‘Sir. You are the author not only of your own misfortune but of mine also! Your abduction cannot be laid at my door. For the fact that your hide is still in one piece, however, you may thank me.’
‘In one piece? What the hell are you talking about, you Yankee bitch?’
‘They threatened to skin you alive if I didn’t come along quietly. They caught me as I was about to ring the alarm bell. Take your time to work it out and when you have I’ll listen to your apology.’
She slithered from her horse and led it towards the stream.
Chapter Eleven
Threading his way neatly along the lines of communication linking the fort with Peshawar and Peshawar with the air base at Miram Shah, Fred, by being the only person in the fort who knew exactly what he wanted, had got his own way. Replacing the receiver he smiled with conspiratorial satisfaction at Joe and James and looked at his watch. ‘08.00 hours. There’ll be a plane up in half an hour – I’d be happier with half a dozen but one’ll have to do for now. It’ll be landing here in . . . oh . . . just over an hour and then we’ll tell the pilot what all this is about. I’ll go and get a bit of a map together showing the search area and get the football field marked out for landing. All right if I take a squad of your blokes with me, James?’ And he had bustled off, competent, purposeful, relishing the vindication of his views at last. But as he left the room some of his confidence left with him and James seemed sunk in gloom once again.
‘You’ve done everything you could as a matter of urgency and first response,’ said Joe, ‘but let us note that we have a very serious situation here, one far beyond your immediate responsibility, James. Obviously, we’ve got to report back to Peshawar and seek their instructions.’
‘How can I find the words to do that? said James despairingly. ‘Tell me – how do I explain all this in a few words?’
‘Here’s the phone, James!’ said Joe. ‘This should come from you, not from me. I’m nobody. My only job is or has been to keep an eye on blasted Lily and a right balls I’ve made of that! Now – make a few notes. Pick up the telephone. Ring up Sir John Deane in Peshawar and seek instructions. Tell him, in the first place, that Rathmore’s disappeared. We may look on him as a bumbling halfwit in whose ultimate fate we have no personal concern but he’s quite a prominent citizen. He has the ear of some brass hats in Delhi and Calcutta who will be interested to say the least in his fate. And the first thing you say to Peshawar is, “Your one-man trade delegation has been kidnapped. Sorry!” And the second thing you have to say is, “Zeman Khan, a prominent Afghani national, closely associated – indeed, closely related – to the Amir of Afghanistan, is dead in our care. The diagnosis from a reliable medical source speaks of food poisoning. Zeman’s associate, kinsman, second-in-command and close friend rejects this diagnosis and has snatched Rathmore as a hostage it seems, threatening this or that unless the matter is reinvestigated or indeed investigated.” And while the poor man is digesting this so welcome piece of information you should add that Lily Coblenz, American citizen, guest of the British Government, has also apparently been snatched. Unless, of course, she has run off to join the circus.
‘And if all this mixed information doesn’t stand his hair on end, I will be astonished. But what we need is instructions. You’re not the Viceroy, still less am I. Throw the whole dismal heap into his lap and stand back – that would be my advice. And why don’t you do it now, James? And while you’re about it – why not send a tough reply to Iskander? Threaten him with the full weight of the entire Indian Army. Call Lord Roberts back from the grave – he’d know what to do!’
‘Send a gunboat?’ said James.
‘Something of that sort. And when it comes to a gunboat, you’ve got some very good people here. It’s not up to you to declare war on Afghanistan of course but get permission to rattle a sabre!’
‘Hell, Joe!’ said James desperately. ‘I’m not often at a loss but . . . I think this’ll cost me my career,’ he added miserably.
‘Cost you your career? Nonsense! No such thing! Where, I’d like to know, is the old free-booting spirit of Clan Lindsay? Let’s hear the skirl of the pipes . . . “Lochaber no more” and all that!’
Joe picked up the telephone and put it in James’s hand. ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ he said, patting him on the shoulder and pointing out of the window. ‘I shall be there. Smoking a cigarette. The first of many, I dare say, before we’ve sorted this out. But just get on with it! I’ll be composing a letter to Iskander if you don’t mind.’