The Leader And The Damned

by Colin Forbes

  'So,' Reader said, 'you've had a minute to think about it - I'd appreciate hearing what's wrong. Tim Whelby is harmless enough. Never going to set the world on fire, likes to keep on the right side of everybody..

  'Oh, you've spotted that intriguing trait?' 'Intriguing?'

  'Have you ever noticed...' Lindsay continued walking while he talked - he was feeling better than he had for months -. that he takes great pains to get on with the Indians and the university crowd?'

  The 'Indians' were those members of the SIS recruited from the Indian Civil Service. They tended to be hard-nosed men, wedded to tradition, inflexible where change was concerned but loyal to the Crown.

  The 'university' men were dons from Oxford, intellectuals who approached every problem with an open mind. They formed a second clique, apart from the traditionalists. You belonged to one club or the other. It was rare for a man to span both worlds.

  'Well,' Reader agreed, 'come to think of it, I suppose you are right. Isn't that one up to Whelby?' 'Another thing - I always got the feeling he was acting a part, that no one ever met the real man 'I can't change the route now. It's all laid on.' 'Laid on by who?'

  'Whelby, I suppose...' Reader gave way to a burst of irritation. `Damnit, I've been out of touch, marooned in bloody Yugoslavia like you. Take it up with Whelby - when we get to Lydda. If anyone is after your hide - if that's what's bothering you - who's going to dream of your turning up at a one-eyed dump like Lydda?'

  'Whelby.'

  When they boarded the Dakota for the second leg of their flight Lindsay was surprised. He had chosen a

  window seat by himself, expecting Paco to sit with Reader. She sat in the adjoining seat next to him without a word and proceeded to fasten her seat belt.

  'You're not bored with my company I hope?' she murmured as the new pilot taxied for take-off. 'I can

  always move, there's any amount of room...'

  'No, you're welcome. I had thought...'

  'That I'd choose Len Reader as a travelling companion? I can see the answer in your expression. You still haven't caught on, have you?'

  'Am I being a bit slow...?'

  He was still unsure of himself where women were concerned. A rebuff was something he always feared. He might have shot down six Germans over Kent and the Channel but in some ways he was still immature, shy of coming out of his shell.

  'Yes!' Her voice was low, vehement. 'You are just a little bit slow and a girl doesn't like to have to make all the running...'

  'But you said...'

  'I know what I said back in Yugoslavia - but what chance did there seem to be that any of us would ever get out alive? And I said also that I was suspicious of Reader. I was. I wanted to be sure we hadn't a dummy slipped in amongst us...'

  'A dummy?'

  'A German masquerading as an Englishman, for Christ's sake. It's a technique they've used before - with hellish consequences. Remember I was educated in England, so I know quite a lot about the place. I used every bit of knowledge I could drag back to test Reader, to try and catch him out. The easiest way for a girl to test a man is to pretend to be keen on him -in the hope that he'll let down his defences. God, Lindsay, sometimes I think you're thick...'

  She slipped her small hand over his, just resting it there. He jerked his head round and stared at her. She had that marvellous half-smile on her face. Her greenish eyes, half-closed, were smiling, too. She rested her head on his shoulder.

  'Oh, Lindsay, Lindsay, you stupid man...'

  'Bloody thick,' he agreed. 'Thick as three props...'..

  He was choked with emotion, found it difficult to form the words. He took her hand, it really seemed so very small, and squeezed it as he swallowed. She understood.

  'Lindsay, will you take me to London? I want to see the Green Park again...'

  'Green Park, just Green Park...'

  'They have those big birds by the pool, the funny ones with great pouches...'

  'Pelicans. That's St James's Park. I'll show you the whole of London. Then we'll go out into the countryside...'

  'I'd like that.' She turned her head on his shoulder and her hair brushed his cheek. 'I know a little village

  in Surrey, near Guildford. All huddled down in the folds of the hills ….'

  'Peaslake?'

  'You know it, too!' She sat up and her face glowed. 'Oh, this is wonderful. I'm never going back to Jugoslavia. I've got dual nationality, you know — a British

  passport..

