THE BOY FROM THE TANGIER SOUK

by Richard Savin

  The concierge watched as they went. Nobody needed to tell him; he had seen it in their faces and the way she took his hand. It made him think of the times he had once known, when he was younger.

  From his room on the first floor, Bonny had watched as he saw her climb the steps. Evangeline Pfeiffer. He could not believe his luck. He did not have to go to her; she had come to him.

  The phone rang. ‘It is reception; there is a call for you, señor.’

  ‘Put it through.’

  The smug grin on Bonny’s face at the sight of his prey did not last. In a few brief words it was wiped clean.

  ‘We are not sending a man,’ the disembodied voice said. ‘Your mission is off. Things are moving. You are needed in Paris urgently.’

  From where he stood with the phone pressed to his ear, he had a clear view out of the window and into the street below. He nearly choked as he saw not only Evangeline leaving but, by her side, Grainger. It was too good to lose. ‘But I have them, both. They are here, now.’

  ‘The mission is aborted,’ the tinny voice in the earpiece repeated. ‘You are ordered to return to Paris.’

  ‘But they are here!’ Bonny insisted. ‘Almost in my hands.’

  ‘Leave it. Go back to Paris.’ The voice was calm but adamant. ‘Do nothing that will upset the Spanish. Those are your orders. Now carry them out.’

  Bonny put down the phone, floundered for a few seconds, then went in search of his driver. He took one last look out of the window, in time to see them disappear. He knew exactly where they were going. He went to his driver’s room and rapped urgently on the door. ‘Come quickly. I have seen them. If we move fast we can have both of them.’

  The driver frowned. He, too, had received a phone call. These were not his instructions and he said as much to Bonny. The chief of the Carlingue was in no mood to be deflected, least of all by a mere chauffeur. ‘I have my own orders, direct from Reichsführer Himmler. I will not be countermanded by some clerk pushing a pen in Barcelona. Come with me – that is an order. Bring the car round to the front of the hotel and wait for me.’

  The driver was Spanish and not German. He was just a man who drove a car. He could not make decisions. He took his orders from whoever was closest to him. Just now that was Bonny and he would go with him.

  *

  The morning was finished. It had been busy. The last customer had left and Tamaya was preparing to lock the door when she saw them coming towards her. ‘Maria,’ she fairly squealed out her name. ‘They are here.’

  She pulled the door open, and there they were; a perfect couple she thought. ‘This is Richard,’ Evangeline said to her. In the kitchen doorway Maria stood framed, a large wooden rolling pin in one hand, flour up to her elbows and a face wreathed in the broadest smile. ‘Welcome, Señor Richard,’ she called to him. ‘We have heard much of you, and it is most nice to see you are real.’

  Everyone laughed; it was quite spontaneous. Tamaya looked at the man standing there, a bit unsure of himself. She gave him the semblance of a bow and repeated Maria’s call that he was welcome. Then she folded her arms around Evangeline and squeezed her tight. ‘Oh, Evi; oh, Evi; I am so pleased for you.’ It was too much and she could not help but cry. She stood back and laughed, taking out a handkerchief to dab at her eyes.

  ‘Follow me.’ Evangeline took his hand and led him through the doorway and up the stairs to the salon. ‘There is someone I would like you to meet.’

  She walked over to a crib that was set in one corner. ‘Do look at him; he is beautiful.’

  Grainger looked cautiously into the crib and down on the child who lay in it. ‘This is your son?’ He looked over at Evangeline and saw the emotion welling up in her face.

  ‘I had not realised until he was born. It was when we were together at the house in Les Islas, before we came over the mountains. Look at his eyes. They are your eyes, Richard. Look at his mouth; he has your mouth. He is our son.’

  It was too much and she had to let go. The tears streamed like a waterfall as the emotion poured out of her.

  Grainger walked around the crib, and when he reached her folded her in his arms and together they just stood there, Evangeline locked in his arms, rocking back and forth to the rhythm of her sobs. In that moment she knew everything was going to be all right.

  Downstairs in the shop Tamaya and Maria just stood there smiling at each other. They had never seen Evangeline quite so happy in all the time they had known her.

