who had run wild in Cardiff docks.

  The reporters were scribbling furiously. This was the big moment, and when the Court adjourned there would be a rush for the telephone to catch the daily papers before they went to press.

  “On the morning in question, were there any shots fired—other than the shot that killed your father?”

  “No, none.”

  “Did that strike you as unusual?”

  “I can’t remember that I thought about it. It was some time since any shots had been fired. They were lying quiet, you see, hoping we’d think there was nobody there and get careless. But we knew the bastards were there, waiting for us.”

  “So you remained inside the tower?”

  “Of course. I hadn’t been out of the tower since Mr. Grant came up to talk to me. There wasn’t any point. It was cooler there and the walls were good protection.”

  “Was there an
y other reason you didn’t leave it?”

  “I tell you, man, they were lying out there waiting for us. I wasn’t risking being shot at when there wasn’t any point.”

  “Quite so. But what I’m getting at is this: wasn’t it a fact that you were too weak by then to attempt a descent from the tower?”

  “Well, yes, I suppose so. Anyway, there wasn’t any reason for us to be wasting what little strength we had left to no purpose.”

  “Were you weak because of lack of water or lack of food—or was it because you were wounded that you hadn’t the strength to leave the tower?”

  “I tell you, there wasn’t any point.” His tone was irritable; he didn’t seem to understand what his Counsel was trying to establish.

  “When had you last had any food?”

  “I can’t remember. We’d some dried camel meat left, but it wasn’t any use to us. We couldn’t swallow it. We did try and chew it, but it was very painful, and in the end we didn’t bother.”

  “You couldn’t chew because of lack of water?”

  “Yes. We’d no saliva and our tongues were swollen and quite black. Our mouths were absolutely dry.”

  “Had you any water left?”

  “Captain Berry had given me a water bottle. We’d finished our own supplies and now that bottle was half empty.”

  “Your situation, then, was quite desperate.”

  “Pretty desperate.”

  “I want the Court to be absolutely clear about this.” Counsel paused, glancing from the Judge to the crowded press desks. “In your opinion, how much longer do you think you could have held out? In other words—” and here he spoke slowly and with great emphasis—“how long before you were dead of thirst?”

  David shook his head. “I can’t be certain. We’d have finished the water bottle that day. If we’d been left alone we might have stayed alive a few days more.”

  “You heard the evidence of Dr. Logan, who saw you when you arrived at Sharjah. He said you were in such a weak condition that he didn’t believe you could have lasted more than another twenty-four hours.”

  David’s head went up. “That all depends on how urgently you want to stay alive, doesn’t it? I’d have lasted longer than that. But not if they’d attacked us.”

  Counsel seized on this. “You say, not if they’d attacked you. Do you mean you were too weak by then to defend yourselves?”

  “That’s about it.”

  “Could you stand?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t try.”

  “Could you have lifted a rifle to your shoulder and fired it?”

  “If they’d attacked us, I expect I’d have managed somehow.”

  “But you were so weak that it would have required the urgency of an attack to give you the strength to lift even a rifle to your shoulder?”

  David hesitated. “I suppose so,” he murmured. And then in a clearer voice: “It’s difficult to explain to you people here. But everything was an effort by then. Everything,” he repeated.

  “Quite so. And if you couldn’t lift a rifle to your shoulder except in a moment of great urgency, then you’d hardly have had the strength to descend from the tower by that ladder and then climb back up again and pull the ladder—”

  “Objection!” Counsel for the Prosecution was on his feet, facing the Judge. “The Defence is putting words into the witness’s mouth.”

  But Counsel for the Defence had made his point. “I will rephrase the question, then.” And, turning to the witness box again, he asked: “Did you at any time on the morning in question, and before the Trucial Oman Scouts arrived to take over the fort, leave the tower for any purpose whatsoever?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Did you at any time attempt to lower the ladder?”

  “No.”

  The Court breathed an audible sigh.

  “One more question before we come to the moment of the meeting with your father: Did you know that the Trucial Oman Scouts would move into the Emirate of Hadd that day? In other words, had you any reason to suppose that your ordeal was nearing its end?”

  “None at all.”

  “We have the evidence of Mr. Grant that from their position six miles away beyond the Hadd border they could see the fort quite clearly through field glasses. Could you see them? In other words, could you see that over a dozen vehicles had materialized at that position during the night?”

  “No.”

  “As far as you were concerned, nothing had altered that morning—your situation remained as desperate?”

  “Yes.”

  “All you knew of what was going on in the world outside was what Mr. Grant had told you two days before.”

