Silence in the Desert, page 15
‘By which you mean we’re more likely to return the folios to you when the war is over,’ said Rooky.
‘Precisely,’ said the Abbot. ‘Your country has stood by Greece in its hour of crisis when German troops invaded, and your British Museum is a centre of knowledge on the Codex Sinaiticus. We’d like to entrust what we have remaining of the Codex to you, Father Rooker, on the understanding that you will pass it to your General Alexander for transfer to London.’
With that, the Abbot rose and opened a cabinet of wide drawers. Pulling open one of the drawers, he extracted a number of sheets of vellum, covered in Greek text which he explained was of the Alexandrian variety.
‘Here they are. Are you willing to accede to my request?
‘Well, Father Abbot,’ replied Rooky, cautiously. ‘We’re honoured to be chosen for such an important mission. But I have to point out that there’s no absolutely safe way of transporting such a treasure to London. I will take on the task and do my best if you truly believe it’s the right solution for your community, in view of the military situation. Please make it as compact a package as practicable. We’ll execute an appropriate document for your records, and take the package to General Headquarters. They can decide how best to transport it to London.’
‘Excellent,’ said the Abbot. ‘Now, the two of you must relax for a couple of hours before joining us in the refectory for supper. You are welcome to explore the monastery and its surroundings.’
‘What do you think?’ said Henri, as they walked together and alone, along the outer walls. ‘Anything strike you as odd?’
‘Well, he said he would explain to us how they had wireless connection with Cairo, but he didn’t,’ commented Rooky.
‘And what about this package, the sheets of vellum? I don’t know anything about the Codex.’
Rooky paused in thought. ‘As I recall, there were four original codices, original manuscripts of the Bible. One resided here until part of it was removed by a professor from Leipzig, who passed most of it on to the Tsar. What’s left here is presumably what the Abbot is asking us to look after.’
‘Father Abbot sounded genuine to me. I didn’t get the impression he was trying to hide anything.’
‘No, agreed. So, does the Abwehr have a friend here?’
‘You mentioned the Desert Fathers yesterday. Maybe there’s one living as a hermit somewhere around here, and supplied with food by the monastery,’ Henri said, half jokingly. ‘The intercept equipment could be hidden where this individual lives.’
‘Okay, but if there’s an agent intercepting messages, how does he pass them on?’ said Rooky.
‘Only two ways,’ said Henri. ‘By wireless, or by post which here means by Studebaker.’
Silence reigned in the refectory as they entered at the appointed hour. Henri looked around the room. Most present wore the black habit of the Orthodox monks. A couple of others wore brown. Brothers, perhaps. A sharp clap of hands by one of the monks, and everyone sat down to eat. A brother in brown walked across to a lectern, and started to read from a book. Rooky looked at Henri with a sparkle in his eye, ‘I think that’s The Imitation of Christ by Thomas à Kempis, in Greek.’
Supper finished, they walked back towards the accommodation block.
‘If an agent is using the monastery’s transmitter to forward intercepted messages,’ said Henri, ‘they would have to be transmitted in clear, with content that one would expect from such a source. Otherwise, our intelligence people in Cairo would have detected something odd.’
Rooky thought for a moment, then commented ‘Unless of course they have.’
‘So why would I be asked to check things out?’ He paused, then answered the question himself. ‘Of course, they want to know who the enemy is down here.’
Rooky was thinking, then looked up at Henri. ‘If you want my opinion, it’s the brother who read to us during supper. You might not have noticed, but there were small thin scars on his cheeks.’
‘You’re not suggesting he’s an aristocratic German from one of their great universities where they fence to prove their manhood? You’re mad, Rooky.’
‘Well, why don’t we make an inquiry or two? We have some time before returning to Cairo.’
The Abbot looked surprised, then chuckled. He repeated the question Rooky just put to him.
‘Do we have any members of the community who are not Greeks? Well, the answer is yes. One of the brothers, Brother Anton, is Austrian. He speaks fluent Greek as you heard over supper last night. He was a scholar at Heidelberg originally, then escaped to Greece when the Nazis walked into Vienna. He was a Catholic, but changed to the Orthodox persuasion.’