  ‘Who is that?’ Tamaya looked at Maria. Someone was banging on the front door. ‘Don’t they know we are closed.’ She opened the door and a thin, weaselly man in a dark suit shoved her hard to one side. He barged in followed by another, much larger man. Maria came out of the kitchen armed with a rolling pin, convinced they had burglars. The larger man blocked her way, pushing her back into the kitchen. He shut her in and then lent his weight against it to keep her there. The weasel pulled the door to the staircase open and started to climb. ‘You cannot go up there,’ Tamaya shrieked at the top of her voice.’

  The man ignored her. As he got to the top Grainger came out to see what the noise was about. He instantly recognised Bonny. He had a gun in his hand and a deeply repugnant smirk on his face. ‘Got you,’ he sniggered. He waved Grainger back to the room.

  When Grainger resisted, Bonny raised the gun to his head. ‘Do it or you’re dead.’

  Tamaya stood frozen on the landing. She had no idea what to do. She was scared to move in case it caused the man to shoot.

  Grainger backed into the room. Bonny followed him in and there he saw Evangeline holding the baby.

  ‘Ah, and so we find the lady.’ She instantly recognised Bonny and she was petrified. She knew only too well how cruel this man could be.

  ‘Hands behind your back,’ he barked at Grainger. ‘Turn round. Right, madame, drop the brat and put these on your lover.’ He held out a pair of handcuffs. Evangeline placed the boy gently into the crib and closed the handcuffs around Grainger’s wrists. In his mind he was desperately looking for a way out.

  Bonny was a scarecrow of a man; without a gun he was no match for Grainger. ‘Right, madame, out.’ He pushed her towards the door, shoving Grainger along behind her. They stumbled down the steps. In Grainger’s mind there was one hope. If he backed into Bonny on the last step he might get the man down before he could shoot him. It was a desperate idea but it was all he had.

  It didn’t work. As they got to the bottom Bonny stood back three steps, forcing Grainger to go through too far in front of him to do anything. The last chance had dissolved. As Grainger passed through the door arch Bonny shouted for the driver to hold him. He stepped off the last tread. There he was momentarily confused by what greeted him.

  The bulk of his driver was propped up against the counter. Next to him a short, very square-built woman was standing with her arms folded, a rolling pin in one hand. He had little opportunity to question what had happened. He saw a movement, and then Tamaya. In one hand she was holding a gun. Bonny was used to this kind thing. He calculated she would not really want to fire the weapon. He sidestepped and got in behind Grainger, putting the gun to his head. Evangeline screamed. ‘Don’t kill him, please, don’t kill him.’

  Bonny was shaken but only for a second. ‘Tell your black friend to throw down the gun.’ Evangeline cringed. She had lost the power to speak.

  ‘Do it! Do it or he dies. And then I will kill her. And then the fat lady with the rolling pin, and then …,’ he gave her an ugly smile, ‘… you? Nah. I don’t think so. You and I will go to Paris – and when I have had my satisfaction, I will turn whatever there is left of your gibbering body over to my friends in Berlin and let them have their pleasure. Now, do as I say. Tell her.’

  Tamaya looked at Evangeline. In her mind she was set on killing this man in front of her. She had him in her sights. It would be hard to miss but Grainger would almost certainly go with him. Evangeline nodded. ‘Do as he says, Tamaya.’ She opened her hand and the gun
clattered to the floor.

  A groan came from the driver as he gained consciousness. ‘Get up,’ Bonny shouted to him, ‘I need your help with these two.’

  The man was trying to get up. Bonny put his arm behind his back and pulled open the shop door, all the while watching Tamaya. The driver finally struggled to his feet.

  ‘Pick up that gun.’ Bonny ordered him. ‘We wouldn’t want her to try anything.’

  The driver trudged across the room. He bent to pick up Tamaya’s pistol. He stopped and let out a groan, ‘Señor.’ He looked directly over Bonny’s shoulder. Bonny turned. There was a man standing in the doorway. ‘Fuck off,’ Bonny growled at him. The man, who was very large and filled the space of the doorway, lifted a fist and punched Pierre Bonny hard, full in the face. His head jerked back and a glob of blood shot out of his nose. He staggered backwards and fell heavily to the ground.

