Lock paused again, chest heaving with rage. ‘Shoot me in the back? In front of all these witnesses?’ He glanced over to his men and to the two provost guards. They looked nervous and unsure. Lock caught Singh’s eye and winked.
‘Sir?’ Bingham-Smith suddenly shouted.
Lock looked up and saw whom he presumed to be Captain Winslade emerge from the darkened entrance of the Babylonian tower and march quickly off in the opposite direction. Lock broke into a run.
‘Hey, Lock! Captain Winslade!’ Bingham-Smith shouted, but he didn’t fire his gun again.
As Lock passed the entrance to the tower he came to an abrupt halt. A pair of boots was sticking out of the doorway. Lock peered inside. The boots were attached to the legs of a provost NCO. He was dead, a single stab wound to the heart. Next to him, lying in a pool of blood, and slumped up against the inner wall, was another body, semi-naked, dressed only in underclothes. Lock turned the body over. It was Captain Winslade. His throat had been cut.
‘Idiot,’ Lock muttered. The officer he saw leave, it had to be Wassmuss. He’d killed these two men and had stripped Winslade of his uniform. He’d be able to move in the open dressed as a British officer. ‘Damn him!’ Lock said, and turned straight into Bingham-Smith’s Webley.
‘Out of my way, Casper!’
‘What have you done?’ Bingham-Smith gasped, staring wide-eyed at Winslade’s dead body.
‘Don’t be a bloody fool! It’s him, the German spy. The man dressed as the British officer you thought was Winslade!’
Bingham-Smith was shaking his head. ‘You killed him!’
‘Oh, for Christ’s—’ Lock slapped Bingham-Smith’s gun aside, and hit him square on the jaw. The blond assistant provost marshal’s head snapped back and he dropped to the floor unconscious. Lock shook the stinging sensation from his hand and burst out of the tower.
Underhill was standing just outside. ‘’It ’im, did ya?’ He shook his head and tut-tutted.
‘Where the hell have you been, Sergeant Major?’
‘With the major, at the ’ospital.’
‘You’re lying, Underhill. I was at the hospital earlier. I saw the doctor who was operating on Ross. Didn’t see you there.’
Underhill shrugged. ‘Told to clear off, we was, me and Dunford and the nignog cook. Then bumped into the provost marshal there and was told we were being escorted to the front.’
‘Well, now you’re here, get the men together, and guard this gate. Until the reinforcements arrive.’
‘Guard against what?’
‘There’s an army waiting on the opposite bank, Sergeant Major. And you and the lads are all that stands in their way.’
‘Bollocks. Sah.’
Lock grabbed Underhill’s lapels and pushed him up against the wall. ‘Go up the tower and take a look! Then come back down and argue the toss.’ He shoved him away and stormed over to his men, who were still sat under guard.
‘Lance Naik Singh! Here, at the double!’ He clapped his hands. ‘Iggry! Iggry!’ he bellowed. ‘On your feet, man! All of you, up, up! What the hell do you think you’re playing at?’
The two provost corporals glanced at one another, then stepped back a pace, lowering their guns. Singh signalled for the others to hurry to their feet, and the provosts nervously shifted, unsure whether to stop them or not.
‘You, there!’ Lock said to one of the provosts, the older of the two, who had a neat, small moustache and a pockmarked nose. ‘The assistant provost marshal has had a funny turn. Go and help him, then assist my men in holding this position. Sergeant Major Underhill is in charge until I return! Or until reinforcements arrive. Clear?’
The provost nodded. ‘Sir!’
‘Singh?’ Lock said, turning to address the big Indian.
‘Sahib?’
‘The sergeant major is at the top of the tower getting the shock of his life. If he comes back down and tries to leave, you have my permission to belt him,’ Lock said. He snapped open his Webley, checking it was loaded. ‘I’m going back to the hospital. I’ll be back when I can.’
Lock began to run. He knew where the German was heading, he just hoped Amy would be sensible enough, vigilant enough, to not be fooled by him. She could handle herself, he knew that, he believed that. But he also knew Wassmuss was a snake. A very clever snake.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Gone was the caution of earlier, as Lock burst into Amy’s apartment building on the Street of Allah’s Tears and tore up the stairs, gun in hand. There was a scream, followed by a tirade of angry Farsi as Lock pushed past a woman and three or four children coming out of the flat below Amy’s, and climbed higher. Lock paused at the top of the stairs. He put his ear close to the main door, but could hear nothing above the cackle and squawking of the voices from below. He tried the handle. It was unlocked. He stepped to one side and put his back to the wall, then reached over and pressed down the handle. He pushed the door, and it swung open.