‘How interesting,’ exclaimed Rooky, glancing at Henri, then back to the Abbot. ‘What’s his occupation here? I know the younger monks and brothers work hard during the day, as well as pray.’
‘Brother Anton’s great interest, where we rely on him greatly, is our wireless transmitter.’
Henri forced himself not to gasp in amazement. So Rooky was right. Brother Anton was their man. Afterwards, he and Rooky discussed the situation together in private. There was little doubt that, acting as an Abwehr wireless operator, the brother was able to intercept signals from allied shipping. He would transmit anything urgent to the Axis intelligence people by wireless, otherwise sending it to an agent in Cairo via the Studebaker.
Rooky was thinking. ‘Let’s ask Father Abbot if we can send a radio message to Cairo. It should give us a chance to inspect the interior of the radio room.’
‘Good idea,’ said Henri. ‘Then I can return during the night if we think there’s something that needs a closer look. Before I left Cairo my friends there gave me a crash course in British, German and other wireless sets, so I should know what to look out for. They also gave me a miniature Minox camera.’
They went off to find Father Abbot, and explained their need to inform Cairo of when they would be returning.
’Of course, I will have Brother Anton help you,’ said the Abbot. ‘He’ll probably be in the radio room now. He’s very protective of it, doesn’t allow anyone in.’
As the three of them headed out into the passage, Henri noticed the Abbot stop at an alcove where lines of large iron keys hung from hooks, small signs underneath stating the rooms to which each applied. ‘Yes, he must be there,’ he said, and strode off down the passage.
Brother Anton took some time to answer the Abbot’s knock on the door of the radio room. Suddenly it swung open and the tall strong figure of the Brother stood there, earphones around his neck, long brown habit stretching down to just above the ankles, a knotted rope around the waist. The Abbot explained their request.
‘Please write down on this message pad what you want sent. I will convert it into Morse and send it,’ said Brother Anton, picking up a pad from beside the door. Henri interjected. ‘Could I come in, please, since there may be a reply.’
The Brother hesitated, clearly not wanting them in his lair. Thinking the better of it, he stepped aside and they went in.
Henri saw a table on which sat a British Number 11 transceiver. Just behind to the right was a large wooden cabinet with double doors, locked but with a key in the lock. On the left was a desk bearing what looked like message pads, instruction manuals and notebooks. Above that, on the wall, was a map of the Red Sea and Gulf of Suez, and another of the Sinai.
‘So what do you think,’ said Rooky to Henri, when they were back in one of their rooms.
‘I would like to see what’s in that large cabinet,’ said Henri. ‘It shouldn’t be too difficult to prise the lock open, even if I can’t find the key. And on the desk, written on a message pad, there were what looked to me like coordinates. Could be positions of vessels at sea.’ He paused. ‘I’m going back in, after midnight.’
‘Okay, I’ll follow you and stand outside in case anyone comes our way. So I can warn you.’
Henri felt his way to the alcove outside the Abbot’s cell. Where’s that key? He risked a brief beam from the flashlight in his hand. There was the small sign underneath, marked as key to the radio room. He took it silently from its hook and moved on down the passage. Rooky was several paces behind.
There was the door. He flashed the light briefly on the handle and lock, inserting the key. Now for it. There was a faint creak as the lock turned and he pushed open the heavy door.
Henri advanced into the room. In front of him was the British-made transmitter, the desk and the large stand-alone cabinet. There was no sign of the key to the cabinet, and he examined its lock, which looked straightforward. Extracting from his pocket the small tool Robertson’s people gave him during his training in Cairo, he inserted it into the lock. Almost at once, the bolt moved and then released the doors. He stood silent for a moment. All well, no sound from anywhere. His heart was pumping fast.
He shone the light at the bulky equipment on the shelving inside the cabinet. At once he realized this was not standard gear. He looked it over, searching for a manufacturer’s plate. On the right side at the bottom, he saw the word Siemens, and a part number and date stamped on the plate. With flashlight close to it, he used the Minox in the hope there was sufficient exposure to record an image. To him, and from what he’d been shown in Cairo, it looked like listening equipment used by German signals intelligence.
