The Alamut Ambush (6 page)

One couldn’t blame them, but he hadn’t liked the job then and he didn’t relish it now, with its insane subdivision of loyalties mocking the real job in hand.

Audley mistook his exasperation for honest reluctance.

‘I know how you feel, Hugh,’ he apologised. ‘It isn’t quite cricket, is it? But we didn’t make the rules and we have to play the game their way.’

Alan and Harry and East Firle – and now Audley was making a game of it all, damn him! For the first time Roskill almost regretted the chance that had allowed him to escape from flying. The sooner he could pick those tricky brains clean, the better.

OF THE FIVE
faces which turned towards him as he entered the room Roskill recognised only two. Worse, the friendly one was scowling angrily and the dangerous one welcomed him with a smile.

‘Ah, Roskill,’ said Stocker. ‘I’m glad you were able to come.’

Butler’s scowl deepened. But that at least was understandable: the night before he had loyally obeyed orders he disliked, and had appeared to fail. Obedience, ambition and incongruously active conscience had been fighting inside Butler for years, each one baulked by the other two.

Roskill looked coldly at Stocker. What was it Audley had said they thought him to be – ‘
an overgrown
ex-fighter pilot with a crafty streak’? Best to oblige them then.

He shrugged. ‘I can’t say I’m glad. But Jack’s very persuasive when he puts his mind to it.’

‘And Audley?’

It was the big man sitting in the easy chair in the corner who spoke. The other two were nondescripts, Special Branch or Stacker’s Joint Intelligence. Committee understrappers. But the big man’s rather battered face and unquestionable air of authority would have identified him even without the faintest suspicion of Welsh intonation.

‘Mr. Llewelyn, I presume?’

‘Is Audley coming?’ Stocker echoed the question this time, and he was no longer smiling.

‘He should be here any moment.’

The smile came back. So it had been Stocker’s idea – and sure enough there was a suggestion of surprise crossing Llewelyn’s face. One up to him: he had judged Audley better than Stocker, even after all these years. Two of a kind, evidently.

‘You are very persuasive too it would seem, Squadron-Leader Roskill,’ said Llewelyn softly.

‘I had moral support from another quarter.’ They had counted on Faith so he might as well throw her into the scales. ‘But I wouldn’t say he’s any happier than I am.’ Casually, now. ‘In fact neither of us go much for your methods.’

‘Needs must when the devil drives, Roskill.’ Stocker could afford to be conciliatory now. ‘And to be fair you must admit that we wouldn’t have got you both any other way. The situation was not – ah – straightforward, was it?’

‘It isn’t straightforward even now as far as I’m concerned.’

Llewelyn leaned forward. ‘But you’ve worked with Audley before. And with quite remarkable success I hear.’

‘Only once. And I can’t claim any of the success – I was a messenger boy. And there was an R.A.F. angle to that job, anyway. Whereas this one – ‘

‘This one is different, yes.’ Llewelyn sat back agdn, considering Roskill speculatively. ‘Do you know anything about Middle Eastern politics?’

‘Very little more than the next man.’

‘But you’ve travelled in the Middle East. You were in Israel just before your leave.’

The last thing Roskill wanted was a question and answer session. Llewelyn must be made to do the talking.

‘If you want to know how to avoid a SAM, or whether the Sukhoi 7s the Egyptians are operating have anything approaching a Digital Integrated Attack System, Llewelyn, I can tell you. And I could give you a fifty-fifty guess on the attack system the Israelis are using. And if you pushed me I just might tell you how far I think they’ve got with the laser fire control ressarch – which is further than most people believe. And I could describe three strips of tarmac in the desert for you. That’s the Middle East I know about.’

Llewelyn grinned. ‘I take your point. But which side do you favour?’

‘Professionally speaking, the combat effectiveness of the Israelis is as near 100 per cent as I’ve ever seen anywhere.’

‘
Not
professionally speaking — personally.’

‘I don’t give a damn either way.’

‘I can’t believe that.’

‘I don’t give a damn what you believe, either. But I’ll tell you what I believe. I believe that if I’d been born in 1920 I should have flown a Spitfire in 1940 – unless I’d been born in Germany. In which case I should have flown a Messerschmitt 109. And just as happily, too!’