Lock paused, then stole a glance into the hallway. The coast was clear. He went inside. He could see the bathroom opposite was empty, so he moved to the living-room door. He paused, trying to make out any sounds of life from within. Silence. He tightened his grip on the Webley, stood back, then shouldered the door open, ducked and rolled, and sprang up.
Nothing and nobody was there to greet him.
Lock released the hammer on his gun and stuffed it back in its holster. The room was as before, unkempt, with a slight smell of damp, but showed no signs of a struggle.
‘Bugger.’ Lock realised that he had made the wrong choice. He should have gone to the hospital first. So convinced was he in Wassmuss’s intelligence network that he presumed the German would know where Amy’s digs were. Maybe he did, but he also knew Amy was a nurse and would more than likely be on duty.
Lock turned and ran back out of the flat and down the stairs. What a fool he was! He knew where Amy would be, she had told him herself. ‘I have to get ready. I’m on duty again at six,’ she had said.
The hospital was as chaotic as before, only more so. The injured and the dying were everywhere, and the stench of death was impossible to avoid. Lock pushed his way through the glazed-eyed soldiers and headed for the wards. He looked in room after room, but couldn’t see Amy anywhere. Where could she be? The treatment rooms? Assisting an operation?
He ran along the familiar corridor, passing the operating rooms. He glanced in one observation window after another, but it was impossible. There were nurses in each one, yes, helping a doctor operate on some poor battered soul, but each one was masked. They could be anybody.
‘Amy!’ he shouted. ‘Amy Townshend!’
He moved on down the corridor banging on each door, shouting her name as he went. Soon some of the doors opened and masked faces peered out.
‘Amy Townshend!’ Lock called again and again.
A commotion of voices started up, then one single voice, louder than the rest, cut across the bewildered atmosphere.
‘What is the meaning of this outburst? Quiet, I tell you, quiet!’
Lock ignored the request. ‘Amy Townshend!’ he repeated, louder still. ‘Amy!’
‘Quieten down, young man, this instant!’ A matronly sister marched up to him, pushing her way through the curious nurses. ‘There are operations going on. Be quiet!’ She was a dumpy woman, all bust and hips, and had fierce grey eyes.
Lock grabbed hold of her. ‘I need to find Amy Townshend, she’s one of your nurses. Now!’
‘Take your hands off me, young man, and calm yourself!’ the sister said, pulling at Lock’s hands. But Lock didn’t budge.
‘Listen to me, Sister, she’s in mortal danger and I must find her.’
‘We are all in mortal danger, Lieutenant,’ the sister said, trying to wriggle out of Lock’s grip.
Lock let go of her and pushed by. ‘Amy!’
‘Lieutenant Lock! Lieutenant Lock!’
Lock turned and strained his neck to see over the sea of faces. A hand was wavi
ng at him. And then he saw Lady Townshend.
‘Lady Alice.’ Lock pushed by the sister.
‘I’ll take care of this, Sister Gladys,’ Lady Townshend said to the matronly sister as she approached.
‘Very well,’ Sister Gladys said with an air of disapproval. She turned and clapped her hands. ‘Back to work girls, chop-chop!’
The nurses quickly dispersed, leaving Lady Townshend alone with Lock in the corridor.
‘Where is she? Where is your daughter?’
‘I … I do not know, Lieutenant Lock. Why, whatever is the matter?’ Lady Townshend’s voice was calm, but there was panic in her eyes.
‘Where did you see her last?’
Lady Townshend frowned.
‘Come on, ma’am, think. She’s in danger!’
‘I saw her in one of the treatment rooms attending to an officer. He had been shot in the leg. We said he should be taken to the Officers’ Hospital, but he insisted on staying here. Quite a charm—’
‘Show me!’ Lock said.
Lady Townshend turned back the way she had come. ‘This way.’
Lock grabbed hold of her arm and hurried her along.
‘Tell me, Lieutenant,’ she pleaded, pushing through a set of double doors at the far end of the corridor.
Lock was reluctant to do so. He didn’t have time to deal with possible hysterics. He needed to find Amy, and quickly. ‘Just lead the way, Lady Alice, if you please.’
She nodded, but Lock could see the tears welling up in her.
