Hellfire (2011)

by James Holland

  Peploe wandered away from A Company’s tents and vehicles. ‘Of course, this will get around Cairo in no time,’ he said.

  ‘Only because people will enjoy the story. If you weren’t involved, you’d be thinking it hilarious.’

  ‘Listen, Alex, I don’t give a damn about decorum. But I care about my men and this regiment. Colonel Vigar had to fight hard to get Tanner his commission, you know. Of course, it’s more than deserved, but it takes time to change views that are well entrenched. People might enjoy this little escapade, but there are many who will take a very dim view of it and will say that that is why men should not be commissioned from the ranks. Surely you can see that.’

  ‘You’re worrying too much,’ said Vaughan. ‘The Yorks Rangers have a fine reputation, and so does Tanner. Most people will see this for what it was: a highly experienced soldier putting a few young pups in their place.’

  ‘You think I’m being too hard on him?’

  ‘No. He needs to know that he can’t start throwing his weight around. But he does know that, doesn’t he? His behaviour is normally second to none. When he was seconded to SIME with me, he never put a foot wrong, but then SIME is not like the rest of the army. No one there batted an eyelid that here was an officer with a Wiltshire burr. No, John, he only sees red when he feels humiliated or if he feels he’s been wronged. Remember Alopex in Crete?’

  Peploe smiled. ‘Yes, and I remember having to give Tanner both barrels then.’ Away to their left, the Pyramids loomed, shimmering in the afternoon heat. Peploe squinted in the brightness. ‘But maybe it would be no bad thing for him to keep a low profile for a little while.’

  Vaughan’s face brightened.

  ‘Ten days you said?’

  ‘Two weeks at the most.’

  Peploe looked back towards A Company’s camp. ‘All right, Alex. I expect I can manage without them for a bit. But I want them back, d’you hear?’

  Vaughan grinned. ‘Loud and clear.’

  19

  It had been a simple message, once more translated into code with the help of Hausboot Muschepusche: Get me out of Cairo, Tanja had signalled in numbers. Have important information to deliver. Need to speak with Cobra urgently. Marlin.

  The reply had come a few minutes later. Received and understood. Be waiting for reply tomorrow, 0600, 7.9.42.

  That had been nearly twenty-four hours earlier – twenty-four long hours; a day of waiting anxiously to see how Cobra would respond. Alex had gone again – ‘I’ll be back in a day or two’ – although he had not told her where he was going or what he was doing. It was probably just as well that he was away: she didn’t have to pretend that all was well, that nothing was troubling her.

  But one part of the plan appeared to be working. Orca had always seemed to know whenever she sent or received a message, and he had since been in touch, just as she had hoped he would be. He had rung at the flat, his voice as charming and cheery as ever. A meeting tomorrow at eleven. Not in their old meeting place – not any more – but in the Moski, at the address in Khan El Khalili. Of course, how lovely – I’ll be there! Would he smell a rat? It was not the first time she had contacted Cobra independently, but it was the first for a while. Maybe, but she had her answer ready.

  At five fifty a.m. on Monday, 7 September, she pulled the battered case from her wardrobe, took out the radio set, attached the battery, hung the aerial from the curtain rail, then put the headset over her ears and switched it on. The minutes ticked by. At six, a glance at her watch. One minute past. Two minutes past. Tanja tapped her fingers on the table. She hated having the radio set out. Sitting there waiting, the headset over her ears, she could hear her heart beating, rapid pulses. Come on, come on.

  A crackle of static, then a series of bleeps, as numbers in Morse sounded in her ears. Quickly, she noted them down. The signaller was good: he always took his time, never rushing. Then silence. She waited and, satisfied the signal was complete, opened her German novel and began to translate. ‘TAKE – TRAIN – TO – EL – TEIRIEH – AND – AIRCRAFT – WILL – PICK – YOU – UP – 1930 – 8942.’ Her breathing had quickened. Tomorrow night. My God. She tapped a reply. Received and understood. With trembling fingers she took down the aerial, packed away the radio and returned it to the wardrobe, then sat down again. My God.

  It was eight a.m., and at Mena Camp, Peploe had forgiven Tanner – although, as he had suspected, word of the contretemps had spread. Vigar had not been at all amused and had agreed with Peploe that it might not be such a bad idea if Tanner was out of the way for ten days. There had been a warning too: You’re an officer now. Behave like one. Tanner had apologized to Vigar for any embarrassment he might have caused the OC, but had been otherwise unrepentant. That morning, as they had left Mena Camp, Peploe had shaken him and Sykes by the hand and wished them luck. ‘Make sure you both come back in one piece.’