  'I didn't know — you never told me. It will make things so much easier. Haven't you Got any people back in Yugoslavia?'

  'No ties. I'm an only child — so after both my parents were killed in the Belgrade bombing I was completely on my own.' She slipped her arm inside his. 'I'm not going to let you out of my sight until we get to London. Does that make me a forward hussy? I don't care. I don't care...!'

  For that short time, as the Dakota droned steadily on towards Palestine, they must have been very happy. Across the gangway in the window seat Reader, who had exceptionally acute hearing, listened to most of their conversation without wishing to.

  He kept his eyes turned towards the window, gazing at the sea they crossed for most of the flight. He was convinced that neither Lindsay nor Paco had any idea they were over the Med. As she repeated I don't care...! Paco clasped her free hand over her mouth.

  'God, was I shouting? The whole aircraft must have heard...'

  'You were.. It must have done. And I don't care either. One thing, we may not travel together all the way until we arrive in London...'

  'And why not?'

  'Security. I have a job to complete. Which reminds me - I'd like a quick word with Reader over there. Won't be long - and don't get up. I can squeeze past...' He put a hand on her leg to support himself and held it there for a moment.

  Settling himself in the seat next to Reader, he turned away from Paco so she couldn't catch even a snatch of his conversation with the Intelligence Major. He took out the leather-bound diary from his pocket.

  "This is strictly between you and me, Reader. This diary is vital. The information is what I'm carrying inside my head - so if my head never reaches London I need a safe place for the diary. Otherwise everything that's happened becomes pointless. That I wouldn't like...'

  'What exactly are you asking me to do?'

  'You're not fireproof either. Do you know someone in Palestine you can trust, really trust - someone you could deposit this diary with until I send for it?'

  'Only a civilian. Chap called Stein. He's a diamond broker. Their careers hinge on their integrity. And he's not mixed up with any of the Jewish gangs. You could trust him with your life...'

  'Maybe that's how it's going to turn out...'

  Leaving Reader, he was standing in the gangway when Hartmann approached him. The German asked if they could have a quiet word together. They chose two isolated seats d Hartmann began speaking in

  English.

  'Now we are over Allied territory I can reveal my secret. I've been sent on a special mission by Admiral Canaris, chief of the Abwehr as you know. He instructed me to escape from Germany - which is why I seized on the opportunity to follow you. Rather a nerve-racking business. I had to fool so many people - Gruber, Jaeger, Schmidt, Maisel - the most dangerous adversary. And, of course, Bormann himself...'

  'I always sensed there was something odd about you...'

  'I thought you did,' Hartmann commented. 'I know the names of the entire anti-Nazi opposition. We tried to pass on our peace proposals to Allied agents in Spain but someone road-blocked us. A man called Whelby was in charge...'

  'I know him,' Lindsay replied and left it at that.

  'I have to be escorted safely through to London. In return for assassinating Hitler and establishing a civilian, non-Nazi government we are prepared to negotiate a peace settlement. I can only give you names after I have arrived in London. Until then I ask that you alone should know about this matter..

  'That is your only pa
ssport to safety,' Lindsay told him.

  It was still daylight when Moshe, crouched behind the rocks overlooking Lydda airfield, first spotted the Dakota coming in to land. He was aching in every limb from his long vigil but he possessed quite abnormal powers of endurance.

  In the canvas satchel by his side was his water- bottle, his few remaining cheese sandwiches and a pair of night-glasses. Dusk would soon spread its dark pall over the silent land and he had no way of knowing whether the aircraft bringing Lindsay might arrive after dark.

  He adjusted the binoculars looped round his neck and focused them on the grassy runway. The Dakota flew straight in, touched down and reduced speed as it headed for the reception building. Moshe knew that on the far side of the building beyond his view were parked a staff car and an armoured vehicle.

  The man who had been pointed out to him by Vlacek in Jerusalem as Tim Whelby strolled towards the aircraft, hatless and wearing only a tropical drill suit despite the chill of the evening. Moshe locked his lenses on Whelby, waiting for the signal which would identify Wing Commander Lindsay for him.

