‘You know your business best, I imagine.’
‘Another thing,’ said Nawaf. There was a hint of embarrassment in his voice and Hugo half guessed what was coming. ‘This, too, is a decision of the Council and not of his Highness. They feel that, in view of what has happened, an adviser on military matters must be chosen from among the Americans. Mr. Ringbolt has offered to fill the post temporarily, until a permanent official can be sent from the United States. It is their intention, I understand, to establish a trade delegation here.’
‘I see.’
‘To assist us in restoring the economy of our country.’
When Nawaf said this there was a very slight smile around the corners of his mouth. Hugo got the impression that, if the Americans thought they were going to pocket the Smitherite concession for chewing gum and cigarettes, they were in for a surprise.
‘There is a further matter I ought to mention, since it may concern you personally. I fear that an accident may have occurred to a colleague of yours.’
So much had happened in the last few days that it was only with an effort that Hugo gathered what Nawaf was talking about.
‘Colonel Rex? I wondered why I hadn’t heard from him. You say he has met with an accident?’
‘I understand so. In Beirut.’
‘What sort of accident?’
‘There is no certainty, but it seems very probable that he is dead. A woman of the town came under suspicion when she tried to change a number of dollar bills of large denominations. It transpired that Colonel Delmaison had been lodging with her. She was questioned, very closely. In the end some sort of account emerged. She had connections with the Janni brothers, who control much of the poppy market. It would be their people who did the actual killing, not the woman herself.’
‘I knew nothing of this.’
‘I am sure you did not.’
‘It’s damned awkward, though. I suppose I shall have to go to Beirut and try to sort it out.’
‘There may be ways to arrange these matters. You must not trouble yourself about them whilst you are indisposed. I must go now. The procession leaves the Mosque in five minutes.’
‘Then it was very good of you to come at all,’ said Hugo. He thought that the young King was lucky to have a man like Nawaf at his elbow. He was going to need him. He was going to need all the help he could get, with the Gulf Sheiks pulling him in one direction and the Americans in the other. He was thinking about this when the door opened again and Robert Ringbolt looked in.
He said, ‘How’s the invalid?’
‘Fine,’ said Hugo. ‘I’m fine. Why aren’t you taking part in the celebrations?’
‘A planned absence was considered tactful. I saw Nawaf coming away. I take it he’s put you wise to the general situation.’
‘He told me the U.S.A. had made a take-over bid. Rather ahead of your normal schedule, wasn’t it? I seem to remember that the general plan was to let the fuzzy-wuzzies massacre each other and raise every sort of hell, before you came in with a dustpan and brush. Actually the situation was pretty well in hand when you landed.’
‘It was Tammy.’
Hugo stared at him.
‘Normally our tolerance parameters are fairly flexible. But when Admiral Grossberger learned that there was an American girl ashore, who might actually be in the hands of the natives, well, he just gave the orders to go right in.’
‘I see.’
‘Of course, he wasn’t to know that she had you there to look after her.’
‘You’re quite sure he was thinking about Tammy and not about the Smitherite concession.’
‘Maybe he was thinking a bit about both,’ said Ringbolt with his disarmingly boyish smile. ‘I know just how you feel about this, Hugo, don’t think I don’t. However, I’ve got one proposition which may lift the clouds a piece, if you’d care to accept it. Those arms of yours, I guess they’re pretty well stuck in Beirut at this moment. Now that the Colonel has handed in his chips – and between you and me, Hugo, not before time – I imagine you’re going to have some logistical problems when it comes to moving them on?’
‘That’s an understatement.’
‘Well, we’ve got a bit of pull in Beirut just now, politically and financially. We’d be happy to buy those arms off you, and conclude the deal ourselves. I can’t promise that you’d make all the profit you were planning on, but you’d get out with something on the credit side to make up for the fact that you’re losing your assignment here.’
‘A golden handshake,’ said Hugo.
