A Bridge Of Magpies Read online

  P R E L U D E : I N T O W A R

  26 February 1936

  New York Times report: 'The Japanese army, led by revolu-tionary elements, has taken over the government of Japan.

  The situation is confused, and shooting is reported from the centre of Tokyo and around the Imperial Palace. Violence and assassination seem to have been directed principally at members of the Cabinet and holders of prominent offices of state close to the Emperor. Among those reported to have been marked out for elimination are the Lord Keeper of the Privy Seal; the Grand Chamberlain to the Emperor; the Emperor's closest adviser and Japan's most honoured elder statesman, Prince Kinmochi Saionji; as well as other traditional hereditary office-bearers, some of whose titles date back many centuries .

  27 February 106

  Red Army Fourth Bureau, Intelligence, Moscow. Receipt of urgent dispatch from Head, Far East spy ring, Tokyo: 'Sorge to Fourth Bureau. Motivations for the 2/26 Incident are complex and the murder of hereditary office-bearers close to the Emperor requires careful study. Only one person was observed by agents to have passed through the army cordons surrounding the Imperial Palace during the first twenty-four hours of the coup. He was a young naval ensign in full uniform. He was seen to be carrying a small, well-wrapped parcel and was admitted– apparently by prior arrangement –at a small secret side door of the Palace. Because of a snowstorm, identification was impossible. He re-emerged a short time afterwards still carrying the same parcel. It is not known what his purpose was in visiting the Palace and it seems unlikely that such a junior officer would be admitted to audience with the Emperor.

  'The ensign successfully re-negotiated the cordons – probably due to his uniform–and was traced to a small central Tokyo hotel. He came away from it dressed in civilian clothes, then made his way to the docks. Here he boarded a cargo 7

  ship, the Brazil-man., due to sail on the next tide for Cape Town, South Africa. The significance of this incident is obscure, but, because of its link with the Imperial Palace, is given in some detail.'

  1 June 1943

  Signal intercepted by code-breakers at United States Combat Intelligence HQ, Pearl Harbour: 'Japanese Fleet HQ to Befehlshaber der Unterseebote (C-in-C U-boats). U-160, now refitting Japanese base at Penang, Malaya, assigned to carry out pick-up mission at Bridge of Magpies, South West Africa.

  Your agent code-named Swakop will be landed and our man Tsushima will be brought off. Suggest active operations by U-160 against Allied shipping be banned in view of importance of mission.'

  2 June 1943

  BdU to Japanese Fleet HQ: 'Mission agreed. Kapitan zur See Schlebusch to command. Schlebusch experienced in Cape waters, served in wolf-packs Gruppe Eisbar and Seehund.

  Cannot agree to restriction hostile operations. U-160 will, however, confine attacks to unescorted ships out of convoy; or warships.'

  7 July 1943

  Signal received by escort commander of convoy bound from Walvis Bay to Cape Town: 'Most immediate. C-in-C South Atlantic to commodore convoy WV.5BX. Strong enemy D /F

  bearings reported Possession Island area. Probably U-boat'

  Commodore WV.5BX to C-in-C South Atlantic: 'Convoy turned away 240 degrees. Sound heavy guns down-horizon vicinity Possession. Proceeding utmost dispatch in frigate Gousblom to investigate'

  Liner City of Baroda to C-in-C: 'SSSS . . . SSSS ... am being attacked by U-boat . . . Possession Island area . , .

  SSSS .

  20.15 hours

  U-160 to BdU: 'British liner City of Baroda 8,000 tons, hit by two of quadruple spread torpedoes position Grid Merten P6 Lat. 27° oo'S., Long. 15° 1

  Possession Channel.'

  8

  20.30 hours

  Frigate Gousblom to C-in-C: 'Strong U-boat contact Possession Channel. Eight depth charges dropped. Continuing attack. City of Banda seriously damaged, attempting to beach,'

  20.40 hours

  C-in-C to Convoy WV.5BX: 'Corvettes Vygie and Aandblom to proceed maximum speed to assist Gousblom:

  21.15 hours

  U-160 to BdU: 'Attacked by frigate Flower elms. Blew up following two hits ex stern tubes. U-160's main ballast pumps damaged by attack, unable to dive. Jettisoned eight mines. Proceeding seawards partly submerged. Will signal position 06.00

  hours dawn tomorrow,'

  22.15 hours

  Corvette Vygie to C-in-C: 'Unable to enter Possession Channel due to presence drifting mines and rising gale. No U-boat contact but sighted oil slick. City of Baroda ashore at Bridge of Magpies. Gousblom presumed sunk:

  8 July 1943

  06.30 hours

  BdU to U-160: 'Report your position immediately.'

  10.00 hours

  BdU to U-160: 'Report your position immediately. Repeat, report your position immediately. Repeat, report your position immediately • .

  9

  C H A P T E R O N ÈMaster of the Equinoxes, Lord of the Solstice! The splendid-sounding title is engraved on one face of the blade of a knife which lies on my desk as I write. It is dark and discoloured.

  It is an unusual weapon: a thin, pointed blade, widening abruptly at the hilt, which is very flat and hammered out of copper. A design has been tooled into the metal: a seascape about three inches long and half an inch broad, showing a setting sun, and ships sinking after battle. On the reverse side of the blade are scribbled the last words the Master wrote with the lead tip of a Taisho pistol bullet, using it like a pencil, after he had plucked the knife from his side '

  Mei fa tzu! – ìt is fate!' These words underwrite not only his own fate, but add a strange and awesome new dimension to two of the great decisive naval victories of the twentieth century: Pearl Harbour and Tsushima.

