Copyright 2003 by Paul C.
Rubies are Red. Part 29.
Paul
I turned over in the surprisingly comfortable camp bed and looked at my wristwatch; about the only possession they allowed me to keep. It was five o'clock. I felt better for those few hours sleep although I was feeling hungry.
I looked across the tent and saw Howie, asleep in his bed and beyond him my grandfather. My stomach rumbled. I was hungry. They had provided us with water but nothing else since they had stopped us earlier.
I realised I hadn't eaten since that tin of warm beans at six that morning.
The American troops that had stopped us had what could be best described as a firm but fair attitude. If you did as you were told. They were about fifty of them as far as I could judge and the way extra tents were being erected more were expected.
Grandfather's friend was nowhere to be found and the American Commanding Officer denied all knowledge of him. We had all been interviewed collectively and singularly and our details taken down. Howie told me he had a promise from the CO that a message would be sent to notify our families that we were safe. That was something anyway.
Heather had been taken to a tent on the far side of the airfield that we were told was the first aid post. They had a medic who visited us to check on our condition and he reassured us he was well used to patching up gunshot wounds and broken arms and that she was going to be fine.
It was beginning to get dark inside the tent. I couldn't see any form of lighting. At this rate it would be pitch black in a short time.
I climbed from my bed and walked to the door. The flaps were only lightly laced so I undid them and stepped outside. My stomach gurgled again. A visit to the toilet was called for. I looked around. There were surprisingly few troops on view that I could see. But then I can't have been able to see very well for I didn't notice the man who was standing behind me until I turned my head in his direction.
"Good evening Sir." He said. "The Major would like to see you."
"I was looking for the toilets."
"We will pass the heads on the way."
The soldier held his weapon cradled across the front of his body. He indicated the way with a movement of the barrel. I headed in that direction.
After a short stop to relive myself we arrived at one of a number of permanent brick and wood buildings. They had all seen better days and were in need of repairs. As I mounted the steps at one end of the building I glanced to my right. There, parked under a corrugated iron roof was an aeroplane. I recognised it as one of the amphibious boats used to rescue downed pilots and sailors in the Second World War. A Catalina I thought they were called.
We walked along the short veranda and entered the building. There was a corridor that led to the rear with a number of doors on either side. The soldier knocked on the first door on the left.
"Come." A voice answered.
I was ushered inside. The Major sat behind a table on which the small briefcase I had brought from London lay open. I hadn't realised we had brought it with us from the hotel. Although, thinking about it Howie had been carrying it out of the hotel.
He had the four envelopes open and the blank sheets of paper in a pile on one side. Beside it was a much smaller pile of bearer bonds. Open in front of him was one of the document folders.
"Sit down. Mr Wagstaffe. Tell me what you know about this."
"About what?" I replied sitting in a folding, wooden chair opposite him.
He pulled open a drawer and, after a seconds rummaging, produced my passport.
"It states here you have the status of a diplomat."
"If it says that." I replied slowly.
"And you know what the contents of these files are?"
"No." I confessed. "My reading Spanish isn't that good and besides I never really had the time to look at them."
"Why were they in your possession?"
"I was asked to bring them over for somebody. Look, what is this all about?"
"These are geological reports indicating the presence of large untapped deposits of oil and gas off the coast. They need further investigation but there could be more than there is in some middle-eastern countries."
"That would be very good for the people of this country."
"Certainly for the people who are in charge." He agreed.
"Where is the Interior Minister?" He asked after a few seconds silence.
"The last I saw of him he was lying half in and half out of a bath in our hotel."
"You mean he's dead?"
"I think so. I never checked his pulse."
There was another pause while he looked me up and down. I looked over his shoulder at an old photograph in a frame on the wall behind him. Three people standing beside an old bi-plane and one man sitting in the pilots seat. It was yellow with age and there were dark spots of mildew on it.
The CO's eyes followed mine.
"What are you looking at?"
"Just the photo. We have a copy at home."
He stood up and took it down. Retaking his seat he studied it closely for a few seconds.