‘And there’s no right and no wrong?’ Llewelyn’s Welsh lilt was stronger now. A true believer, thought Roskill – and God save us from the true believers…

‘The Arabs and the Jews? I should say they’re both right and both wrong, and I wouldn’t trust either of ‘em. But neither of them is on
my
side, so for Christ’s sake let’s get down to business.’

Audley would be bursting in any moment, and so far nothing of value had been achieved.

Llewelyn and Stocker exchanged glances, as if to reassure each other that they had the right tool to hand, a crude one, but serviceable.

‘Very well, Roskill,’ said Llewelyn. ‘It may not interest you to know it, but despite appearances there is at this moment an outside chance of some sort of Middle Eastern settlement. The best chance for a long time, in fact, despite recent events – perhaps because of them even. Just one gesture of mutual trust might tip the balance – and one gesture of mutual hate might tip it the other way.’

‘Such as your death?’

Llewelyn regarded him steadily. ‘Strange as it may seem – yes. I’ve been working behind the scenes – just how is no concern of yours.’

Just as Llewelyn had been right about Audley, so Audley had been right about Llewelyn: he had been up to something.

‘Who wants you dead then? Who wants the balance tipped that way?’

‘That’s the difficulty. There are hawks and unofficial groups on both sides. But we’ll discuss that when Audley’s here. It’s Audley I want to discuss now – would you call yourself a friend of his?’

‘In as far as anyone is – yes.’

Llewelyn nodded, unsmiling. ‘Good. It’s a friend we need to protect him.’

‘Protect him? I’m not a bloody bodyguard,’ Roskill demurred. ‘I wouldn’t know where to start – and I’ve never fired a shot in anger in my life. You need another sort of friend for that!’

‘Not from other people – from himself,’ Stocker cut in. ‘Audley’s a brilliant man, but he’s not a practical man and he goes his own way. This time he could run into something nasty if he does that, and we must have early warning of it – from you.’

‘If there’s trouble we want to handle it,’ said Llewelyn soothingly. ‘But even if he doesn’t run himself into anything we still have to know what he’s doing. You kept an eye on him last time, Stocker tells me. We just want you to do the same again, no more, no less.’

‘Under protest, I did it – did Stocker tell you that? And did he tell you I wasn’t very good at it, either? Audley’s not a confiding soul at the best of times.’

‘But you know him better now –
and
it shouldn’t be more difficult than persuading him to come up here. If you can do the one I’d trust you to manage the other.’

Roskill looked at them woodenly, barely controlling the urge to smile: they were all so bloody good at computing the angles – and that went for Audley too – that it was a wonder they didn’t disappear up their own orifices.

Except that it was neither a laughing matter nor a game; the memory of Alan Jenkins spoiled the fun and ruined the game.

‘So you’ll do it?’

Actually it was appropriate that Llewelyn and Audley should each cast him to betray the other, for in a way the whole business was founded on his actions. He, and no one else, had set them on their collision course; how many more collisions would it take to resolve his cowardice?

The knock at the door startled him, and before he could collect his wits he was looking up at Audley in the: doorway – Audley who had arrived just ten seconds too early, even though he knew the question had already supplied the answer.

Not to panic, though.

He looked from Audley back to Llewelyn. ‘Yes, I’ll do that,’ he answered.

Audley’s eyebrows lifted. ‘You’ll do what?’

‘My dear fellow, it’s good to see you again,’ Stocker rose elegantly from his chair beside the table. ‘And good of you to come.’

Audley grunted, staring over his spectacles directly at Llewelyn, who stared just as directly back. The pot and the kettle; the Mountain and Mahomet. Old acquaintances who had forgotten nothing over the years – and learnt a little too much.

‘Llewelyn needs no introduction, I know,’ continued Stocker, overcoming the impossible simply by ignoring it. ‘But I don’t believe you’ve encountered Yeatman before.’

Audley tore his gaze away from Llewelyn and nodded to the smaller of the nondescripts.

‘And – ‘ began Stocker.

‘Cox,’ said Audley. ‘Special Branch.’

‘We’ve never met, Dr. Audley.’ Cox didn’t seem put out by being pinned like a butterfly in Audley’s memory, merely curious.

‘Rome ‘68. You were pointed out to me,’ said Audley, reaching for a chair. Ignoring everyone else he turned back to Llewelyn.

‘So someone wants you dead.’

‘It would appear so.’

‘Is there a short list?’ Audley spoke as though the list ought to be long rather than short.