He closed the cabinet and rolled the lock forward to secure it.
Henri moved over to the table, illuminating the notes and message pads. Yes, what he saw confirmed his earlier suspicions. There were columns headed by geographic region, such as Gulf of Suez, and down the left vertical margin the type of vessel and flag identity. In the centre boxes were coordinates of latitude and longitude together with dates.
Suddenly there was light. He swung round and Brother Anton was facing him, holding a large oil lamp.
‘So, Legionnaire Lieutenant, I see you’re a wireless enthusiast. Someone after my own heart,’ said the Brother in a sneering voice. ‘Give me those papers.’ His hand was pointing at the sheets of coordinates.
‘Not yet,’ said Henri, quietly. ‘First, let’s call the Abbot, so he can hear what you have to say. You, Brother Anton, clearly have two vocations. First, a brother of the Orthodox persuasion, and second an agent of the Abwehr.’ Henri realized the Brother must have entered the room through another door, a disguised opening.
Brother Anton placed the oil lamp on the floor with his left arm, distracting Henri for a second. As he did so, his right arm went under his habit and burst out of it holding a foil. The swing of his arm lifted the narrow sword upwards. Henri only had a split second to move sideways as the sword came sweeping down. The weapon slashed along the side of Henri’s left arm and a spasm of pain shot through him.
Henri’s nervous system and the pump of adrenalin drove him in a frantic lunge at the lower part of the habit. The two of them crashed to the floor.
The Brother was on his feet before Henri. The sword arm went up and was about to slash at his head, when there was a loud report, a sharp crack.
Brother Anton’s arm stopped in the air, the sword clattering to the floor. He crumpled into a heap. Then silence.
Henri was hardly conscious of the wound to his arm, such was the shock of what happened in such a small space of time. He tried to recover himself, looked down and saw blood spurting from the damaged arteries. At the same time, Rooky was beside him, tearing off his shirt. ‘Quick, I’m putting this around your arm above the wound, going to be very tight, a tourniquet, may hurt like hell.
Then, another lantern, this time in the doorway. One of the monks must have heard the gunshot.
Rooky looked up. ‘Father, please bring Fr Abbot, and the monk in charge of first aid. At once.’
The monk disappeared, at speed.
‘Now, Henri, get this in your head. You shot Brother Anton. This is your Luger,’ he said, putting the weapon into Henri’s good hand. Monks don’t shoot other monks, particularly with a Luger.’
Henri gasped. ‘My God, Rooky, you saved my life. Where did you shoot him?’
I aimed for the head, short range, from the doorway. I was watching you from there. Lucky he didn’t come up from behind me. Hopefully, you’ve only a flesh wound and the tendons aren’t damaged. You can show your wound to the Heidelberg fencing alumni. They may award you an honorary degree. Now let’s have a look at our friend. Dead, I fear. Ah, yes, small hole in the temple, to go with the two scars on his cheeks. That’s the beauty of the Luger, small calibre, high muzzle velocity. Doesn’t make a mess.’
At that moment, the Abbot burst in.
Rooky did the explaining, showing him the listening equipment and lists of vessels and coordinates. And of course, the sword and Henri’s wounds and newly acquired Luger.
Although there was no doctor at St Catherine’s, it turned out there was a trained medical orderly in the community. He gave Henri a jab of morphine and cleaned up the wound. There was some discussion as to what should happen to the corpse. In the end, a short service was held the following morning in the abbey church, after which Brother Anton and coffin were loaded into the back of the Studebaker.
Rooky and Henri decided that Fr Abbot and the community should be absolved from any responsibility for what happened, and undertook to arrange matters in Cairo to that effect. Fr Abbot was overwhelmed with thanks for their understanding, stressing the importance of the monastery’s reputation. Rooky assured him that the package containing the folios of the Codex Sinaiticus would be delivered to General Alexander.
