At five o’clock the answer to his telex arrived. He took it up to his room, and decoded it, making pencil notes in the margin. Then he locked it away in his brief-case, which had a combination lock, set to the date of his wife’s birthday.
After this he took out his address book and made a number of telephone calls. The three men he called were in their offices. They all seemed to be late workers. The last call was concluded at a quarter past seven.
He then washed his hands, scrubbing his nails carefully as if to remove the grime of the day’s work, belted on a raincoat, put on a pair of pigskin gloves, and took the lift down to the ground floor.
He stopped at the reception desk to say, ‘I shan’t be back until quite late. If anyone wants me, suggest they call again tomorrow morning, would you?’
The receptionist, who knew Mr. Nussbaum was a big tipper, said he would certainly do that. It then occurred to Mr. Nussbaum that if, as usually seemed to happen, the arrival of the rain had meant the departure of all available taxis, he had little idea of how to get to Inverness Mansions.
The receptionist suggested that a District Line or Circle train would take him to Gloucester Road Station, from which it would not be more than five minutes’ walk. Mr. Nussbaum thanked him, turned up the collar of his raincoat and stepped out, brief-case in hand. He was looking forward to the bargaining match, the contest of bluff and skill, the game of commercial poker which he foresaw.
As he arrived at Inverness Mansions a policeman was coming out. There was a police car drawn up at the kerb. In the foyer the hall porter was talking to a worried-looking little man in pin-stripe trousers and a black coat whom Mr. Nussbaum assumed to be the manager. It took some time to attract their attention.
When he asked for number 28 they both looked at him sharply, and the manager said, ‘Would you be the doctor?’
‘No,’ said Mr. Nussbaum. ‘Just a business acquaintance. I had an appointment with him at eight.’
‘I think a doctor ought to see him first.’
‘He was quite definite, Mr. Parrock, that he did not require a doctor. Quite definite, he was.’
‘What’s happened?’ said Mr. Nussbaum.
‘He was attacked,’ said the porter. Two men. Foreigners, he says. As he was coming through the back door.’
The police have the matter in hand,’ said the manager.
‘Was he badly hurt?’
‘It seems he got a cut on the right hand. And wrenched his left shoulder. In my opinion, he should have seen a doctor at once.’
‘I know Colonel Delmaison fairly well,’ said Mr. Nussbaum. ‘He has had what you might call an adventurous career. A matter which might seem to you and me to call for medical attention may appear in a different light to him.’
‘Ah, well,’ said the manager, ‘that puts a rather different complexion on it. The flat’s on the second floor. If he should want anything, tell him to ring down. The sergeant will look after it.’
When Mr. Nussbaum pressed the bell of flat 28 there was a short pause. Then a shuffle of footsteps and a further pause, and the Colonel’s voice, ‘Who is it?’
‘Nussbaum here.’
‘All right. Hold on whilst I operate this bloody handle.’
When the door was opened Mr. Nussbaum appreciated his host’s difficulty. His left arm was in a sling and his right hand was heavily bandaged.
‘Come in,’ said the Colonel. ‘Shut the door. Pour yourself out a drink. The Scotch is in the corner cupboard. You can give me one too. Don’t be stingy with it.’
‘What on earth happened?’
‘What happened,’ said the Colonel morosely, ‘was that I was jumped. At my age, too. I’d put the car away. They must have been waiting for me just inside the back door. Thanks.’
He held the glass between the fingers of his padded right hand and tipped some whisky down his throat. Mr. Nussbaum noticed that some blood had soaked through the bandages.
‘Oughtn’t you to have that properly seen to?’ he said.
‘Just a scratch. The porter tied it up for me. He’s an old soldier. Made a good job of it.’
‘How did you—?’
‘Got it when I grabbed the knife. I had to move quickly. The other one was coming for me.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I kicked him in the gooleys,’ said the Colonel. That taught him the time of day. Luckily that porter came along, and they scarpered. He helped me up here and patched me up.’
‘We’d better call off our visit tonight.’