‘Anyone with a vested interest in another Middle Eastern war,’ answered Llewelyn equably.

‘Like the P.F.L.P.?’

‘It’s possible. Or the Sons of Eleazar.’

Audley shook his head. ‘If – ‘ he underscored the word heavily ‘
if
the Sons of Eleazar wanted you dead you’re on borrowed time. But it isn’t their policy, anyway.’

‘Policies change.’

‘Has there been a change of policy then?’

Llewelyn considered the question for a moment. For a man discussing his own death he was remarkably cool, Roskill thought.

‘To be honest – no, not as far as I know.’

‘Have there been any similar killings in recent months? Or attempts?’

‘Not in Europe as far as I know.’

‘I’d like that checked out.’

Llewelyn nodded towards Yeatman.

‘And I must have a complete run-down on what you’ve been doing recently.’

‘Yeatman will supply you with whatever you need.’

Roskill squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. He never found an upright chair yet that fitted his behind. Worse, Audley seemed to be steering the conversation away from what seemed to him to be the crucial questions.

‘Who are the Sons of Eleazar, for heaven’s sake?’ he asked.

‘Second generation of the Jewish terrorist groups – like the Stern Gang and the Irgun Zvai Leumi, you might say,’ said Llewelyn. ‘Another war would suit them very nicely and assassination is part of their tradition.’

‘Absolute balderdash!’ Audley growled. ‘There’s not a shred of evidence to prove continuity. I grant you they were terrorist groups, the I.Z.L. and the Stern Gang, but the P.L.F.P.’s their equivalent today. They were occupied territory phenomena —
Lohamei heruth Yisrael
, “Freedom fighters of Israel”, that’s what the Stern Gang called itself. The Sons of Eleazar are simply the lunatic fringe of the Israeli hawks, and even they don’t think war is desirable – just inevitable.’

‘It’s the same family tree,’ said Llewelyn. ‘They don’t like peacemakers now any more than they did when they murdered Bernadotte in ‘48.’

‘And Abdullah and Nokrashi? My God, man – if it’s murder statistics you want I can give you ten Arab ones for every Jewish one. It was the Arabs who gave us the word
assassin
, not the Jews.’

‘And the Jews gave us
zealot
,’ said Llewelyn mildly. ‘But I don’t think etymology is going to help us much. The concepts of political murder and fanaticism are somewhat older ihan our words for them, after all. The point is that in my opinion it could have been either of them, Roskill. What I want you and Audley to try and find out is which one. You can leave the rest to us then.’

‘But so far your evidence is merely hypothetical, Arabs and Jews have been known to kill people. Some Arabs and Jews don’t like peacemakers. You are a peacemaker. Your car blows up. Therefore it was blown up by Arabs or Jews. I don’t think my old algebra master would have gone much on that – and algebra’s another arabic word.’

Roskill looked round for support.

‘Aye,’ said Butler. ‘And when it comes to peacemakers I could give you the name of two Belgian firms and a Swiss group – and a Czech one, I shouldn’t wonder – who’d weep bitter tears the day peace was declared. There’s not so much profit in ploughshares these days – small arms shares pay better dividends.’

‘And some of their salesmen have been known to protect their terriitory with their product,’ said Roskill. ‘So far we haven’t got a shred of proof about anything.’

‘Two shreds – so far we’ve got two shreds,’ said Cox. ‘One from Bicester, one from the car.

‘We did Bicester pretty thoroughly yesterday, because there was just a chance someone might have seen the car while it still had someone in it. We drew a blank there, but two people think they saw something very near where it was left at about the right time. One said “Wog”, meaning apparently “Middle Eastern, inclined to Arab”; the other was more educated – he said “Cypriot, maybe”, which could mean “Middle Eastern, inclined to Israel”.’

‘That’s a shred, right enough,’ said Butler.

‘Agreed – just a shred. The car’s a bit stronger, though.’ Cox consulted a small red notebook for a few seconds. ‘T.P.D.X. – do you know what that is?’

‘At a guess, one of those innumerable plastic explosives?’

‘Quite right. A plastic explosive. Russian, very new – and strong medicine. Just the thing for guerrillas, and sure enough the Russians obligingly supplied them with a consignment of it in January. It was the first time anyone received any outside the Soviet Union, as far as we know.’

‘Well, that pins it on Fatah – if that’s what was used in the car,’ exclaimed Roskill.