19
Cairo, June 1942
The corpse in its coffin was deposited at the morgue of the General Hospital, where Henri’s wound was dressed and he was assured that his arm should regain its full use.
At Shepheard’s, Henri and Rooky were to part company. Henri knew that his mentor was now was to re-join 7th Armoured Division, to be attached to the temporarily merged 4th/8th Hussars. Thanking him once more for what he’d done for the Free French, he knelt and received Rooky’s blessing. In the car, on the way to see Robertson at Grey Pillars, the memories of his schooling flooded back. Where was Bill now? Was Leo really in the Luftwaffe? They were both survivors, he was sure. All three would never forget Rooky’s guiding hand, exemplified by that discussion between him and the padre in the Sinai.
Rooky went to his room and opened his bag, taking out the package entrusted to him. Sitting at the desk, he started to write to his old friend Harold Alexander, Commander-in-Chief of Middle East Command. He called for a dispatch rider and instructed him to take the letter addressed to the C-in-C, and to part with it only to the General’s ADC.
He didn’t have to wait long for a response. The next day was August 15, the Feast of the Assumption, and Rooky was to say Mass at the Armenian Catholic Church of the Assumption. When he returned to Shepheard’s, a staff car was waiting for him. The driver announced that Rooky was required immediately at General Headquarters Middle East.
They drove through the narrow streets until arriving at the wired-off area in Garden City. The car passed through the outer barrier with just a salute as the sentries recognized the vehicle and its driver, and proceeded to what had been blocks of recently constructed apartments.
The high level of security at one block suggested occupation by the top brass. Rooky was waved in, and after a few minutes only, General Alexander’s ADC appeared. The young officer saluted, leading Rooky through to a large office at the back of the building. There was a conference table and maps both on tables and on the walls. The Commander-in-Chief, immaculate, sharp, and exuding friendliness, turned to welcome his visitor.
‘Rooky, all this time in the desert has certainly cleansed your body to match the soul,’ he said, looking the padre up and down. ‘You do look fit. Coffee or tea, or something stronger?’ They sat down in a couple of sofa chairs in a corner of the room, as an orderly served them.
‘Congratulations on your appointment. At least it’s warmer here than when I was at Narvik with the Micks,’ said Rooky.
‘I’d forgotten you were there,’ said the General. ‘Bloody awful show that was, the 1st Battalion losing its senior officers, all at once. Now I understand you’re returning to the Irish Hussars. It seems an age since you were with my battalion during Ludendorff’s offensive,’ said the General. ‘I say mine, but although I had the temporary rank of Lieutenant Colonel, my substantive rank was only Captain.’
‘I remember well, Alex,’ said Rooky.
‘That was when my low opinion of Pétain was formed,’ said the C-in-C. ‘The German storm troopers attacked at the point where British and French forces met along the line. We needed the French to bring in reserves and Pétain was very slow to act. Thank God Marshal Foch stepped in. Then you went off to the Benedictines. Pretty brave effort to come back and spend all this time here in the thick of it.’
‘Not really,’ said Rooky. ‘Remember Father Browne, Alex, one of our padres in Flanders? Two MCs, wounded several times, and gassed. You can call that brave.’
Alex looked hard at Rooky. ‘Yes, you’re right. Father Browne was a hero. And there was his photography, what a talent. But you’ve done well, Rooky.’
‘Actually, I’ve just shot dead a monk.’
‘You’ve what?’
‘I’m meant to be an unarmed padre, though when things get tough there’s the odd stretcher to carry. I was witness to a brother at the Monastery of St Catherine in Sinai attempting to drive a foil through my Foreign Legion friend who does undercover work for MI5’s offshoot here.’
‘Good grief. Who was this Brother, what was he up to?’
Rooky explained the story to the Commander-in-Chief.
‘If you’re just an unarmed padre, how did you dispose of this Abwehr agent?’
‘With the Luger I took off a German officer we took prisoner in 1917,’ said Rooky. ‘Just never got around to turning it in. It got lost at the bottom of my suitcase, with a few clips of 9mm ammo. Officially, my French friend shot the brother with his Luger.’
