‘Come and have a seat,’ Maunsell said to him now, proffering a chair in front of his desk.
‘Thanks,’ Vaughan said.
‘What can I do for you?’
‘I’ve just had the DMI on the phone.’
‘Ye-es,’ said Maunsell, an eyebrow raised.
‘He says you’ve asked to interview the survivors from Gott’s plane.’
‘Yes. It seems there might be something rather fishy going on there.’
‘Really?’ said Vaughan. ‘The report I’ve seen from Tac HQ suggested it was a chance encounter. It all seems rather cut and dried to me.’
Maunsell smiled, then extravagantly stretched his arm from his cuff and looked at his watch. ‘Ten to eight. Look, Alex, tell you what, let’s bring morning prayers forward. I’ll give the others a ring.’
‘All right. I promised Bill Williams I’d get back to him as soon as I could.’
‘And you must. We don’t want the poor fellow to burst a blood vessel. I know they’re all rather twitchy at GHQ, and who can blame them?’ He picked up his phone, smiled affably at Vaughan as he waited to be connected, then said, ‘Could you ask Majors Jones, Maddox and Kirk to come here right away? Thanks so much.’ Putting the receiver down, he said, ‘Damn, I should have asked her to bring us some coffee too.’ He began filling a pipe.
‘I have to say, I felt a bit of a fool speaking to Bill, RJ,’ said Vaughan. ‘I hadn’t heard anything about this.’
‘Well, I apologize for your blushes, of course, but I didn’t want all of you involved – not until we had something to play with. It all happened late last night. You weren’t in your office so Paddy and I dealt with it. I thought I’d brief you all at morning prayers. No deliberate slight on my part, I assure you. Anyway,’ he clapped his hands together, ‘on a different tack, who do you think will take over from Gott, Alex?’
‘My money’s on an outsider.’
‘I think you could be right.’
‘Have you heard anything?’
Maunsell shrugged. ‘A few murmurings. Montgomery’s name has been bandied about. Apparently the CIGS favours him. I heard that he even wanted him ahead of Gott but the PM overruled him.’
‘Monty, eh?’
‘You know him?’
‘Served under him in France. He’s a funny cove. A rather thin, nasal voice – tiny too. Bloody good on the operational side. During the retreat, he moved the entire division to the back of another to fill a gap in the line in just one night.’
Maunsell looked impressed and was about to say something, when the door opened and Kirk and Maddox came in.
‘Morning, George, Paddy. Come and sit down.’
No sooner had they done so than Major Jones tapped on the door and walked in. ‘Morning, all, sorry to have kept you,’ he said.
‘You haven’t, KJ,’ said Maunsell. ‘Now, first things first, can I get anyone a drink? Alex and I were planning on coffee.’
There were mumbles of agreement from the others. Vaughan drummed his fingers on his crossed leg.
‘Coffee for five, Daphne, if you’d be so kind,’ said Maunsell, into the telephone. Then he sat up, his fingers together. ‘Hope you don’t mind me bringing morning prayers forward a little, but Alex and I have been speaking with the DMI this morning. Obviously we don’t really need his permission to interview the Gott crash survivors, but in the circumstances I thought it would be tactful to ask it. What with the VIPs in town, everyone’s a bit on edge.’
‘And Gott was the army commander, after all,’ said Jones. ‘They’ve a right to know what’s going on.’
‘As have we all,’ said Vaughan. ‘I’m still completely in the dark.’
‘Me too,’ said Kirk.
‘But not for much longer now we’re all here.’ Maunsell beamed at them paternally and picked up his unlit pipe once more. He struck a match and puffed several billows of blue-grey smoke, which swirled around him but rapidly dispersed under the ceiling fan. He leaned back in his chair, which creaked. ‘Do you want to explain, Paddy?’ he asked Maddox.
Maddox glanced at Maunsell, then turned to Vaughan. He was in his thirties, a thin-faced man with gingery hair. ‘We think there may have been foul play,’ he said, ‘which is why it is imperative that we speak to the survivors. The pilot especially.’
‘Is this our Axis circuit?’ asked Kirk.
‘Maybe,’ said Maddox.
‘What Axis circuit?’ asked Vaughan, his hackles rising once more.
