Height of Day: A Johnny Fedora Espionage Spy Thriller Assignment Book 5 by Desmond Cory

Author:Desmond Cory [Cory, Desmond]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-11-10T00:00:00+00:00

7

JOHNNY FEDORA of the British Intelligence lay placidly on his back, smoking a cigarette and pondering his recent promotion to the ranks of the Master Race. Through the open fly of the tent, he could see the purple-edged clouds domineering the sky to the east; on the tufty banks of the river, a flock of flamingoes were paddling, snuffling the water. From away to his right came the shouts of the natives, building the camp stockade under the orders of Schneider and Madrid; the river floated lazily past all the time, completely disregarding the orders of a peremptory mid-morning sun. Johnny drew on his cigarette, and sipped comfortably from time to time at a mug of lukewarm coffee; the flies buzzed irritably about the tent, without disturbing his equanimity.

As the morning drew on, the sounds of the working natives diminished and died away; Johnny looked at his watch and saw that the time was approaching noon. He stretched himself out more comfortably on the bed, undid another button of his bush shirt and wondered if it was really too hot for sleep. He was still considering this knotty problem when a shadow darkened the floor of his tent and Schneider came in, mopping his dripping forehead with a handkerchief.

“Finished for the morning?” asked Johnny.

Schneider nodded, and after a moment’s pause seated himself at the foot of the bed. “It’s too hot to go on working,” he said, tilting his helmet back on his head. “One of the Bushmen just passed out, confound it. Too much for him.”

“The Bushmen did all right on the canoe.”

“Yes. But they’re used to jungle heat, not bush heat. It’s much more humid down-river. Anyway, I’ve sent them into the shade for the noonday rest.” Schneider gave a final wipe to his pale lips and pocketed the handkerchief. “The Bushmen don’t like this country, Fedora.”

Johnny shook his head. “They find it a strain on their nerves?”

“So Madrid thinks. We may have to send them back home in a couple of days, or they’ll be deserting anyway. The Masai are all right so far … Listen, Fedora. When the Bushmen leave, tomorrow or the day after – then perhaps we should make our move, too.”

“You think that’ll be a good time?”

“Yes. They’ll all have got into the swing of work by then. Madrid will tell them that I’ve gone off after gorilla with you, on the spur of the moment; they’ll be annoyed with me, but they’ll be too occupied to take much notice.”

“Madrid’s staying here, then?”

“Yes, naturally. She’s the Expedition’s interpreter; they’d be quite lost without her. If she disappeared, it would give rise to speculation.” Schneider bit pensively at his knuckles.

Johnny watched him for a few moments, then picked up his mug of coffee and drained its remnants. “I’d like to know how you two got the idea your father might be here in the Kob’ei,” he said. “It was supposed to be one of our best-kept secrets.”

Schneider smiled. “I’m sure that your Service kept its secrets well.

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