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the Political Resident called the whole thing off.
'But why?' I asked.
'Why? Because of Cairo, Saudi, the Americans, the United Nations, world op
inion.' Cairo Radio, he said, had first referred to the Hadd-Saraifa borde r
dispute two weeks back. There were reports from Riyadh that Saudi intend ed to
raise the matter at the next meeting of UNO.
The Political Resident came under the Foreign Office, and to the Foreign Off
ice this wasn't just a local problem, but a small facet in the pattern of wo
rld diplomacy. Until that moment I had seen the attack upon Saraifa as it ap
peared to David, a personal matter; now I was being forced to stand back men
tally and look at the situation as a whole, from the viewpoint of authority.
Twenty-four hours,' Colonel George said. 'That's all we needed. In twenty-fou
r hours we could have put paid to the Emir's little game and saved a hell of a
lot of lives. I know we've no treaty obligation so far as Saraifa is concer
ned, but it lies within the British sphere of influence and we've certainly a
moral obligation to protect them against this sort of thing.' He shrugged. '
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Well, there it is. I'm just a soldier, not a politician.' He glanced at his w
atch and then at the RAF pilot officer. 'Time we were moving, eh?' Outside th
e tent, he turned to Whitaker. 'That boy of yours. He's going to get himself
killed if somebody doesn't do something.' The protruding eyeballs stared. 'Yo
u've been out here a long time. Colonel. Couldn't you see the Emir; talk to y
our son? You must have considerable influence still.'
'A little. But not with my son it seems.' Whitaker was clearly disconcerted.
'He's acting contrary to my advice -contrary to my express orders, in fact.'
He hesitated. 'Of course, if the Political Resident authorized me to negotiat
e a settlement of the Hadd-Saraifa border dispute, I have some influence with
the Emir. But,' he added, 'a just settlement for Saraifa would almost certai
nly require the backing of British military forces.'
'That's out of the question at the moment.'
'Then . . . ' Whitaker gave an awkward little shrug.
Colonel George grunted, a small, peremptory sound. 'Pity! That boy's got a l
ot of guts and he's going to die.' He started towards the helicopter, but th
en he stopped and faced Whitaker again. 'I've heard stories about you . . .
And if half of what I've heard is true, your son's doing just the sort of th
ing you'd have done yourself in your younger days, eh?' He paused, and then in
a harder voice: 'I'll tell you something, Whitaker; if that boy holds out for
a week, he'll go down in desert history, his name remembered long after yours
is forgotten.' He stared at him hard for a moment and then marched of f across
the gravel towards the helicopter. 'Sorry I can't give you a lift o ut, Grant.
No room. We've got to deliver this wop journalist to Sharjah. But
I've got one of my Company commanders with a wireless truck up at Buraimi.
I propose to send him down to patrol Hadd's northern border and keep tabs on
the situation. I'll tell him to pick you up if you like. Name's Berry. Soun d
chap. Understands the Bedou. That do you?'
I nodded, and behind me Whitaker said, 'You might tell him to keep an eye out
for my two vehicles. My fuel tanker and the supply truck should have b een in
two days ago.'
The rotor blades of the helicopter began to turn. Ruffini gripped my hand.
'A rivederla. I see the story of this David Whitaker reaches London. Don't
worry. We have an arrangement with one of your newspapers.' He was sweating
already as he ducked into the oven-heat of the fuselage.
Colonel George paused in the open door. 'Want to give me a message for his si
ster? I could send it straight down to the hospital. She'd get it this evenin
g.'
I hesitated. 'Just tell her he's alive. That's all she needs to know at the
momen t.'
'I should have thought something more personal was called for.' He stared at
me, playfully tapping my arm. 'Probably you don't realize it, but she's bee n
raising hell on your account. As soon as she knew you were missing, she ca me
straight down to Sharjah. She caught that oil chap, Gorde, just as he was
boarding his plane and the story is she tore him off such a strip for aband
oning you that he dropped his stick and took off without it. Since then she'
s been badgering the life out of me. I'll be damn' glad to be able to tell h
er you're safe. Well?' He cocked his eyebrow at me and grinned. 'I'll give h
er your love - will that do?' And without waiting for a reply he got into th e
helicopter and slammed the door.
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Whitaker and I watched it take off, a mechanical dragonfly whirring in the c
lean, bright air. I turned then, conscious of the quickened beat of my pulse
, the sudden desire to be alone. It was strangely heart-warming to know that
somebody had been concerned about whether I got back safely or not. I walke d
to the steep, shadowed edge of the dunes and lay there, longing for a ciga
rette. The drill, so useless now without its fuel, stood like a toy, dwarfed
by the dunes, the Arab crew lying about, listless with nothing to do. Whita
ker had gone to his tent. The shadows lengthened and I wondered what was hap
pening on that hill-top forty miles to the east. Was David still alive?
The answer came next day, just after Whitaker's two trucks had pulled in an d
the noise of their arrival had woken me from the first long, uninterrupte d
sleep I had enjoyed in well over a week. Everything was confusion, stores
being unloaded, the rig started up, when a bullet-scarred Land-Rover appea
red, flying the Emir's green flag. Out of it stepped a big, portly man with
very black features under a large turban. 'The Emir's secretary,' Whitaker
said and went forward to greet him. A bodyguard of four askari sat silent in
the back of the vehicle; wild-eyed men with greasy locks hanging to thei r
shoulders, who fingered their weapons nervously.
Whitaker took the secretary to his tent and they remained there over an hour
, talking over tinned fruit and coffee. Finally the man left, but before get
ting into the Land-Rover, he made a long, angry speech, a harangue that was
clearly intended for the whole camp.
'What did he want?' I asked as the dust of his departure finally settled and
th e men returned to their jobs.
'If I don't go at once to Hadd and get David out of that fort, the Emir wil l
hold me responsible.' Whitaker's face was very pale, his whole body tremb
ling. "Allah akhbar!' he muttered. 'Why did the idiot have to choose this m
oment, when I'd talked the Emir into agreement and had obtained the financi al
backing I needed? Why now?'
'He's still alive then?'
He turned his eye on me, a fixed, glassy look. 'Yes,' he said. 'He's alive.
The night you left him, he beat back the attack, captured a prisoner and s ent
him to the Emir next day with a message. It announced who he was and th e
terms on which he'd vacate the fort and leave them free to repair the wel ls.'
The terms required the Emir to declare publicly that he accepted the p resent
borders between Hadd and Saraifa for all time, and this declaration was to be
supported by a signed document to the same effect, lodged with th
e United Nations. David also demanded an escort of the Trucial Oman Scouts to
see him and his men safely out of Hadd territory.'
But it wasn't the terms that upset Whitaker. It was the fact that David had d
isclosed his identity. 'Did he have to involve me?' he demanded angrily, star
ing towards the rig.
'I don't suppose he meant to involve you,' I said. 'You're involved by the
simpl e fact that you're his father.'
'His father!' He turned on me. 'I took a servant girl,' he said harshly. 'A [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]