Kirk smiled. ‘An old chestnut of RJ’s. You know, I’m still not very convinced about this.’
‘All right, George,’ said Maunsell. ‘Just hear us out.’
Maddox cleared his throat. He was a softly spoken man, thin-lipped. And tight-lipped, thought Vaughan.
‘First of all, let me say this,’ he said. ‘Since April, not one transport plane has been shot down, yet the moment General Gott gets into one, it’s attacked by German fighter aircraft. And not only is it shot down, but utterly destroyed. Twenty-one people were killed, including Gott. That in itself is suspicious.’
‘It got my alarm bells ringing,’ added Maunsell.
‘Possibly,’ said Kirk.
‘Have a look at these,’ added Maddox. He took a buff envelope on his lap and passed it first to Vaughan. In it there were photographs, some taken from directly above, some oblique.
Vaughan was surprised. ‘That was quick work. We only heard about Gott’s death yesterday afternoon.’
‘We have our wing-co to thank for that,’ said Maunsell.
Vaughan examined the pictures, then passed them to Kirk and Jones. The wreck was still partially obscured by smoke, but the cockpit and wing ends could still be clearly seen. ‘Looking at these, it’s amazing anyone survived at all.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Maddox. ‘It is, isn’t it?’
‘But what do you see on the wings?’ asked Maunsell. He passed over a magnifying glass.
‘A lot of damage.’
‘A lot of bullet holes,’ agreed Maunsell. ‘It looks as though the plane was riddled with them. Quite a lot of effort just to knock out a slow and rather vulnerable Bristol Bombay, wouldn’t you say?’
Vaughan stroked his chin. ‘Yes,’ he said at length. ‘You may have a point there.’
‘So we have two aberrations,’ said Kirk. ‘First, that a transport was actually shot down.’
‘And second, that it was absolutely pummelled – more so than would seem necessary,’ added Maunsell.
‘Or than is usual practice,’ said Vaughan.
Kirk passed the photographs back to Maddox. ‘I concede you may have something there, but I don’t see why this should be connected to your so-called Axis circuit. I thought we’d put that to bed.’
Vaughan was about to speak when there was a knock on the door and Daphne Lambert, Maunsell’s secretary, came in with a tray.
All five men were quiet as she poured the coffee and passed around the cups.
‘Thank you, Daphne,’ said Maunsell, then waited for her to leave. When she had closed the door, he said, ‘As you know, Alex—’
‘Sorry, but hold on a moment, what Axis circuit?’
‘You may well ask,’ said Kirk.
‘We’re not sure exactly,’ said Maunsell. ‘It’s something we’ve been wondering about for a while. Since you joined, there’s been the Eppler case, various other things going on and, I’ll admit, not much to arouse suspicion on that score. It’s also true that, while we have our fair share of subversive elements here in Cairo, most, thank God, are amateurs, poorly connected. Even if they do get wind of stuff, it’s generally low grade and their means of passing it on to the Axis are limited.’
‘As we discovered with Eppler,’ said Kirk.
‘Quite so.’
‘And we should also be clear here,’ added Kirk, ‘it’s very difficult for enemy agents to get into Cairo or Alexandria. You can’t cross the desert without transport, which would always be spotted if you did manage it, and once here
, there are enough informers to get wind of anyone suddenly acting suspiciously. And, as I’ve always said, yes, agreed, there are thousands of officials, officers and their wives who, inflamed with cheap booze, might chatter about the war. But what do they know that’s of any importance? And we’re a hell of lot more secure here now that those various Axis legations have been shut down. The Romanian mission has gone, thank God.’
‘Yes, yes, I accept all that,’ said Maunsell, ‘but it doesn’t mean the cell doesn’t exist.’
‘Or that it does.’
Maunsell made a rare sound of exasperation. ‘Just for the moment, George, let’s assume that it does and that for the past couple of months it’s been lying dormant.’
‘What if the cell has been operating all the time?’ said Jones, joining the discussion for the first time. ‘The best intelligence is that which is used in tandem with another source that hides the original information.’
‘Such as?’ said Vaughan.