‘I don’t want to press it right now. Perhaps you’d like to turn it over.’
‘No need to turn it over. From now on, the arms are the property of the U.S. Government.’
‘There’ll be quite a few papers to sign. Fortunately we have a lawyer aboard with Admiral Grossberger.’
‘A very well-equipped fleet,’ said Hugo.
When Ringbolt had gone, the black depression descended on Hugo, like a cloud clamping down on to a mountain top. ‘Why do our people have to be so bloody feeble,’ he said. ‘If they’d had the simple guts to move in a half-battalion of infantry when I suggested it, we should have that concession in our pocket and billions of dollars a year. Napoleon called us a nation of shopkeepers. We’re not even that now. We’re retired shopkeepers, frightened to raise our voices in case we offend someone, frightened to move in case we tread on someone’s toes.’
‘Talking to yourself,’ said Tammy. That’s bad.’
She had come in quietly, and was sitting on the edge of the bed.
‘Reaction,’ said Hugo.
‘It was the same with me. As soon as I got back here I had a hot bath, and burst right out crying.’
‘I’m glad you’re here, and not riding in that state carriage beside Hussein, bowing to the crowd.’
‘It was suggested. But I didn’t feel able to accept.’ She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, a sliding sideways glance that was particularly her own, and said, ‘That policeman friend of yours. What’s his name—?’
‘Martin Cowcroft.’
‘A nice little man. Just like a lizard. He told me he’d routed the procession to come right under your window. I think this is them coming now.’
The crowd in the street had been thickening up steadily. Both pavements were packed. Small boys were running out into the road and being hauled back by their sisters. A police jeep drove past.
‘Tammy,’ said Hugo. ‘Will you marry me?’
‘Marriage,’ said Tammy thoughtfully. That’s a bit old-fashioned isn’t it? A famous television star. A girl secret-service ace. It’s not what one’s viewers would expect.’
‘I’m an old-fashioned type,’ said Hugo. He slid one arm round Tammy, pulled her down on top of him, and started to kiss her.
The noise outside increased.
‘Here they come,’ said Tammy. She spoke indistinctly.
‘To hell with them,’ said Hugo. ‘I want you in this bed.’
‘O.K. But hold it one moment.’
The noise rose to a climax. Motor engines, horns, bells, a clatter of hooves, music, the screams of the crowd.
Hugo hoisted himself up, without letting go of Tammy, and looked out of the window. The open Rolls was turning the corner. Hussein was seated in the back, his left arm in a sling. When he looked up and saw Hugo, he half rose in his seat and waved his free arm. For a moment the solemnity of the occasion was lost, and he was an excited boy again.
‘For the last time in his life,’ thought Hugo, waving vigorously back and grinning.
The crowd roared its appreciation.
It took a week to clear things up. Ringbolt accepted the loss of his secretary philosophically, and gave them an advance wedding present of a case of Moharram’s best champagne.
Martin Cowcroft and Charlie Wandyke came to the airport to see them off. Cowcroft said, ‘We’re keeping our fingers crossed. You noticed that cousin Alid was in the procession. It looks as though t
hey’re patching up some sort of truce. It won’t last, of course. We shall have trouble again as soon the Yanks go. However, we should have the rest of the arms safely in by then.’
As the plane rose from the runway and circled, Hugo saw the two men, suddenly diminished, waving goodbye. Although they could not possibly see him, he waved back. Goodbye, goodbye to Umran. Then they were out over the sea, transparent in the morning light, layer upon layer of gold and pink and light green and blue.
It was at Bahrain that it first became apparent that it was going to be no ordinary trip.
When Hugo started to move with the other passengers into the transit lounge, he and Tammy were asked to wait, and were then taken into V.I.P. reception. Here they found a little crowd of newspaper men waiting for them. Hugo shook all the hands that were offered and caught a few names. It was not only the representatives of the local papers. The Middle East correspondent of the Daily Telegraph was there. Even more surprisingly the New York Times seemed to have flown a man over simply for this encounter.