  Tanner and Sykes had been given twenty-four hours’ leave – they were due to meet Vaughan later that evening and head together up to Alexandria the following day – and Lucie had been due a day off, so they had arranged to meet at her flat at nine that morning. Sykes had initially been reluctant. ‘You don’t want me hangin’ around, getting in the way,’ he had told Tanner. ‘I know what you love-birds are like.’

  ‘Give over, Stan. It’s not like that. You know Lucie well enough – she wants you to come along and so do I. Anyway, what else are you going to do?’

  Sykes had shrugged. ‘Dunno. See a film. Go to one of the clubs.’

  ‘Bollocks to that. Come with us.’

  From Battalion Headquarters, they had made straight for the CQM’s stores, where there was a staff sergeant Sykes had befriended. They loaded up with a few supplies: extra 9mm ammunition for Tanner’s Schmeisser, plus explosives, time pencils and other devices.

  ‘They’ll have all this in Alexandria, Stan,’ Tanner reminded him.

  ‘You’d have thought so, but I’d rather play safe and get a few bits and pieces now, while I’ve got the chance.’

  Staff Sergeant Coombes had given him half a dozen one-pound slabs of American TNT, then had wandered off, returning a short while later with a cardboard box. ‘’Ere,’ he said, ‘you might like some of these. They’re Aussie.’ He took one out and showed it to Sykes.

  ‘It’s a switch,’ said Sykes.

  ‘That’s it,’ said Coombes. ‘But you can use it as a pressure switch, a pull switch or a release switch.’

  ‘Clever.’ Sykes nodded.

  ‘It gets better,’ grinned Coombes, ‘cos it uses a .303 cartridge as a fuse lighter. You take the bullet out, put your fuse in, stick the end of the cartridge on to the end of the switch and, bang, there you go. The Murray Switch, they call it. Here, take a box.’

  ‘Much obliged,’ said Sykes.

  ‘Any clothing you need?’

  ‘You haven’t got any denim battledress, have you?’ asked Tanner.

  ‘Might have,’ he replied. ‘Follow me.’ He led them to a different storehouse, where boxes of uniforms were stacked high, mostly khaki drill. Eventually, however, he found what he was looking for.

  ‘I only need the trousers,’ said Tanner. ‘I had a pair before but they fell to pieces.’

  ‘Not denim,’ said Coombes, pulling out a box, ‘but cotton. Made in India.’

  ‘Even better,’ said Tanner. ‘I like having the pockets.’

  ‘Tell you what, though. Here’s something good that came in the other day. They’re for Special Ops apparently and came here by mistake, but I reckon they should be general issue.’ He pulled out another large box. ‘Literally – they come in just the end of last week.’ He held up a thick cotton smock jacket, camouflaged in green.

  Tanner grinned. ‘Just the job. Look at those pockets, Stan. Can you spare them?’

  ‘I shouldn’t really, but if anyone asks, I’ll just say the box came two short.’

  ‘He’s a good bloke, is Coombesy,’ said Sykes, back outside.

  ‘How do you do it,
Stan?’ Tanner asked, as they walked from the camp towards the tram stop outside Mena House.

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Get fellows like Coombes to give us all that stuff. He could get in real trouble if they find out he’s been handing out new Special Ops jackets to the likes of us.’

  ‘I’m nice to ’im.’

  ‘Come on, there’s more to it than that.’

  Sykes grinned. ‘Coombesy’s a bit of a hoarder. He hasn’t seen much front-line stuff, but he likes getting his hands on German and Eyetie kit. German especially. So I get him stuff. Got him a Luger in July. I can’t see the fuss myself, but blokes go mad for them. A few Iron Crosses, that sort of thing. He’s got a real good collection of clobber that he’s going to take home with him.’

  ‘And in return he gives you Murray Switches.’

  ‘And windproof smocks. So you’ve me to thank for all this.’ He paused and lit a cigarette. ‘I still don’t know what I’m doing, but at least I’ve got some good clobber.’

  As luck would have it, a tram pulled up almost immediately, and twenty minutes later they had reached Midan Ismailia, just five minutes’ walk from Lucie’s flat.