  “That’s right.”

  Counsel paused, again consulting his papers. “Now we come to the moment of your father’s arrival at the fort. You’d no reason to expect him?”

  “How could I?”

  “Quite so. I suppose you’ve no idea what time it was when he arrived?”

  David shook his head. “My watch had stopped. I’d forgotten to wind it a few days back. All I know is the sun had been up some time.”

  “Had you any warning that you were going to receive a visitor?”

  “There was some shouting—an order in Arabic not to fire. It was given by a man holding a white flag. The last time that had happened was when Mr. Grant came with Captain Berry.”

  “That was the occasion on which a treacherous attempt had been made on your life?” And when David nodded, Counsel added: “And on that occasion you had taken the precaution of sending bin Suleiman to the top of the tower, just in case. Did you take the same precaution this time?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “He was unconscious.”

  “And you hadn’t the strength to climb up there yourself?”

  “No.”

  “Would you tell the Court, please, what happened when your father arrived?”

  “Well …” David hesitated, his eyes glancing quickly round the courtroom. Finally he turned towards the Judge. “I thought it was an Arab at first—one of the Emir’s men. He came in by the main gate, and he was dressed in Arab clothes, you see. I didn’t recognize him—my eyes weren’t too good. But then he stopped just inside the gate and called me by name and said who he was.”

  “Were you surprised to see him?”

  David shrugged. “He was there. That was all there was to it.” And he added: “No, I don’t think I was surprised. When you’re in the state I was, you just don’t register anything.”

  “What happened then?”

  “Well, he came to the foot of the tower and we talked.”

  “What about?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “He wanted you to abandon the fort, didn’t he?”

  “At first.”

  “He changed his mind then?”

  “Yes.”

  “What made him change his mind?”

  An obstinate look had come into David’s face. “He just changed it, that’s all.”

  “Was that after you’d told your father that your defence of the fort had made headline news back home?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “You did tell him that, didn’t you? You did pass on to him this information which you had obtained from Mr. Grant?”

  “I don’t know. I expect so.”

  “Was your father surprised?” And when David didn’t answer, Counsel went on: “What I want the Court to know is whether or not Colonel Whitaker knew about the newspaper stories of your exploits and the fact that there had been questions in the House. The evidence at the moment points to the fact that he couldn’t have known before you told him. Would you agree?”

  “I really can’t say.”

  “But he must have made some comment, shown some reaction?”

  “I tell you, I don’t remember. I wasn’t in a fit state to remember details.”

  “You were talking to him from one of the embrasures of the tower
or from the entrance hole?”

  “From the embrasure. I should have been an easier target if I’d dragged myself to the entrance hole, and I was afraid of getting sniped at.”

  “And the whole interview was carried on with you in that same position. You didn’t move at all?”

  “No.”

  “Where was Colonel Whitaker?”

  “Standing right below me.”

  “Could you see him?”

  “Yes.”

  “And when the interview ended—where did he go then?”

  “I think he moved nearer the tower, away to my right. I can’t be sure, but I lost sight of him.”

  “Towards the cliff-top?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what happened then?”

  “Well, a little time passed, and then … then there was this shot.”

  “A rifle shot or a pistol shot?”

  “It was a rifle shot.”

  “You’re certain of that?”

  “Yes.”

  “And after the shot, was there any other sound?”

  “Yes, a sound of falling stones. That’s when I knew he’d gone over the cliff.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “I dragged myself to the southern embrasure, but I couldn’t see directly down the cliff face, so I didn’t know what had happened. I tried to call out to him, but I don’t think my voice made any real sound.”

  Counsel leaned forward, his voice pitched low. “You’ve heard a ballistics expert give it as his opinion that your father was killed by a bullet from a pistol, not a rifle.”

  “It was a rifle.”

  Counsel stared at him, and the whole Court could see the quandary he was in. But the evidence that had gone before had to be disposed of. “You have also heard Dr. Logan’s evidence. He has said that postmortem examination strongly suggests that the shot that killed your father was fired at close range. He, too, thinks it was a pistol shot.”

  “How do they know?” David said almost belligerently. “They didn’t find the bullet, did they? And they weren’t there. I was, and I’m telling you it was a rifle shot.”

  The Judge leaned forward. “I would like to get this quite clear. You have said that your condition was such that you cannot remember what passed between you. You have, in fact, left the Court with the impression that your powers of perception at that time were at a very low ebb. Yet on this point of the shot, you are quite categorical. You say it was a rifle shot?”