  A metal ladder was placed against the side of the machine by one of the ground staff. Two British soldiers armed with sten guns began patrolling the area round the Dakota. A man appeared at the top of the ladder, a man holding a stick.

  Moshe pressed the glasses hard against his eyes as the passenger slowly descended the ladder rung by

  rung. Reaching the ground, he turned and in the twin lenses Moshe saw his face close up. No doubt about it. This was Lindsay! Then Moshe got his final confirmation of the RAF man's identity.

  As Whelby shook hands with Lindsay he casually reached up with his left hand and gripped the lobe of his ear, the signal Vlacek had arranged. Other people were emerging from the aircraft. To Moshe's surprise one of them was a blonde-haired girl - followed in rapid succession by two other men.

  Moshe continued his watch. He wanted to observe the system of protection employed, because when Lindsay returned from Jerusalem to fly on to Cairo they would undoubtedly employ the same technique. It was this British habit of clinging to routine which had been the death of them - literally - on so many other occasions.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  'My dear chap, welcome back to civilization after all these months Whelby extended his hand, shaking Lindsay's as he fingered the lobe of his left ear. 'I must s-s-ay you look a bit p-p-peaky.' He lowered his voice. 'I'm known to the locals as Peter Standish...'

  'What brings you out here?' asked Lindsay, his expression unsmiling.

  'To escort you home, of course.'

  'To London, you mean?'

  'That's right.'

  'By what route?'

  'Well if you must know now.'

  'I must.'

  'Back to Cairo in a couple of days, after you've rested up. Then on to dear old London...'

  A uniformed sergeant of the Palestine Polite had joined them and was showing obvious signs of restlessness. He butted in on the conversation, ignoring Whelby, addressing Lindsay.

  'Excuse me, my chaps are getting a bit trigger happy. We're exposed standing about here — and I'd

  like to get you safely to Jerusalem before nightfall …'

  'Sergeant Mulligan - Wing Commander Lindsay,' Whelby introduced. 'I suppose you're transporting us to the Hotel Sharon in that old tin can...'

  'Better not let Corporal Wilson hear you,' Mulligan snapped. 'Last time you referred to it as "that iron

  monster". Now it's become an old tin can. Maybe you'd like to know Wilson has survived three bomb attacks and has grown rather fond of his mode of transport. There are five of you, so four of you travel in the back, two on the flap seats. be driving.'

  'I don't mind sitting beside you, Sergeant,' Paco offered.

  'Much as I'd enjoy the pleasure of your company you're taking a back seat, if you'll pardon the phraseology. The front passenger is the dead man's seat. You've just entered a war zone.'

  'I've just left one,' Paco replied pleasantly.

  'So,' Mulligan informed her, 'you're entitled to all the safety you can get. Now, Mr Standish, I'm sure you won't blench at the idea of sitting alongside' me? Shall we go...?'

  Lindsay was beginning to get the distinct impression that Standish was not Sergeant Mulligan's favourite person. Interesting in view of his own feelings.

  Moshe watched the convoy leave the airfield and turn onto the curving road which climbed the hillside leading to Jerusalem. The armoured car first. The trail-blazer in case the road had been mined.

  One hundred metres behind, the staff car followed. All five passengers aboard. The Palestine Police sergeant driving at a pace which maintained the gap. Headlights on because dusk was falling. Moshe had switched to his night glasses.

  One hundred metres behind the staff car, two British Army motorcyclists protecting the rear. They could prove to be a bit of a problem. Behind them at a reasonable distance a vegetable truck took the road to Jerusalem. The driver would check the convoy's route and report later to Moshe. Halfway to the city at a turn-off the vegetable truck would disappear - to be replaced by a grocery van - driven by another member of the Stern Gang. Moshe stood up, hoisted the pack on his back and walked to the spot where he had hidden his own motorcycle.

  They were driven to the barracks. There had been a brief confrontation about their destination before they left Lydda. It was Sergeant Mulligan who bluntly contradicted Whelby's idea of putting up at the Hotel Sharon.

  'We've already had one murder there. The place is wide open. I can't guarantee anyone's safety.'

