Cry Wolf Part 4

"Now, my dear Swales. The prices for the machine guns and the other armaments were decided months ago but the armoured cars were never mentioned. Would you like to suggest a reasonable figure?"

"Your Excellency, I had in mind a fair figure before I realized it was you I.

was dealing with-" Gareth drew deeply on one of the Prince's Havana cigars, steeling himself for the wild flying chance he was going to take. "Now, of course, I am prepared merely to cover my costs and leave only a modest profit for my partner and myself to share." The Prince showed his appreciation with a gracious gesture.

"Two thousand pounds each," said Gareth quickly, running the words together to make it sound less shocking, but still Jake almost choked on a mouthful of whisky soda.

The Prince nodded thoughtfully. "I see," he said. "That is probably five times the actual value." Gareth looked shocked. "Your Excellency-" But the Prince silenced him with a raised hand.

"During the last six months, I have spent a great deal of time inspecting and pricing various items of military equipment. My dear Swales, please don't insult us both by protesting." There was a long silence and the atmosphere in the cabin was taut as guitar strings then the Prince sighed.

"I could price those weapons but I could not buy. The great powers of the world have denied me that right the right to defend my country against the predator." There was an age of weariness in the dark eyes and smooth brow furrowed with thought. "My country is landlocked, as you know, gentlemen. We do not have access to the sea.

All imports must come through the territories of French and British Somaliland or Italian Eritrea. Italy the predator or the French and the British who have placed us under embargo." Lij Mikhael sipped at the drink in his hand, and then frowned into the depths of the gla.s.s, as though it were a crystal ball and he could read the future there.

"The great powers are prepared to deliver us to the Fascist tyrant, with our sword hand empty and trussed behind our back." He sighed again heavily and then looked up at Gareth. His expression changed.

"Major Swales, you have offered me a collection of worn and obsolete vehicles and weapons at many times their actual value. I am a desperate man. I must accept your offer and the price you demand."

Gareth relaxed slightly and glanced at Jake.

"I must even accept your condition that payment be made in British sterling." Gareth smiled now. "My dear fellow-" he began, but again the Prince silenced him with a raised hand.

"In turn I impose only one condition. It is vital to my acceptance of your offer. You and your partner, Mr. Barton, will be responsible for the delivery of all these weapons into the territory of Ethiopia. Payment will be made only when you hand over the shipment to me or my agent within the borders of his Imperial Majesty, hail Sela.s.sie."

"Good G.o.d, man," exploded Gareth. "that involves smuggling them through hundreds of miles of hostile territory. That's ridiculous!"

"Ridiculous, Major Swales? I think not. Your merchandise is of no value to me or to you in Dares Salaam. I am your only customer n.o.body else in the entire world would be foolish enough to buy it from you. On the other hand, any attempt that I should make to import it into my homeland would certainly be frustrated. I am being watched carefully by agents of all the major powers. I know I shall be searched the moment that I land at Jibuti. Lying here, the merchandise has no value." He" paused and glanced from Gareth to Jake. Jake rubbed his jaw thoughtfully.

"I see your point, Your Excellency."

"You are a reasonable man, Mr.

Barton," said the Prince, and then returned his attention to Gareth, and repeated his last statement. "Lying here it has no value. In Ethiopia, it is worth fifteen thousand British sovereigns to you. The choice is yours. Abandon it or get it into Ethiopia."

"I am appalled," said Gareth solemnly, as he paced back and forth.

"I mean, after all the fellow is an old Etonian.

G.o.d, I can hardly believe that he would welsh on our agreement.

It's absolutely frightful. I mean, I trusted him." Jake was sprawled on the couch in Madame Cecile's private room. He had shed his dinner-jacket, and perched on his knee there was a plump young lady with a cap of bra.s.sy blonde hair. She was dressed in a flimsy daffodil coloured dress, the skirts of which had pulled up to show bright blue garters around her ripe thighs. Jake was weighing one of her ample b.r.e.a.s.t.s in his hand with all the concentration of a housewife choosing tomatoes from a greengrocers tray. The girl giggled and wriggled provocatively into his lap.

"d.a.m.n it, Jake, listen to me. "I am listening," said Jake.

"The man was positively insulting," protested Gareth, and then seemed for a moment to lose his concentration as Jake's companion unb.u.t.toned the bodice of her wispy dress.

"By Jove, Jake, they are rather delicious, what?" and they both regarded the display with interest.

"You've got your own, "Jake muttered.

"You're right," agreed Gareth, and turned to the junoesque female who waited patiently for him on the other couch.

Her glossy black hair was piled upon her head in an elaborate nest of curls and plaits, and she had large, intense, toffee-coloured eyes in a face whose paleness was emphasized by the vividly painted crimson lips. She pouted at Gareth, and draped one arm languidly around his shoulders.

"Are you sure neither of them understands English?" Gareth called, as he entered into the practised embrace of the white arms.

"Portuguese, both of them," Jake a.s.sured him. "But you'd better test them."

"Very well." Gareth thought a moment. "Girls, I must warn you that we aren't paying for your company not a penny. This is for love alone." Neither of their expressions changed, and the enfolding movements of sinuous limbs continued without pause.