Hugo knew enough about the press to let them do most of the talking, and posed for a photograph with one arm round Tammy.
As they moved out again to the plane, one of the air-hostesses directed them to the first-class section at the front. When they explained that they had economy-class tickets the girl smiled sweetly and said, ‘That’s O.K., Mr. Greest. The airline has adjusted all that. Pleased to have you with us.’
‘What’s all this about?’ said Hugo. ‘How did those newspaper men know we were coming? Why the special treatment? What the hell’s happening?’
‘I guess it’s something to do with my father,’ said Tammy.
‘How does he come into it?’
‘He’s something to do with newspapers in the States.’
‘Tammy,’ said Hugo. ‘Stop evading the issue. What does your father do?’
‘I don’t think he does much. He’s just a majority stockholder in one or two papers.’
The desert of Arabia streamed below them and the hills of Beirut arose on the horizon. Hugo said, ‘Thank you,’ to the stewardess and accepted a glass of iced champagne.
By the time they reached Heathrow, he was unsurprised to find the press of London awaiting them, with its mouth wide open. By that time he was too full of airline food and airline drink to care. ‘Is it true, Mr. Greest, that you rescued the young Prince yourself?’
‘Well. Yes. I suppose I did.’
‘And Miss Biederbecker was with you in this cellar?’
‘Miss who?’
‘That’s me,’ said Tammy.
‘Certainly she was with me in the cellar. All the time.’
‘And this character you strangled with your bare hands?’
‘Strangled?’
‘The rebel chief.’
‘Actually, he was shot.’
‘You shot him, Mr. Greest?’
Hugo said, ‘I suppose I must have done.’
Outside, in the streets, the placards were already on show.
Tiger Wins American Heiress
Real-Life Drama for Screen Hero
TV Personality in Middle East Coup
‘We’d better get hold of a copy of that paper,’ said Hugo, ‘and find out what really happened.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
The Ninety-second Tiger
Hugo’s car was trapped behind a long line of cars, lorries, taxis and buses; but mainly cars, driven by home-going business men who were wondering, for the hundredth time, whether it wouldn’t have been more sensible to come up to town by train. There was fog ahead, and already the queues were beginning to build up on the motorways and the illuminated diversion signs were being switched on.
The driver, who was from the television studio pool, and knew that part of London like his own back garden, said, ‘Once we get past this road junction I can slip off to the left, and we can say goodbye to this crowd. We shall need a bit of luck at Chiswick, but I reckon it’s worth it.’
‘I leave it to you,’ said Hugo. ‘We’re in very good time. They can’t start without me.’
They were telerecording Episode 92 that evening. ‘The Return of the Tiger.’ By popular demand, thought Hugo. No doubt about that. Had not the first person to telephone him when he got back to England been Sam? They’re falling over themselves to cash in on all this gorgeous publicity,’ he said. ‘I can sign you up for two more series of thirteen, with a one-way option on a third series. And listen, I think I can get you a percentage on the resale to America.’
He had not been keen, but Tammy had overruled him. She said, ‘Take the cash. You can always quit at the end.’
‘Then do what? Live on my wife?’
‘Why not? It’s a comfortable sort of life I imagine. I can’t see why men object.’
‘We’ll see about that,’ said Hugo. The conclusion of his arms deal with the American Government had left him with enough money not to worry too much about the immediate future.
They jerked on a dozen yards and stopped again. It was warm in the car and Hugo turned down the side window, but this let in such a gout of freezing fog that he quickly shut it again.
There had been good moments and bad ones, in the six months since his return. The best had been his mother’s reception of Tammy. They had got on to terms immediately. His mother had said, ‘The real trouble with Hugo is that girls have tended to fall down and worship him. I’m sure you won’t make that mistake.’