‘Call off nothing,’ said the Colonel. ‘Do you think I’m going to sidetrack business for a scratch on the hand and wrenched shoulder. I remember once in Bolivia when General Martinez gave me a bucko horse to ride. The old devil did it on purpose. It threw me off and I broke my right arm. I signed the contract before I’d seen a doctor. It’s the only one I’ve signed left-handed.’
Mr. Nussbaum, who had heard this story before, and disbelieved it, said, ‘We shan’t get a taxi. I can promise you that.’
‘We’ll use my car.’
‘You can’t drive it.’
‘No, but you can. Feel in my inside pocket. You’ll find the keys. The Yale is the garage door. The small one with a number on it is the car key. It’s an Austin 1800. Right-hand drive, but apart from that everything in the normal positions. O.K.?’
‘O.K.,’ said Mr. Nussbaum. ‘I’ll bring her round to the front.’ At the door he paused, looked back at the Colonel, who was finishing his drink, the glass held awkwardly in his padded right hand.
‘You’re a tough old devil, aren’t you?’ he said, with an unwilling note of admiration in his voice.
After he had gone, Colonel Rex remained standing, perfectly still. Then he said to himself, ‘I’m a tough old devil.’ It was as though he was reassuring himself.
Then came the roar of the explosion.
Even two storeys up, the blast was powerful enough to crack the window glass. The curtains billowed gently inwards.
Chapter Seven
Arms and Money
‘Did you arrange to have him blown up, Mr. Greest?’
‘No, Hussein. I did not.’
‘Excuse the remark,’ said Sheik Ahmed. ‘The boy forgets his manners.’
‘But in one of the Tiger stories,’ said Prince Hussein. ‘It was called “The Tiger Strikes Back”. It took place in Algeria—’
‘If you cannot talk sensibly,” said his father, ‘I shall have to order you to leave the room. Apologise at once.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Prince Hussein. But he did not sound sorry. Hugo had the impression that in some way the happenings of the previous evening had raised his stock in the eyes of the heir to the throne of Umran.
‘We saw a report in the papers,’ said the Ruler. ‘Have you any idea what occurred?’
‘Colonel Rex telephoned me this morning. There were two men. Haitians or Dominicans he thought. Foreigners certainly. They had made one attempt to kill him already that evening. The Colonel escaped with a wrenched shoulder and a cut hand.’
‘What did he do to them?’ said Hussein.
‘He didn’t tell me.’
‘Perhaps he had a knife himself.’
‘Let Mr. Greest continue with his story.’
‘The police were called. They took a statement, and promised to have one of their men keep an eye on the block. Whilst they were doing this, the two men must have slipped out at the back and put an explosive charge in the Colonel’s car. It was garaged at the back.’
The car would be locked. The garage too, perhaps. How would they get in ?’
That’s a mystery. And likely to remain one. There is very little left of the car or the garage, you understand.’
‘And it was the other man, the American, who went down to fetch the car because the Colonel was disabled?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And was blown up instead of him?’
‘It would seem so.’
‘Will t
he men be caught ?’
‘Probably. The policeman on duty gave the alarm at once. The airports were all warned. The ports, too.’
‘Could they have reached the airport before the warning?’
‘The police think not. Between the assault and the explosion was less than an hour. And much of that must have been spent in fixing the explosive. They could hardly have done all that and reached the airport.’
The Ruler considered the matter, stroking his head thoughtfully. He said, ‘Providence moves in a mysterious way. Three attempts have been made to kill me. One was prevented by the diligence of my guards. The other two by simple chance. On one occasion because I was late for an appointment. On another because I was sitting in the front of the car not the back. These matters are doubtless ordained.’
The Ruler appeared to dismiss the matter from his thoughts. He turned to Sayyed Nawaf, who had been sitting quietly in the background, and said, ‘Will you explain to Mr. Greest the arrangements we have made for money to be available.’