  Seeing her chance, Tamaya made a grab for the gun. The driver lunged clumsily at her but she moved out of his reach. In the same moment Maria took four sturdy paces to reach him. She pounded him hard across the shoulder blades with the rolling pin. He roared out his pain and went to aim a fist at her. He stopped as he found himself confronted by the muzzle of the gun Tamaya was holding. ‘I will kill you, I promise. Just stand still.’

  The driver had no fight left in him; he spat in the direction of the unconscious Bonny slumped on the shop floor.

  It had all taken seconds. The man who had intervened and floored Bonny was still there, surveying the chaos spread out before him.

  ‘Sergeant McAndrew?’ Evangeline was shaking, the fear still gripping her.

  ‘Mac,’ Grainger had turned round, his hands still cuffed. ‘What the hell are you doing here, but shit I’m pleased to see you.’

  ‘Harper sent me back to tell you Gibraltar is off. You can cool your heels here till they decide what they do with you.’

  He threw a glanced at the recumbent Bonny and the still dazed driver. ‘I guess I’ll take this garbage up to La Vajol. The major can decide what to do with them – and hey, I’m supposed to tell you, you got two weeks furlough before you have to do anything.’

  After McAndrew had gone and things had settled a bit Tamaya opened a bottle of wine. ‘We should drink a toast,’ she said. ‘What shall it be? The baby? The return of Mr Richard? What?’

  ‘I think,’ Evangeline grinned, ‘it should be the two heroes: the lady with the rolling pin and the lady with the gun.’ At that point she stopped and gave Tamaya a puzzled look.

  ‘Where did you get that gun, Tamaya?’

  Tamaya hesitated; there was the sound of guilt in her voice. ‘I stole it, Evi.’ She put her hand to her mouth. ‘I found it in the wardrobe of Don Carlos one day when I was cleaning his room. I am sorry, I should not have stolen it – but I thought he might kill you – so I took it. It has been here in my room ever since.’

  ‘In that case …,’ Grainger raised his glass, ‘… we should drink to providence, and the two ladies.’ Then he paused, as if caught up in some afterthought. ‘And to Jamil,’ he added.

  The women looked at him, three confused faces waiting for an explanation. They responded in one voice.

  ‘Who?

  Grainger grinned in warm recollection. ‘Just a boy from Tangier. I owe him my life actually – but that’s another story.’

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  My many thanks to all those who worked with me on the production of this book.

  Liz and Linda for their most capable editing. Authors Ted Bun and Jim Gault for their assistance on plot structure. Beta readers Marie Gault, Louise Sugrue and Steve Cracknell, and the VEEM writers’ group for listening to, and commenting on. various extracts. As usual I owe thanks to Olly and the team at More Visual for another great cover design.

  Without them there would be no story.

  THE ORIGINS OF GRAINGER AND JORDAN

  If you would like to discover the origins of these two characters, you will find them in the pages of the novel, A Right to Bear Arms. This is a ‘what if’ story; an alternative look at what might have happened in 1940 if Lord Halifax, and not Winston Churchill, had become the wartime leader of Britain.

  In this book you will uncover not only the origins of Richard Grainger and Tommy Jordan, but also the way they developed across time. They are here in these pages, and we shall see more of them in future stories.

  A Right to Bear Arms http://getbook.at/RBArms

  London, 4 June 1940

  In a quiet fashionable Knightsbridge street, a short walk from Harrods and Sloane Square, a large Humber limousine drew up tight to the kerb, its blackness starkly silhouetted against the white of the elegant stone buildings. For a few moments the occupants lingered in conversation. Then the driver slid out from behind the wheel and, with a deferential stoop, opened the rear door. The passenger who emerged was a man in his late middle-age with thinning hair, a dark coat and a bow tie. He hauled himself out of the seat and on to the pavement. ‘Wait for me here, Walter,’ he quietly instructed the other passenger in the back of the limousine.

  After a cursory nod to the driver he made his way up the steps to one of the large eighteenth-century town mansions. The front door, elegantly finished in a deep glossy midnight blue with ornate brass fittings, opened silently as he reached the final step and a man in something close to livery ushered him in. The driver lingered by the car, lit a cigarette and prepared to wait. The weather had been good for the end of May and the evening air was pleasantly warm. The broad secluded tree-lined street was quiet save for the occasional passing taxi. A little further up a group emerged from one of the houses. They laughed and chatted as they headed for an evening’s entertainment somewhere in the West End. They seemed not to know there was a war on; either that or they just didn’t care.