‘I’ll fight against it,’ said Tammy gallantly.
After that they got straight on to discussing the wedding arrangements.
‘As long as it isn’t a show-business wedding,’ said Mrs. Greest. ‘You know what I mean. Caxton Hall Registry Office, crowds blocking the traffic, the bridegroom carrying the bride in his arms, and a funny man from the B.B.C. cracking jokes on the pavement.’
Tammy shuddered and said, ‘Nothing like that. Technically I understand we ought to get married from my home. It’s a place called Nantasket, and it has a very pretty little church with a white clapboard steeple.’
In the end they had decided that this would be too complicated, and the wedding took place in Richmond Parish Church with a reception at the Star and Garter Hotel. Sam, of course, had come. And Hugo had, after some hesitation, invited Arnold Taverner who had returned a diplomatic refusal. The only disruption had been caused by the Tiger Fan Club, who had got into the reception ahead of the guests and taken away most of the wedding cake as souvenirs.
The car made thirty yards.
‘Any minute now,’ said the driver.
The bad moments had mostly been regret for Umran. When the weather was particularly vile he had thought about it a lot. The arch of the sky, deep blue above, fading to pearl on the horizon. The heat that pressed down on you like a weight, that hurt and anaesthetised the hurt at the same time, until in the end, like Martin Cowcroft, you lived in it and on it, a salamander in the fire. And the smell of musk and tamarisk and rotten fish and boiling tar, all mixed with the smell of the real desert, which was indescribable and which he had known when he was young.
That was the truth of the matter, he decided. It was a young man’s land. When he had tried to explain this to Tammy she had said, ‘To listen to you, anyone would think you were seventy. You’ve got more than half your life ahead of you. When this series is over, we’ll go to America and I’ll show you some real deserts. You could lose Arabia in some of them.’
The car shook itself free of the traffic and bowled down a side street of small suburban houses. Front doors were opening, letting out a stream of light and letting in the breadwinners, home to a quiet evening of supper, television and bed. They were his public. The ninety-nine point nine per cent, who liked to live quietly and were happy to enjoy their excitements vicariously. Sensible people, who only knew vaguely where the Persian Gulf was, and had never heard of Umran.
They reached the television studios with half an hour to spare. Hugo signed six autograph books, and stopped
in the entrance hall for a word with George, the one-armed commissionaire.
‘Very glad to see you back, Mr. Greest. My family always look forward to your show.’
‘Thank you, George. I hope we don’t let you down.’
Michael Gilbert Titles in order of first publication
All Series titles can be read in order, or randomly as standalone novels
Inspector Hazlerigg
Close Quarters (1947)
They Never Looked Inside (alt: He Didn’t Mind Danger) (1948)
The Doors Open (1949)
Smallbone Deceased (1950)
Death has Deep Roots (1951)
Fear To Tread (in part)(1953)
The Young Petrella (included) (short stories) (1988)
The Man Who Hated Banks and Other Mysteries (included) (short stories) (1997)
Patrick Petrella
Blood and Judgement (1959)
Amateur in Violence (included) (short stories) (1973)
Petrella at Q (short stories) (1977)
The Young Petrella (short stories) (1988)
Roller Coaster (1993)
The Man Who Hated Banks and Other Mysteries (included) (short stories) (1997)
Luke Pagan
Ring of Terror (1995)
Into Battle (1997)
Over and Out (1998)
Calder & Behrens
Game Without Rules (short stories) (1967)
Mr. Calder and Mr. Behrens (short stories) (1982)
Non-Series
Death in Captivity (alt: The Danger Within) (1952)
Sky High (alt: The Country House Burglar) (1955)
Be Shot for Sixpence (1956)
After the Fine Weather (1963)
The Crack in the Teacup (1966)
The Dust and the Heat (alt: Overdrive) (1967)
The Etruscan Net (alt: The Family Tomb) (1969)
The 92nd Tiger Page 21