Sayyed Nawaf opened his brief-case. Hugo thought, for a moment, that he was going to produce an enormous bundle of currency. What came out were two documents. Nawaf said, ‘We have opened letters of credit, Mr. Greest. One with the National Westminster Bank at its head office in London for £120,000. A second one at the head office of the Arab Bank in Beirut for £480,000. These are copies of the documents. We understand that it is customary, in purchasing arms, to put down a deposit of not more than twenty per cent. Credits of up to thirty days can be obtained for the balance. You follow me?’
‘I think so,’ said Hugo cautiously. ‘You mean that the London credit is to cover the deposits and the Beirut one the balance. Why Beirut, by the way?’
The Ruler desires that the arms go by sea, in one consignment, from London to Beirut. From there they will be airfreighted in instalments to Umran.’
‘I see,’ said Hugo. It all seemed very businesslike. ‘I’d better have a word with Colonel Rex about it.’
‘I have arranged a conference for half-past two this afternoon, with the Chief Sales Officer from your Ministry of Supply. Colonel Delmaison will be there. It will be convenient for you, Mr. Greest?’
‘Oh, certainly,’ said Hugo. A thought struck him. ‘Are you sure you can get hold of this Sales Officer? Today’s Saturday.’
‘I spoke to him at ten o’clock this morning,’ said Nawaf. ‘He will be there.’
Hugo thought he might have under-estimated the Head of Finance.
The Chief Supply Officer was an excellent specimen of the polite, effective, impersonal, anonymous, dehydrated, senior civil servant which England alone seems to have the secret of breeding. After a mumbled introduction Hugo never discovered his name, and thought of him always by his initials. This seemed to add to his anonymity.
He had certainly done his homework, though how he had managed to do it between ten o’clock and half-past two was a mystery. He could hardly have had time for lunch. Did he eat no lunch? Did he survive from nine till six on buttered dockets?
‘We can find the greater part of your requirements in this country,’ he was saying. ‘I have already located provisional sources of supply for the helicopters and the field artillery. That is, if you are prepared to accept tracked 105 mm. Italian pack howitzers. The British Army is scrapping them for its own 105 light gun so there are plenty about. The signalling equipment will not be difficult. We have a quantity of reliable No. 9 sets. I imagine that conditions in the desert are favourable for wireless transmission, and in any event the distances will not be great.’
Nawaf and Colonel Rex nodded their agreement to this.
‘The rifles will present no difficulty either. It will simply be a question of how much you are prepared to pay. The standard NATO ammunition is .300 and almost all types of rifle are now available in that calibre.’
‘There is a lighter rifle which the Americans use in Vietnam,’ said Nawaf.
‘.223,’ said the C.S.O. ‘Unobtainable here.’
‘And undesirable if they were obtainable,’ said Colonel Rex.
Hugo looked at him.
‘I have seen the wound they make,’ said the Colonel.
‘Automatic weapons,’ said the C.S.O. ‘There is a government auction next week at Woolwich. I could bid for you, if you wished. All that would be necessary would be to set a hidden reserve price on them – your price – and we would buy them in for you.’
‘And ammunition?’
‘Not so easy. There’s an all-round shortage of .300 ammunition in this country at the moment.’
‘We can buy as much of that as we want in Spain,’ said the Colonel. He was marking the list he had in front of him. (Like his mother’s shopping. We must get our cheese at Harrods.)
‘Mobile a.a. and anti-tank guns. The obvious place for them would have been the Hasselberger factory in Sweden, but they won’t sell to Arab countries.’
‘I don’t think Hasselberger would sell to us anyway,’ said the Colonel.
‘Why not?’
They’ve got a close tie-up with Target. They’re not going to be happy about what happened to Nussbaum.’
‘I don’t see that,’ said Hugo. ‘It wasn’t your fault. You could have been blown up as easily as he was. More easily, really.’
‘You know that,’ said the Colonel. ‘And I know it. But these merchants have got nasty suspicious minds. Sweden’s out. We shall have to go shopping in Belgium. That being so, I’d like to get everything else there except the ammunition. We’re up against some fairly tight time limits.’
He looked at Nawaf who, so far, had said nothing. He continued to say nothing.