  As they crossed the busy square, Tanner said, ‘Still all right about doing this?’

  ‘What – spending a day with you and Lucie?’

  ‘Joining C Detachment.’

  ‘Someone’s got to hold your hand, Jack.’

  Tanner grinned.

  ‘I mean,’ added Sykes, ‘we wouldn’t want you thumping any more cavalry officers, would we? Not even from the Yeomanry.’

  Tanner laughed. ‘What about Jerries?’

  ‘That’s allowed. Positively encouraged, in fact.’ He hoisted his pack. ‘Nah, I’m quite excited about it, actually. I’m looking forward to a trip on an MTB. I’ve always fancied that. And doing something different. I know you and I are happier in the desert than a lot of blokes, but it does get to you a bit, don’t it?’

  ‘Too right.’

  At Lucie’s flat, Sykes received an affectionate embrace.

  ‘See?’ said Tanner. ‘I told you she liked you, Stan.’

  ‘Did you think I didn’t?’ Lucie asked Sykes.

  ‘It’s not that,’ said Sykes, his shoulders hunched. ‘I just didn’t think you’d want me getting in the way.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ she said. ‘So what are we going to do today?’

  ‘Don’t know. It’s not as hot,’ said Tanner. ‘Jesus, it was bloody terrible here in August, Stan.’ He’d noticed while they were walking from Midan Ismailia that the shimmering, all-pervasive heat of three weeks before had gone. Less than a hundred degrees, definitely; a sure sign that autumn was on its way.

  ‘What about some sightseeing?’ suggested Sykes. ‘I’ve been into Cairo loads of times but I’m always with you or the lads and we always get drunk. I haven’t seen half the sights.’

  ‘It’s a thought,’ said Tanner.

  ‘Let’s do that,’ said Lucie. ‘We’ll start with a drink in Groppi’s Garden. I’ve got a guide book. We can have a look at it in Groppi’s, then decide. Perhaps we could visit a bazaar.’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Tanner. ‘You never know what you might see.’

  As usual, Artus was waiting. Artus, Tanja thought. Eslem Mustafa.

  ‘Good morning, Mademoiselle,’ he said, getting up from the cushions on the floor. A single oil lamp, with a brass shade, hung from the centre of the ceiling, and incense burned on a low table.

  ‘Artus,’ she said. ‘I am glad Orca made contact. It’s ridiculous having no way of contacting him.’

  ‘We were alarmed,’ he said, his gaze holding hers. ‘Why did you signal to Cobra?’

  ‘For instructions. Rommel has lost the battle in the desert.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Why? What reason did you think I had contacted him?’

  Artus smiled. ‘We have been concerned about your commitment, Marlin, you know that.’

  ‘There is nothing wrong with my commitment,’ she retorted, ‘only my faith in Orca’s judgement. The two things are not the same at all.’

  Artus bowed his head. ‘And what have you to tell me? What news from Cobra?’

  ‘This.’ She showed him her handwritten transcript of the message. ‘A summons. I also have details of an operation in which Major Vaughan is involved.’

  ‘As do I.’

  Tanja looked at him. Oh, really?

  ‘The British are planning a joint raid on Benghazi, Fort Jalo and Tobruk.’

  ‘Orca knows of this?’

  ‘And half of Cairo. The British have hardly been discreet.’

  ‘I have details of these operations. I will be giving them to Cobra tomorrow.’

  ‘From Major Vaughan?’

  ‘Yes, from Major Vaughan – just as Orca instructed me. Not the originals, of course, but notes of the details. Numbers involved, timings, objectives.’

  ‘Good,’ said Artus. ‘I will accompany you.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary.’

  ‘Really? I think it will. That way I will know for sure whether you are telling the truth.’ He took a step closer. ‘Because, Mademoiselle, I do hope you are not double-crossing us.’

  Tanja held his stare. ‘More threats. Then accompany me if you want, but let me warn you. The British Secret Service knows all about you. They know you are part of the Cobra operation.’

  Artus looked alarmed.

  ‘And I know who you are too – Eslem Mustafa.’

  ‘How? How do you know?’

  ‘Because I saw a dossier on you in Vaughan’s briefcase.’

  Artus put his hand to his head and stepped away a few paces.