They rushed down the next corridor. ‘This one,’ Lady Townshend said, and put her hand to the door handle.
Lock grabbed her wrist and pulled her back, away from the door. He put his hand up, motioning for her to be still, and pulled out his Webley. Stepping aside, he reached down for the handle, slowly twisted it, then flung it open. He swiftly moved out and dropped low, gun levelled, facing the room. It was empty. Just as empty as Amy’s flat was. Lock got to his feet.
‘Just once I’d like that move to pay off,’ he muttered to himself, and holstered his gun.
He scanned the room. There was a tray of bloodied bandages, scissors and a hypodermic needle on the treatment table, and a smashed bottle on the floor. The air was heavy with the smell of iodine. He was too late. Thrown over a chair next to the French windows at the far end of the room was a pair of blood and mud-soiled, torn white trousers. Wassmuss’s trousers.
Lady Townshend came into the room. ‘Lieutenant. What is going on?’
‘That man, Lady Townshend,’ Lock said, moving to the treatment table, ‘was no British officer.’ He picked up the bloodstained bandages, sniffed them, then saw the metal kidney dish underneath. There was a pair of tweezers in the bottom next to a bloodied bullet.
‘I assure you he was, Lieutenant. I spoke with him,’ Lady Townshend said. ‘He introduced himself as Captain Winslade. He told me he was shot while defending the Southern Gate.’
Lock glanced at Lady Townshend. ‘Captain Winslade is dead. That man who was with Amy, who has her now, is a German agent called Wilhelm Wassmuss.’ Lady Townshend put her hand to her mouth and gasped. ‘Yet, what I can’t understand is how he knew what Amy looked like,’ Lock said. ‘Or even where she would be.’ He paced the room racking his brain. Surely he had missed something.
‘Were they alone? Amy and Wassmuss?’ he said.
Lady Townshend nodded. ‘Oui.’ She hesitated.
‘Well?’ Lock said.
‘Except for the orderly,’ Lady Townshend added.
‘Orderly? What orderly?’
‘Abdullah. But he has been with the hospital for years.’
Lock stared back. ‘Al-Souk? Is his name Al-Souk?’
‘Mais oui. Abdullah Al-Souk.’
‘Bugger!’ Lock blurted out. ‘He’s one of Wassmuss’s agents. That’s how he knew where to find Amy. How in the hell did he get out of custody?’
‘But why, Lieutenant? Why would this German risk coming here? Why would he take Amy?’
‘She’s a bargaining chip, to aid his escape. But there’s more to it than that.’
‘Which is?’
‘Me, Lady Alice, because of what she means to me.’
Lady Townshend regarded Lock, her eyes searching his face. ‘Then if that is the case, Lieutenant Lock,’ she said, ‘you had jolly well better go and save her!’
Lock shook his head. ‘Where do I start? He won’t lie low, not with a hostage. I wager he will try to flee the city.’ Lock tapped his lip with his finger, trying to second-guess the German. ‘He can’t go west because of the fort at Shaiba and the sheer volume of troops there, and he can’t go south, we’ve blocked that way. East, back across the Shatt al-Arab into Persia? Or north, up the Shatt to the Tigris and the safety of the Ottoman lines?’ Lock paused. Wassmuss could go east, he thought, try and circle back to his forces? But why take the risk? Wassmuss knew the battle was lost. No, if it were him, he would head for the safety of Turkish-held territory.
‘North, he’d go north.’ And he knew he was right. ‘They wouldn’t have gone out of the front of the building,’ Lock said, trying to picture Wassmuss’s movements. ‘He wouldn’t want to risk bumping into me, and I don’t believe Amy would make things easy for him, even with a knife to her side.’
Lady Townshend smiled bravely. ‘Oui, you are quite right. She will not be going quietly.’
Lock moved over to the French windows at the other side of the room. He pulled them open and pushed back the slatted shutters. It led out onto a sun terrace that dog-legged and then ran the length of the rear of the hospital. It was edged by waist-high railings in part and with wooden benches set out along the rest. Beyond this was a narrow rocky bank that led down to the dirty waters of the Shatt al-Arab itself.
It was a busy waterway, littered with boats, mostly bellums, some beached, some tied to the rickety wooden jetty at the edge of the hospital perimeter. There was the ferry, which Lock could see was heavily laden with natives as it made its way across the river. But Lock knew Wassmuss wouldn’t risk that. Besides, it was going the wrong way. To the south there was a large white hospital ship, a huge red cross painted on its hull, anchored a little offshore. Various small vessels were toing and froing, helping to load up the seriously wounded to return them to Karachi. But no, that would be an even bigger risk for Wassmuss to hide there; he would never be able to keep Amy under control for long enough. North it was, away from the commotion.