‘Well, for example, your spy gleans some information about the movement of a convoy and passes that information on. The enemy then sends over a number of reconnaissance aircraft, one or more of which actually passes over the convoy. When the convoy is attacked, those in the convoy will think the reconnaissance plane is the source when, in fact, it is merely providing verification of the original information passed on by the spy.’
‘Yes, all right, but what evidence have we got for a cell existing?’
‘Very little,’ said Kirk.
Maunsell sighed. ‘Our role here is counter-intelligence. If there is so much as a whiff of the enemy receiving classified information and we have the power to prevent it, it is our sworn duty to do so. I agree that we have no actual proof yet, but I’ve been in this game a good while now and one thing I’ve learned is to trust my gut instinct.’ He looked at Vaughan. ‘I have a hunch, Alex, a hunch that has never gone away but which has most definitely been rekindled in light of the events of the past twenty-four hours. Now, I’m well aware that radio security in the field is not the best, and I’m also conscious that they have reconnaissance planes operating just as we do, and taken in isolation one could put down a lot of these “misfortunes” – for want of a better word – to nothing more than ill-luck and coincidence.’
‘But add them together …’
‘… and a rather sinister pattern emerges.’
‘By interviewing the pilot and survivors,’ Maddox continued, ‘we might get a much clearer picture of what really happened.’
‘And this might help us,’ added Maunsell, ‘not only in determining whether there really is an Axis circuit operating here, but if there is, it might be the chink of light we need to break it. As KJ has rightly pointed out, intelligence is best when backed up, but it may be that they’ve finally made a mistake. And, needless to say, if I’m right and it does exist, we need to break it as soon as possible.’
‘I can see that,’ agreed Vaughan.
‘I don’t need to tell you,’ said Maunsell, ‘that we have reached a critical moment – not just in the Middle East, but in the entire war. If we can break the Axis’s grip on the Mediterranean, we’ll surely knock Italy out of the war. If we do that – well, who knows? On the other hand, matters are finely balanced at the moment. Eighth Army has only just avoided annihilation, half the command has been sacked, the new commander’s just been killed, the next C-in-C is yet to arrive, promised American supplies of tanks have not yet reached us, and confidence is, to put it mildly, pretty low at present. We know that – we’ve all read the morale reports.’
Vaughan nodded thoughtfully. ‘An effective spy ring might just make all the difference.’
‘Indeed. And particularly at key moments when victory or defeat balance on a knife edge,’ said Maunsell. He leaned even further forward. ‘As I’ve said to all of you before, the war out here is about supplies. I know there’s been a lot of agonizing about German tactics, but to all intents and purposes our armies are pretty evenly matched. What it boils down to is who can get the most fuel and tanks and ammunition to the front at the critical moments. And that’s where what we do plays such an important role. Gott’s death is a tragedy and may yet prove an even bigger blow than it seems right now, but what’s been worrying me is how much the enemy seems to know about our LOCs and when supplies are coming.’
‘I don’t disagree with you, RJ,’ said Kirk. ‘I just think we’re becoming too wrapped up in our own cocoon here. We’re in the secret intelligence business so maybe we’re seeing enemy spies when it’s far more likely that there are none.’
‘You said it was a hunch, RJ,’ said Vaughan. ‘You must have reasons for that.’
Maunsell relit his pipe and nodded. ‘Take the Malta convoys. Usually no more than a handful of ships, making them hard to spot, even by reconnaissance planes. And the Mediterranean’s a big place, you know. Four merchant ships and a few escorts on that vast sea – yet time and again, U-boats, Italian warships and aircraft seem to pick them up with ease. And now I’ve a hunch about Gott’s death. It doesn’t seem right to me. I agree with George that it can be tempting to see something suspicious and immediately think the worst when there’s probably a perfectly innocent reason for that behaviour, but I am suspicious about this, and until I’ve been given good evidence to think otherwise, I think we should all treat it very seriously indeed.’
‘I see,’ said Vaughan.
‘So it is of vital importance to find out as much as we can from the survivors of the wreck before it’s too late.’
‘Are there guards watching out for them?’ asked Vaughan.
‘Yes,’ said Maunsell, ‘but that’s no guarantee of their safety.’
‘In that case, hadn’t we better get going?’
‘Yes, Alex, you had.’