  ‘Cobra is finished, Artus. We have provided Germany with some vitally important intelligence, but our usefulness is over. That is why I suggested we lie low for a while. Disappear until it is safe to run Cobra again.’

  He nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You are right. But I will still accompany you tomorrow, I and some of my men. Not directly, of course, but discreetly.’

  ‘As you wish.’

  ‘Will you take the radio?’

  ‘No. The risk is too great.’

  ‘What will you do with it?’

  ‘Get rid of it.’

  Artus bowed his head. ‘It is probably better that way. And what train are you planning to catch?’

  ‘It leaves at seven minutes past five and arrives at El Teirieh at ten minutes past seven.’

  ‘We will be on the train.’ He eyed her carefully. ‘I hope I am right to trust you, Marlin.’

  ‘Why should I double-cross you?’ said Tanja, her voice low and calmer than she felt. ‘Why do you do this, Artus? Why do you risk so much? Because you want the British out of Egypt. Why do I? Because I want the Soviet Union to be finished for what it did to my home and family and because I am married to Germany.’

  He looked at her quizzically.

  ‘Because, Artus,’ she said, ‘my husband was German.’

  At the bazaar of Khan El Khalili, Cairo seemed to have closed in on itself. The tight, narrow lanes were shaded by the awnings and canopies of the shops and stalls at either side, while people and animals thronged beneath, an ever-shifting crowd of Arabs, Turks, Africans and, of course, servicemen from around the British Empire. Turbaned, bearded men gesticulated and bargained over fine carpets and pieces of jewellery, while donkeys and mules plodded through the crowds, shackled to carts and gharries carrying European women with wide hats and sunglasses, and self-conscious young troops on leave. The smell was exotic too: incense and spices blending with animal dung.

  ‘I always think of this place as being like something out of Arabian Nights,’ said Lucie, as they wandered along one of the lanes.

  ‘There’s a lot of colour, isn’t there?’ said Sykes. ‘The clothes, the spices and carpets and everything. You get used to everything being khaki and now this.’

  Tanner paused by a stall that sold elaborate curved daggers. He picked one up and pulled the blade stiffly from its
sheath.

  ‘You like, sir?’ said the vendor, who had a long beard and a hooked nose.

  Tanner glanced at him.

  ‘I give you very good price. Ten piastres.’

  Tanner laughed, then noticed Lucie frowning down the narrow street. ‘Isn’t that Tanja Zanowski?’

  Tanner followed her gaze and saw Tanja standing by the edge of the road, looking to either side of her, then walking away from them.

  ‘Yes, it is,’ he said. ‘Come on, let’s catch up.’ No sooner had he said this, however, than a man appeared where Tanja had just stood.

  ‘Mustafa,’ muttered Tanner. ‘My God, that’s bloody Eslem Mustafa.’

  ‘He came out of the same shop as Tanja,’ said Lucie. ‘I saw her.’

  Tanner grabbed Lucie’s hand. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Stan, quick!’

  ‘What’s going on, Jack?’ Lucie cried, as they hurried along the street, pushing past people as they went.

  ‘I’ll explain in a minute.’ He could still see them both. Mustafa thirty yards ahead, Tanja perhaps fifty.

  ‘Jack!’ cried Lucie. ‘Tell me!’ They had reached the shop from which Tanja and Mustafa had emerged. Half glancing ahead and half at Sykes and Lucie, Tanner said quickly, ‘Luce, sweetheart, stay here, all right? Don’t move an inch. Stan and I have got to go after them.’ He held out his hands – please stay – then turned to Sykes. ‘Stan – come on!’

  ‘Jack!’ called Lucie.

  ‘Stay there!’ Tanner shouted back, as he pushed on through the mass of people, Sykes right behind him. He could still see them both, but then Tanja turned left.

  ‘Damn!’ he muttered. Mustafa was still walking ahead.

  ‘Keep your eye on that bloke with the tarboosh, Stan,’ said Tanner, as they reached the lane where Tanja had turned. He could not see her. Do I follow her? No, Mustafa is more important. He hurried back, saw Sykes ten yards ahead and Mustafa thirty yards further on. He caught up with Sykes.

  ‘Right, Stan,’ he said, ‘let’s get him.’

  They quickened their pace, and still Mustafa had not looked around. A surge of a few yards, and then a cart or the weight of people held them back.

  ‘Come on, come on,’ muttered Tanner. ‘Get out of my way!’