  'Where would you suggest?' broke in Lindsay.

  'Police barracks.' Mulligan had glanced at Paco. 'We can provide a separate room for the lady …'

  'A hotel is a damned foolish suggestion, conditions being what they are here...'

  It was Hartmann who had made the surprising intervention. He had been studying Whelby ever since they landed. Mulligan, who still didn't understand the German's presence, looked at him.

  'How do you know about conditions out here?'

  'We have our sources...' Hartmann left it at that.

  'The barracks it is,' Lindsay had said decisively. He saw no reason to consult Whelby over the decision. The man from London had merely shrugged. Better not to press the point.

  Inside the barracks they met Jock Carson who didn't ask them a single question - he could see the new arrivals were tired out after their long trip. They ' had a meal together, eating in silence, leaving half the food on their plates. Fatigue and the long months of short rations had contracted their stomachs. They dropped into their beds - another experience their bodies were not used to - and after tossing and turning for a while fell into a deep sleep from sheer exhaustion.

  The following morning after breakfast Lindsay took Reader aside. To avoid being overheard they walked in the enclosed parade ground. Surrounded by two-storey buildings, they relaxed in the novel feeling of being safe once again.

  'This Stein chap,' Lindsay began. 'Could we see him today? I want to off-load this diary. Mulligan says we take off for Cairo tomorrow...'

  'I was stationed in Jerusalem two years ago for a few months,' replied Reader, 'so I know the place. Stein's office is only a short walk from the barracks. Mulligan's preoccupied with organizing tomorrow's flight. We might slip past the guard-post now.

  'Let's get on with it.'

  'Leave me to do the talking. I know how these chaps react...'

  It proved surprisingly easy. Reader marched into the office alongside the exit barrier, his manner confident and firm. He already held his Army paybook showing his rank as Major, arm of service Intelligence — in his hand.

  'We're going out to keep an appointment,' Reader said briskly to the guard sitting behind a desk. 'Urgent Army business. I expect we'll be back within an hour, two at the most.'

  They waited while the guard laboriously copied their names in a ruled register. Their ranks. Time of leaving the barracks. Then he gestured to the gu
ard outside who raised the pole.

  'Isn't their security a bit lax?' Lindsay commented as they walked away from the barracks.

  'We were going out,' Reader explained. 'So we must have been checked in properly earlier. Entering that place is a different kettle of fish altogether...'

  'Mulligan will go spare if he finds out.

  'Let's hope we get back before he even knows we're gone...'

  Aaron Stein's office was on the first floor of an old stone, two-storey building in a side street. There was no indication on the door outside of who occupied the place. In response to Reader's rapping on the

  panels a Judas window was opened in the door, a pair of dark, shrewd eyes stared out and then Lindsay realized how much security Stein employed.

  He counted eight locks and bolts being.unfastened before the door swung open. The same performance was repeated after they were inside. Stein's appearance surprised Lindsay. He didn't look a day over twenty. His complexion was smooth and pale, his hair dark, he was of average height and heavy build.

  'Aaron, this is Wing Commander Lindsay,' Reader introduced. 'He wants to leave something in your safekeeping. I can vouch for him personally.'

  Lindsay was careful to extend his hand quickly: Aaron Stein shook it with old world formality, his dark eyes studying his visitor. He seemed satisfied with what he saw.

  'I am pleased to meet you, Wing Commander. This way, please, to my office.'

  Inside the office a second youngster was standing waiting for them. Again Lindsay shook hands as Aaron made introductions.

  'This is my brother, David. No matter how confidential your business you may talk freely in front of him. We are partners. Also, it is a precaution in your own interests. In case something happens to me.'

  'I hope not...' Lindsay began.

  Aaron made a deprecating gesture with his hand.

  As he spoke he ushered them to. chairs. David Stein looked remarkably like his brother. One could easily be mistaken for the other. Lindsay thought for a brief moment of the scene he had witnessed when he had first arrived at the Berghof. The second Adolf Hitler practising gestures and speech, reflected a dozen times in the circle of mirrors. They said every man had his double somewhere...