"That settles it," Gareth opined. "We can talk."

"At a time like this?"

"We've only got until morning to decide what we are going to do." Jake made a m.u.f.fled remark and Gareth admonished him, "I can't hear a word."

"That gullible old Ethiop of yours has us over a barrel"

repeated Jake with sardonic relish. Before he could reply, vivid lips, pouting and red as ripened fruit, closed over Gareth's. There was silence for a while until Gareth wrested himself loose and his head popped up mustache in disarray and stained with lipstick.

"Jake, what the h.e.l.l are we going to do?" And Jake told him in nautical language which left no room for misunderstanding precisely what he was about to do.

"don't mean that, I mean what are we going to tell old Toffee tomorrow? Are we going to deliver the goods?" Gareth's companion reached up, took him in a head lock and drew his mouth down again.

"Jake, for G.o.d's sake, concentrate on the problem," he pleaded as he was engulfed.

"I am, I am!" Jake a.s.sured him, rolling his eyes sideways to meet Gareth's, but without interrupting his efforts with the plump blonde.

"How the h.e.l.l do we get four armoured cars ash.o.r.e on a hostile coast, just for a start then how do we run them two hundred miles to the Ethiopian border?" Gareth lamented, speaking out of the unemployed corner of his mouth, and then something caught his attention. He pulled free and raised himself on one elbow. "I say, your companion isn't a blonde after all. Extraordinary." Jake glanced sideways and grinned.

"And yours seems to be Scottish she's wearing a sporran, by G.o.d."

"Jake, we've got to make a decision. Do we go or don't we?"

"Action first, decisions later. Let's engage the targets."

"Right," Gareth agreed, realizing the futility of discussion at this moment. "Driver advance."

"Gunner. Traverse right. Steady. On. Independent rapid fire."

"Shoot!" cried Gareth, and the conversation languished.

It was half an hour before it was resumed, with the two of them in shirt sleeves, braces dangling and black ties discarded, poring over a large-scale map of the East African coast that Madame Cecile had produced.

"There's a thousand miles of unguarded coast line." Gareth traced the great horn of Africa in the light of the Petromax lamp and then ran his finger inland. "And this is marked as semi-desert all the way to the border. We aren't likely to run into a crowd."

"It's a h.e.l.l of a way to make a living, "said Jake.

"Are we going then?" Gareth looked up.

"You know we are."

"Yes," Gareth laughed. "I know we are.

Fifteen thousand sovereigns say we have to." ij Mikhael received their decision with a curt nod and then asked, "Have you planned yet how you will accomplish this task? Perhaps I can be of a.s.sistance, I know the coast well and most of the routes to the interior." He gestured for one of his advisers to spread a map upon the stateroom table. Jake ran his finger across it, as he spoke.

"We thought to hire a shallowdraughted vessel here in Dares Salaam, and make a landing somewhere in this area.

Then to load the cases on the cars, and, carrying our own fuel, run directly inland to some prearranged rendezvous with your people."

"Yes," agreed the Prince. "The basic idea is right. But I should avoid British territory. They maintain a very intensive patrol system to discourage the export of slaves from their territory to the East.

No, keep clear of British Somaliland. The French territory is more suitable." They plunged into the planning of the expedition, both Jake and Gareth realizing swiftly how lightly they had discounted the difficulties that faced them, and how valuable was the Prince's advice.

"Your landing will be one of the critical stages. There is a tidal fall of almost twenty feet on this coast and an unfavorable shelving of the bottom. However, at this point about forty miles north of Jibuti there is an ancient harbour called Month. It's not marked on the chart. It was one of the centres of the slave trade before its abolition, like Zanzibar and Mozambique Island. It was stormed and sacked by a British force in 1842. The port is without fresh water and since then it has been deserted. Yet it has a deep-water channel and a good approach to the sh.o.r.e. This would be a suitable place to land the vehicles an awkward task without good wharf.a.ge and overhead cranes."

Gareth was scribbling notes on a sheet of Union Castle notepaper, while Jake leaned attentively over the chart.

"What about patrols in this area?" he asked, and the Prince shrugged.

"There is a battalion of the Ugion ttrang&e at Jibuti and they send an occasional camel patrol through this area.

The odds are much against an encounter."

"Those are the kind of odds I like," muttered Gareth.

"Once we are ash.o.r.e what then?" The Prince touched the map.

"You should then move parallel with the border of Italian Eritrea - a southwesterly heading until you encounter the swamp area where the Awash River sinks into the desert. Then turn directly westwards and you will cross the French Somali border and enter the Danakil country of Ethiopia. I will arrange to meet your column here-" He turned to his group of elderly advisers and asked a question. Immediately an animated and high-volume discussion broke out, at the end of which the Prince turned back to them with a smile.