  ‘Come in, Winston,’ said a voice emerging from the end of the well-lit hall.

  Inside the room three men stood close together, talking. The fourth, who had called to him, was just inside the door and conducted him through. He was tall and gaunt with a withered left arm. A pair of wire-framed spectacles perched awkwardly on his nose. He had a look of the aristocracy in the way he carried himself.

  ‘Well, Edward,’ Winston said, ‘I’ve come at your request but you have not indicated what this is about.’

  As they moved into the large room the group of three men who had been deep in conversation got up abruptly. Two moved away to the farthest corner while the third stepped forward to meet them.

  Winston looked at him questioningly. ‘Lord Chalfont – and how do we find you here, sir?’

  ‘Like you, I was invited by Halifax here.’ He gestured to the tall thin man standing next to Winston.

  Halifax beckoned to a sturdy polished table. ‘Come, let us sit down.’

  Seated, the three men faced each other in silence; Halifax broke it. ‘Winston,’ he said with an air of solemnity, ‘we’ve been adversaries these many years but we share the same politics.’ He spoke the words like a man trying to justify what came next.

  ‘We are now at a dreadful and critical juncture in this war, a war which we are losing and I believe – and Chalfont is supportive ...’ – Chalfont nodded – ‘… that we must now make overtures for a negotiated settlement with Hitler.’

  Winston grumped and was about to say something but Halifax cut him short. ‘Hear me out.’

  ‘Go on if you must, but you’ve already had the benefit of my views on this matter.’ He pulled a cigar case from his pocket, selected a fat Havana and proceeded to light it.

  ‘I have been contacted by Signor Bastianini, the Italian Ambassador, whom I believe to be an honourable man.’ Halifax paused, hoping to judge the effect and Winston’s reaction, but none came.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘He has offered his services to mediate. He has informed me that were we to approach Signor Mussolini to intercede with Hitler he would receive the proposal favourably. By this avenue we perhaps may get a reasonable peace settlemen
t and save the further dreadful loss of life that is inevitable if we continue on our present course.’ Winston remained sitting in silence. He pulled hard on the cigar. Eyebrows raised, he looked from one man to the other.

  Halifax continued. ‘We should no doubt have to concede some territory as an incentive, perhaps the former German colonial holdings in East Africa, and I have no doubt Signor Mussolini has certain ambitions in the Mediterranean that might have to be accommodated, but overall we would save Europe from further pointless bloodshed.’ He looked closely at Winston trying to detect a hint of sentiment to the proposal; there was none.

  ‘I have spoken privately with Monsieur Reynaud, who has intimated that the French government is about to sign an armistice with Germany. If this is so, and I have no doubt but that this is so, then we in Britain will stand alone and isolated.’ There was another pause.

  Winston sat quiet for a moment. ‘I find it difficult to believe,’ he finally said, ‘that either of you could be so naïve in this matter as to think the terms that could be achieved by such a compromise would be anything other than a demeaning of this nation’s position in the eyes of the free world.’ He waved the Havana, causing the ash to drop on the table. ‘This would mean subservience to a Nazi-dominated Europe.’ It was worse than he had feared when he first got the invitation. He looked from one to the other through narrowing eyes.

  ‘We should not give away our great history with all its glorious moments for such a mess of potage – and a mess it would be. It would be foolish to think that any agreement with Herr Hitler and his Nazis would be honoured for more than the time it took the ink to dry on the paper. Here is a tyrant whose whole being and philosophy is dedicated to mendacity, to duplicity. As for Signor Mussolini, I doubt he has the sway with Hitler that you suppose and, in any event, he would clearly be looking to take a sizeable bite from our unprotected backsides as Dane geld for his doubtful services. I cannot in all conscience contemplate an action in which we so betray the British nation and the people who entrusted us with their votes in such a low and cowardly manner.’ His voice was serious and measured, full of what Halifax referred to as ‘sonorous Churchilian stubbornness’.