‘You won’t buy tracked vehicles in Belgium,’ said the C.S.O. ‘What you need are light Weasels or Snowcats. What’ll go across snow will go across sand.’
The Colonel drew a loop on the paper in front of him, then another loop and joined them together by a line. Then he said, ‘All right, we’ll buy them in Milan, have them railed to Bari, and pick them up on our way out. I’d like to pick up the Spanish ammunition, too, but can’t chance two stops. A modern boat, which doesn’t waste time, should make Beirut in twelve days with one stop at Bari. But it doesn’t leave much margin. I suppose there’s no chance of stretching these dates, Sayyed?’
Nawaf said, ‘It is essential that the arms be with us by the end of April. It is for that reason that his Highness has instructed me to draw the letters of credit with strict time clauses.’
Hugo said, ‘Would someone, please, explain? I thought letters of credit were the same as cash.’
‘Cash with a time fuse,’ said the Colonel. ‘This London letter is worth £120,000 to us, if it is presented to the bank before close of business on April 15th. One minute later it is worth nothing.’
‘Then let’s present it right away.’
‘Before the bank will pay out on it, they will need to see invoices covering all the goods purchased, bills of lading showing that they are on ship at London docks, and a certificate from the government inspectors here that they have examined all items and found them to be in good workmanlike condition.’
Hugo said, ‘Oh, I see. I’d no idea it was so complicated. Are we going to be able to do all that in time?’
‘It’s now March 25th.’
‘So it is. Lady Day.’
Nawaf, who had been following these exchanges with interest, said, ‘You have a special day set aside for ladies?’
‘I don’t think it means that exactly. It’s one of four old quarter days. I think it’s got a religious significance.’
‘It’s got this significance for us,’ said the Colonel. That we’ve got exactly three weeks to do a hell of a lot of work in. We’ve got to have all the stuff except the tracked vehicles examined here. Since they’re new I take it you’ll accept factory certificates?’
Nawaf nodded.
‘Before we can bring the guns in from Belgium we’ll need an import licence.’
‘No difficu
lty there,’ said the C.S.O.
‘Agreed. And an export permit to get it all out of this country. That’s sometimes more difficult. How often does the Committee meet?’
‘Once a week. There’ll be no difficulty about an export permit if you can produce an end-use certificate.’
‘Sayyed Nawaf should be able to do that for us.’
Nawaf said, ‘Please explain.’ Hugo felt pleased that someone else was out of his depth.
‘It’s a certificate from the Ruler that all these arms are for use in his own territory of Umran and not for export.’
Nawaf smiled faintly, and said, ‘There will be no difficulty about that. You shall have it at once. Does that solve your difficulties? Can you conform to the required dates?’
‘It solves one difficulty,’ said Colonel Rex. The others we shall see as and when they arise. I’ve never known a transaction of this sort go through absolutely smoothly from beginning to end.’
When Hugo got home he found a note on his hall table from his mother. It said, ‘A policeman called to see you.’ And underneath, ‘He called again. I said you’d telephone him when you got home. Dial 2323. Ask for Inspector Hayman.’
Hugo dialled the number, and was told that Inspector Hayman was out, but would be given a message as soon as he got back. This was a nuisance, as he had planned to go out himself. Instead he went down to talk to his mother, carrying a bottle of sherry with him.
‘You know I never ask questions about your work,’ said his mother, ‘but what on earth have you been up to? First that terrible American, and then the police – twice.’
‘That terrible American,’ said Hugo, ‘is dead. It was in the paper this morning.’
His mother said, ‘Good heavens!’ and took a large gulp of her sherry. ‘Heart failure, I suppose. He didn’t look very healthy.’
‘Heart failure would be one way of describing it.’ He found the paragraph in the Daily Telegraph and showed it to her. His mother read it through, her lips compressed into a tight line. She then examined the photograph of what was left of the garage and the car, and said, ‘So it was all a mistake. Not that that’s much consolation to his poor little wife.’
The 92nd Tiger Page 6