Holy of Holies: A classic aviation thriller (Charles Pol Espionage Thrillers Book 6) by Alan Williams

Author:Alan Williams [Williams, Alan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sapere Books
Published: 2020-04-26T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 7

The whole team, with the exception of Nugent-Ross, were back at the airfield by 2.30 a.m. The hangar was in darkness, except for a pair of hurricane-lamps, and the glow of the kerosene stove with its constant supply of thick black coffee.

Grant was still unconscious, lying aboard his Hercules where Ryderbeit and Rawcliff had dumped him on the floor of the cargo-bay between the rails of metal rollers. The others, in an unspoken spirit of camaraderie, had been careful not to let on to Peters about Grant’s lapse back at the hotel. Nor had Rawcliff told anyone about his exchange with Jo in the jeep earlier that night.

He had still not decided how to react. He knew his duty was to inform Peters. Jo might not have been telling the truth when she said that she hadn’t told the Israelis anything they didn’t know already. But then the Israelis didn’t mess around. If they didn’t like the operation, they wouldn’t hesitate to wreck it. But not here on Cyprus. Israel had enough on her plate already, without making further enemies — this time among non-Arabs. Besides, the outfit had so far done nothing overtly illegal — if one overlooked the little matter of the dead militiamen, and Jo had said that her contact, Abe, wasn’t interested in that. Officially, it was still an International Red Cross operation.

No. The Israelis would bide their time, until the final mission, then intercept the six aircraft somewhere in neutral airspace, then shoot them all out of the sky — after young Jo had tipped them off about when that final mission would be.

There was also the problem of Matt. Did that sad renegade still care enough to betray them? If so, the Americans would probably be more devious. They’d have the influence to stymie the operation here on the ground. Even Pol, and his putative French accomplices, couldn’t buy off Washington. And if Washington knew, presumably so would Whitehall. And Rawcliff remembered that five of the six pilots held British passports. Britain might be a puny, pussy-footing, second-rate power; but she still wouldn’t look kindly on having five of her subjects involved in some ugly international conspiracy. Unless, of course, the British Government approved?

London, Washington, Jerusalem. Not to mention Paris. Rawcliff was worried, but they weren’t the normal worries of a mercenary anxious to earn his money at the end of a hazardous mission, target unknown. He was worried, because in a paradoxical way he was beginning to feel reassured — reassured in the dawning hope that the operation would fail, be thwarted before it even got off the ground.

Jo herself had hardly exchanged a word with him during the hours while they awaited the others. The two of them had lain under blankets, at a decent distance from each other, and tried to sleep. Ryderbeit, with unexpected tact, ignored them both.

When the rest of the team did arrive, she remained taciturn, withdrawn. She had one brief conversation with Peters, who handed her a sheaf of papers.

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