‘Me?’ said Vaughan, surprised.
‘Yes. You and Paddy.’
‘All right,’ said Vaughan, ‘but I should probably see the DMI first.’
‘No – just ring him. No need for details, but tell him that in your judgement it’s essential we see them now. We’ve been chinwagging here quite long enough. I think you chaps ought to collect Wing-co and get going.’
‘Right,’ said Vaughan. ‘I’ll ring him right away. And if I can’t get hold of him?’
‘Then go anyway. Look, George, Alex – all of you – if I am right, I hope you understand what’s at stake here.’
‘I do,’ Vaughan replied, pushing back his chair and standing up. ‘I see it very clearly indeed.’
The DMI, Brigadier Williams, had accepted Vaughan’s judgement.
‘All right, Vaughan,’ he’d said, ‘but go easy on those boys. From what I hear they’re in a bad way. One of these days soon you can tell me all about it.’
They went in Maddox’s car, leaving the wide, curving, verdant avenues of Garden City for the clamour and bustle of the centre of town. Vehicles and animals vied for space, but Maddox drove through the crowded streets with apparent imperturbability, accelerating when he could but always ready to jam on his brakes.
Vaughan knew a little about Maddox – that he had been an Intelligence Corps officer back in England and had been posted to SIME early the previous year. He was unmarried, spoke German and Italian. Drank little. They did not socialize.
‘I’ve never asked, Paddy,’ he said, as they skirted around two camels. ‘Do you like it out here in Cairo?’
‘Hmm,’ he replied. ‘Do I like Cairo? I’m not sure I’d use that word. It’s certainly a fascinating place. What about you?’
‘That’s not a bad way of putting it,’ agreed Vaughan. ‘It’s an assault on the senses, particularly when you’re coming back from the desert. And there’s no blackout like there is in England. One can drink, party, play sport, eat reasonably well, find a woman.’
‘All those things and more,’ agreed Maddox.
‘And there aren’t as many flies here as there are in the desert – thank God.’
‘No,’ laughed Maddox. ‘
That’s a blessing.’
‘And yet,’ added Vaughan, ‘it’s also a steaming hot, stinking cesspit and a long way from home.’
Maddox smiled. ‘Oh, I’m pretty well acclimatized now.’
They reached the hospital and, after a few minutes’ wait, were joined by a QA captain. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting,’ she said. ‘Dr Carter asked me to take you to the men.’ She held out her hand. ‘I’m Captain Lucie Richoux.’
Very pretty, thought Vaughan. ‘I’m sorry we’ve got to bother these men now,’ he began.
‘They’re hardly in a state to be interviewed,’ she replied. ‘Could it not have waited?’
‘Sadly, no,’ said Maddox.
She led them up a flight of wide stairs, then along several linoleum-lined corridors that reeked of disinfectant and a sweet, sickly stench Vaughan knew all too well. Flies crawled over the windows and darted across their way. He flapped his hand – a useless pursuit, as he was aware. ‘It’s almost as bad as the desert,’ he said. Captain Richoux turned. ‘The flies, I mean.’
‘Oh, I see,’ she said. ‘Yes, I know. All this rotting flesh.’ She led them into a ward of about forty men. Vaughan realized it was the very one he had been sent to back in February. Ah, but it was cooler then. Now he saw a sea of misery, badly wounded men struggling with the already rising heat.
‘They’re down here,’ said the nurse, leading them through the doors at the end into another corridor. Halfway along, a sentry stood guard.
‘We’ve arrived,’ said Vaughan.
‘How did you guess?’ said Captain Richoux.
The guard snapped to attention. Vaughan saluted, then, with Maddox, followed the nurse into the room. The stench was powerful. Venetian blinds covered the two windows, ensuring the light was dim. There were six beds, three on each side, although only four were being used. A nurse was tending one of the men, cleaning his arm. Another was coughing, then cried out in pain. ‘It’s all right,’ said Captain Richoux, to the other nurse. ‘I’ll see to it.’ She picked up a glass of water and put the straw to the man’s lips.
Vaughan was dismayed. All four men were badly burned, their wounds largely left unbandaged and glistening. A fan turned slowly above, while an electric one whirred from a cabinet between the windows.
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