Cry Wolf

sea.

Gregorius Maryam followed him closely. His hereditary title was

Gerazinach, "Commander of the Left Wing', and his warrior blood coursed

through his veins mingling with the deeply religious Old Testament

teachings of the Coptic Christian Church, so that his eyes shone with

an almost mystic fanaticism and his heart soared with a young man's

fierce patriotism, for he was still young enough and inexperienced

enough to look on the dirty bloody business of war as something

glamorous and manly.

Behind him came Vicky Camberwell, driving Miss Wobbly with competence

and precision. Jake was delighted with her ability to judge the engine

beat, and to mesh the ancient gears with a light touch on clutch and

stick. She too was excited by the prospect of adventure,

and new experience. That afternoon she had filed her preliminary

report

, despatching five thousand words by the new airmail service that would

deposit them on her editor's desk in New York within ten days.

She had explained the background, the clear intent of Benito Mussolini

to a

indifference, the arms embargo. "Do not delude yourselves" she had

written, "into the belief that I am crying wolf. The wolf of Rome is

already hunting.

What is about to happen in the mountains of northern Africa will shame

the civilized world." And then she had gone on to expose the intention

of the great nations to prevent her reaching the embattled empire and

reporting its plight. She had ended the despatch, "Your correspondent

has rejected this restriction placed upon her movements and her

integrity. Tonight

I have joined a group of intrepid men who are risking their lives to

defy the embargo, and to carry through the closed territories a

quantity of arms and supplies desperately needed by the beleaguered

nation. By the time you read this, we shall have failed and have died

upon the desert coast of Africa, which the natives fearfully call the

"Great Burn" or we shall have succeeded. We shall have landed by night

from a small coasting vessel and trekked through hundreds of miles of

savage and hostile territory to a meeting with an Ethiopian prince. I

hope that in my next despatch, I shall be able to describe our journey

to you, but if the gods of chance decree otherwise at least we shall

have tried." Vicky was very pleased with the first article. In her

usual flamboyant style, she particularly liked the

"trekking" bit which gave a touch of local colour. It had

everything:

drama, mystery, the little guy taking on the big.

She knew that the completed series would be a giant and she was excited

and aglow with anticipation.

Behind her Jake Barton followed. He listened with half his attention

to the engine beat of the Pig. For no apparent reason,

except perhaps a premonition of what awaited her, the car had that

night refused to start. Jake had cranked her until his arm was cramped

and aching. He had blown through the fuel system, checked the plugs,

magneto and every other moving part that could possibly be at fault.

Then, after another hour of tinkering, she had started and run sweetly,

without giving the slightest hint of what had prevented her doing so

earlier.

With the other half of his attention, he was mentally in the mountains

checking out his preparations knowing that this was his last chance to

fill any gaps in his list. It was one hell of a long trail from Month

to the Wells of Chaldi and not many service stations on the road. The

pontoon raft of drums had been stowed aboard the HirondeUe that

afternoon, and each car carried its own means of sustenance and

survival a load which taxed their ancient suspensions and body work

Thus Jake's conscious mind was fully occupied, but below that level was

a gut memory that tightened his nerves and charged his blood with

adrenaline There had been another night like this, moving in column in

the darkness, with the throttled-back engine beat drumming softly in

his ears but then there had been the glow of star shell in the sky

ahead, the distant juddering of a Maxim firing at a gap in the wire and

the smell of death and mud in his nostrils. Unlike Gregorius

Maryam in the car ahead, Jake Barton knew about war and all its

glories.

apadopoulos was waiting for them on the wharf, carrying a hurricane

lamp and dressed in an ankle, length greatcoat that gave him the air of

a down-at, heel gnome. He signalled the column forward,

waving the lamp, and his ragged crew swarmed off the deck of the

Hirondelle on to the stone wharf.

It was clear that they were accustomed to loading unusual cargo in the

middle of the night. As each car was driven forward, it was stripped

of its burden of drums and crates.

These were stowed separately in cargo nets. Then they thrust sturdy

wooden pallets under the chassis of the car and fixed the heavy hemp

lines. At a signal from Papadopoulos, the men at the winches started

the donkey engines and the lines ran through the blocks on the booms of

the derricks.

The bulky cars rose slowly and then swung inboard.

The whole operation was carried out swiftly, with no raised voices or

u

men, the muted clatter of the donkey engines and then the thump of the

cars settling on the deck.

"These fellows know their business." Gareth watched approvingly,

then turned to Jake. "I'll go down to the.

harbour master and clear the bills of lading. We'll be ready to sail

in an hour or so." He sauntered away and disappeared into the

shadows.

"Let's inspect the accommodation," Jake suggested, and took

Vicky's arm. "It looks like a regular Cunarder." They climbed the

gangplank to the deck and only then did they get the first whiff of the

slave stench. By the time Gareth returned from his nefarious

negotiations with bills of lading showing a consignment of four

ambulances and medical supplies to the International Red Cross

Association at Alexandria, the others had made a brief examination of

the single tiny odoriferous cabin which Papadopoulos had put at their

disposal and decided to leave it to the cockroaches and bed bugs which

were already in residence.

"It's only a few days" sailing. I think I prefer the open deck.

If it rains, we can take shelter in the cars." Jake spoke for all of

them as they stood in a group at the rail, watching the lights of Dares

Salaam glide away into the night, while the diesel engine of the

schooner thumped under their feet and the sweet cool sea breeze washed

over the deck, cleansing their nostrils and mouths of the slave

stench.

Vicky was awakened by the brilliance of the starlight shining into her

face and she opened her eyes and stared up at a sky that blazed with

the splendours Of the universe, as fields and seas of pearly light

swirled across the heavens.

Quietly she slipped out of her blankets and went to the ship's rail.

The sea was lustrous glittering sable; each wave seemed to be carved

from some solid and precious metal, bejewelled by the reflections of

the starlight and through it the ship's wake glowed with

phosphorescence like a trail of green fire.

The sea wind was the touch of lovers" hands against her skin and in her