"We seem to be in general agreement that the rendezvous should be at the Wells of Chaldi here." He showed them the map again. "As you can see, it is well within Ethiopian territory. This will suit my Government as well for the cars will be used in the defence of the Sardi Gorge and the road to Dessie in the event of an Italian offensive in that direction-" The Prince was interrupted by one of his advisers and he listened for a few minutes before nodding in agreement and turning back to the two white men. "It has been suggested that as your journey from Month to the Wells of Chaldi will be through trackless desert country some areas of which would be impa.s.sable to wheeled vehicles we should provide you with a guide who knows the area-"

"That's more like it, "Jake growled with relief.

"That's absolutely splendid, Toffee," agreed Gareth.

"Very well. The young man I have chosen is a relative of mine, a nephew. He speaks English well, having also spent three years at school in England, and he knows the area through which you will be travelling, as he has often hunted the lion there as a guest of a chief in French territory." He spoke to one of the advisers in Amharic, and the man nodded and left the cabin. "I have sent for him now. His name is Gregorius Maryam." When he came, Gregorius was a young man probably in his early twenties. However, he was almost as tall as his uncle with the warrior's fierce dark eyes and eagle features but his skin was smooth and hairless as a girl's, the colour of pale honey. He also was dressed in Western European fashion, and his expression was intense and intelligent.

His uncle spoke to him quietly in Amharic and he nodded, then turned to meet Jake and Gareth.

"My uncle has explained what is required of me and I am honoured to be of service." Gregorius's voice was clear and eager.

"Can you drive a motor car?" Jake asked unexpectedly, and Gregorius smiled and nodded.

"Indeed, sir. I have my own Morgan sports car in Addis Ababa."

"That's great." Jake returned the smile. "But you'll find an armoured car a rougher ride."

"Gregorius will pack what he needs for the journey, and join you immediately. As you know, this ship sails at noon," observed the Prince, and the young Ethiopian n.o.bleman bowed to his uncle and left the cabin.

"You now owe me a favour, Major Swales, and I request repayment immediately." Lij Mikhael turned back to Gareth, whose complacency evaporated immediately, to be replaced by an expression of mild alarm.

Gareth had developed a healthy respect for the Prince's ability to drive a bargain.

"Now listen here, old chap-" he began to protest, but the Prince went on as though there had been no interruption.

"One of the few weapons that my country has to exploit is the conscience of the civilized world-"

"I wouldn't give you much change for that," observed Jake.

"No," agreed the Prince sadly. "Not a very effective weapon as yet. But if we can only inform the world of the injustices and unprovoked aggression which we suffer then we can force the democratic nations to come to our support.

We need popular support we must reach the people. If the common peoples are informed of our lot, they will force their own governments to take action."

"It's a pretty thought," Gareth agreed.

"Travelling with me now is one of the most highly thought of and influential journalists in America. Someone who has the ear of hundreds of thousands of readers across the United States of America, and the rest of the English-speaking world as well. A person of liberal conscience, a champion of the oppressed." The Prince paused. "However, this person's reputation has preceded us. The Italians realize that their case might be damaged if the truth is written by a journalist of this calibre and they have taken measures to prevent this happening.

We have today heard by radio that transit of English, French and Italian territories will be refused, and' that this ally of ours will be denied access to Ethiopia. They do not only embargo weapons but they prevent our friends from giving us succour."

"No," said Gareth. "I've got enough trouble that I must act as a taxi service for the entire press corps of the world.

I'll be d.a.m.ned if I will-"

"Can he drive a motor car? "Jake interrupted "We are still short of a driver for the last car."

"If I know journalists, all he can drive is a whisky bottle," grunted Gareth gloomily.

"If he can drive we'd save the wages of hiring another driver,"

Jake pointed out, and Gareth's gloom lightened a little.

"That's true if he can drive."

"Let us find out," suggested the Prince, and spoke quietly to one of his men who slipped out of the cabin. Gareth took advantage of the pause to take the Prince's arm and draw him aside from the main group.

"I have drawn up an estimate of the additional expenses we will encounter the hire of a ship and that sort of thing it stretches the old finances. I wonder if you could see your way clear to making a gesture of good faith just a small advance. A few hundred guineas."

"Major Swales, I have made the gesture already by giving my nephew into your care."

"Not that I don't appreciate that-" Gareth was about to enlarge his argument, but he was prevented from doing so by the opening of the cabin door and the entry of the journalist. Gareth Swales straightened up and touched the knot of his tie. His smile broke across the cabin like the early morning sun.

Jake Barton had slumped down into one of the chairs beside the chart table and was about to light a cheroot, the match flaring in the cup of his hands, but he did not complete the movement. The match burned on forgotten, as he stared at the newcomer.

"Gentlemen," said the Prince. "I have the honour to introduce Miss Victoria Camberwell, a distinguished member of the American press and a good friend of my country." Vicky Camberwell was not yet thirty years of age, and she was also an unusually attractive and nubile young woman. She had learned long ago that youth and feminine beauty were not a.s.sets in her chosen career and she tried, with little success, to disguise both.

She adopted a severe, almost mannish, dress. A military-style shirt with cloth epaulets and b.u.t.ton-down breast pockets that were pushed out by the large but shapely b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Her skirt was tailored in the same cream linen with more b.u.t.ton down pockets on the thighs, and clasped at the slim waist with a leather belt and heavy snake's buckle.