Lock walked down to the river’s edge. There were plenty of creeks and waterways feeding off the Shatt, and it would be easy to weave one’s way up to the dockyards and Makinah Wharf. From there Wassmuss would have no problem commandeering a motorised launch, not dressed as a British officer.
Lock turned his attention back to the hospital terrace. It was dotted with tables and easy chairs, some sheltered by canvas awnings to keep the blazing sun off the recuperating patients. But at present they were all unoccupied. However, further along the terrace, two soldiers, both amputees from the knees down, were sat on one of the benches. Both men wore topis as protection from the sun, and both men were quietly contemplating the waters and what, no doubt, their lives held for them when they returned home to England.
Lock walked up to them, but neither man paid him any heed. Lock fished out his cigarettes and offered them out. The soldiers perked up and grunted their thanks as they took one each.
‘Keep the pack,’ Lock said.
‘Thank you, Lieutenant,’ the nearest one said.
‘Did you happen to see a British officer, a nurse and an Arab come by?’ Lock asked, striking a match and lighting up the men’s cigarettes.
‘Aye, we did. Loopy trio for a boat trip. And the nurse … Cor, she was a cracker, weren’t she, Bert?’
‘She was that, Ollie, she was that. Only she didn’t look none too pleased to have to be puntin’. Bitchin’ away at the officer, she was,’ the second soldier said.
‘Which way did they go?’ Lock said, smiling at the
picture he had of Amy chastising the German, even as a prisoner.
‘That a-ways.’ Bert jerked his thumb upriver.
‘How long?’ Lock said.
‘Reckon about ten minutes,’ Ollie said.
‘Take it easy, lads,’ Lock said, nodding, and hurried back to Lady Townshend.
She was waiting, looking exhausted, nervously rubbing her hands together as if washing them in imaginary soap and water. She tried to force herself to smile as Lock approached. ‘Any news?’ Her voice was shaky.
‘Yes, ten minutes ago, in a bellum heading north. I think they will make for the main wharf by weaving through the canals, avoiding the Shatt,’ Lock said. ‘I’m going to grab a horse from out front. It’ll be quicker than me trying to row after them.’
‘Good,’ Lady Townshend said, putting her hand to his chest. ‘Take care, Mr Lock, and bring my daughter back safe and sound.’ Her voice trembled with emotion.
‘It’s beginning to become a habit, ma’am,’ Lock smiled, as he moved back to the door of the treatment room. He paused at the threshold and turned back. ‘But she’s a strong girl and that German bastard, forgive my language, ma’am, is already finding that he’s bitten off more than he can chew picking her out for a hostage.’
He tipped his hat, and was gone.
Lock rode like the wind, pushing his mount on through the narrow alleyways of Ashar. He twisted left and right to avoid the many pedestrians, Arabs, off-duty soldiers, walking wounded, and children who littered the streets, still going about their daily lives despite the war raging beyond the walls. On he pushed the mule, galloping through the bazaar, ignoring shouts of protest from the woman who skipped out of his way, spilling the fruit-laden basket she was carrying on her head. A whistle blew somewhere to his left and he heard the shout of a provost ordering him to stop.
Lock powered on, whipping the mule with the reins, its hooves echoing off the wooden wall to his left opposite the stalls and street cafes that blurred by to his right. He banked right, thundering over a slatted wooden bridge, and turned the corner, only to be met by a stationary lorry. Its cargo of wooden crates was being unloaded by four sepoys, under the direction of a British sergeant, into one of the store huts that ran the length of the road. Lock gritted his teeth and pulled back on the reins trying to slow the mule. It snorted a protest. Lock yanked it to the left and then kicked his heels into its side. The mule leapt over the pile of crates, the sepoys and the sergeant diving out of the way. There was a dead end ahead, the road coming to an abrupt halt at a strip of water. But Lock spotted a store hut to the left with its doors wide open. He turned the mule and clattered through the hut, passing the rows of shelves stacked with supplies, and headed for the daylight gap at the other end. A soldier loomed up ahead but quickly skipped out of the way as Lock and his mule burst out onto a wide-open wharf.
Kingdom Lock Page 24