  Looking back on it, the Greek island of Santorin, on the Mediterranean tourist cruise belt about sixty miles north of Crete, was an improbable curtain-raiser for the desperate events half a world away on the Sperrgebiet, or forbidden diamond coast of South West Africa, which ended the Master's eight-hundred-year-old reign of influence. Had I been able even to guess at them I would have dismissed them as being as unreal as a nightmare, that soft late afternoon when I sailed my boat into Santorin's great lagoon in the sunset and headed towards the landing-place at Thera.

  The town's whitewashed houses on the cliff-top were still brilliantly spotlighted by the sun although the bay nearly a thousand feet below was darkening and taking on those unbelievable sapphires, blues, reds and golds which drive tour- , ists and artists ecstatic. I had really meant to tie up off the villa of Oia situated at the northern tip of the thirty-seven-mile crescent which constitutes the spectacular bay of San-twin. Thera is another three miles away; if I had carried out my first intention the odds are that I would never have received the summons which was waiting for me or, by the time I had, it would have been too out of date to be acted upon.

  What really switched me on to sail those extra miles was the prospect of a bottle of Thera's subtly sweet wine, because I'd had a blistering hot sail from Athens to Santorin on the meltemi or prevailing north wind. There is a bar on Thera's jetty, too, within easy reach of a mooring shelf of rock, compared with the mere offshore buoy at Oia. There is no regular steamer service to Santorin, only an intermittent cruise liner. Its berth was unoccupied on this occasion, which meant I'd have the bar virtually to myself. These were the small things which decided me in favour of Thera.

  Clad in my old jeans I splashed up to the knees in the warm Mediterranean water to make the Orga fast, while the sun projected its last theatrical effects on to the knife-edged cliffs soaring to the white town perched high above. I waded ashore to the jetty. The bar was built out of wine barrels, the lower ones full and the top ones empty, with-a canvas awning for a roof and a bright blue curt
ain across the back.

  The barrels creaked like a ship from the lift of the floating jetty. It was a good place to rinse from ones mouth, with wine, the salt of a hard sail, and to have the sea and your boat right there at your back, a spit away, if you got drunk.

  'A bottle of Merovigli, Gigi.'

  'My name's Annette, not

  'You look like Gigi to me, Annette.'

  'You get stoned again tonight, mister?'

  'This is plain honest thirst, Gigi. It was bloody hot coming from Athens.'

  She was dark, pretty, half Greek and half Alexandrian French. At twenty she could have been ravishing, properly made up; at forty she would be a hag. Her untidy blouse was too tight, and showed a tantalizing curve of white breast in the half-dark of the bar. Like me, she was barefoot.

  She placed the bottle of wine in front of me. The first taste made that extra sail across the bay worthwhile.

  'Does Professor Cacouris know you drink so much, mister?' `

  What the hell's eating you tonight, Gigi?'

  'I just wonder whether the professor knows, that's all. All those precious vases and things he gives you to take to Athens in your boat'

  'The best stuff doesn't go with me. I carry only the second-raters.'

  12

  'That's not what I hear, mister; '

  Call me Struan.'

  'I can't say it. It's a horrid name.' '

  Good. Scots.'

  -'

  It'shorrid because she must have used it!

  'Who's she?'

  'The girl you ran away from. To Santorin.'

  'For crying out! You're letting your imagination run away with you. Okay, then, if you're going to be unfriendly, stick to Mister Weddell.'

  She leaned over the plank bar top. I'm not unfriendly; I'm only concerned:

  'Good. Then you're falling in love'

  'I would like to, but there's too much going on inside you.

  You would like me only for a little while in your bed.

  Then you'd be tired of me and I would be unhappy.'

  'Let's stick to ancient vases and the prof's excavations.

  That way there'll be no emotional spin-off.'

  'You don't want to talk about yourself, mister. You want the wine to talk.'

  'In that case you'd better bring another bottle. Skates, this time. Good, strong rough Maros'

  'Your hair is much too long. It is long and blonde like a woman's.'

  'There's no one to see it at sea.'

  'You need a shave. Your shirt is dirty.'

  'For Crissake, Gigi, put a sock in it!'

  'A woman would be good for you, mister.'

  'When I want a woman I know where I can get one.' '

  It's not that sort of woman you want, You want – a real woman.'

  'Listen, Gigi, I could have stopped off at Oia if I'd wanted. I came here for a friendly bottle of wine, not a load of bitching.'

  'You came because you're frightened of being alone, mister.

  You could just as well have gone on to the excavation site.'

  Barbed wire, pumice dust, a spooky old place which blew up and killed everyone 3,500 years ago! No thanks!'

  She was right, of course. Professor Cacouris was busy excavating an ancient Minoan city, on the southern horn of Santorin's bay, which was destroyed in one of the great natural disasters of antiquity. It ranks as one of the archaeo-13

  logical finds of the century. The principal treasures have been the superb frescoes which surpass any found elsewhere in the Mediterranean, including the famous ones from Knossos.

  There were also hundreds of pots, amphorae and vases; these provided me with profitable cargoes for the Archaeological Museum in Athens. The site was so valuable that it had been strongly fenced

  'I hear you are very good now with the old vases and things.

  One of these days Professor Cacouris will let you help with the frescos.'

  'You hear a lot, Gin.'

  'It is a bar. People talk.'

  'It's pretty empty tonight?

  'Don't you want to be alone with me?'

  'Not in your present mood.'

  'I am a woman.'

  'You're needling me into getting drunk.'

  'You could have done that on your boat'

  'I never drink at sea.'

  'You drink on land, though.'

  'Sweet Jesus! Can't you stop bitching and leave me to drink in peace?'

  'It's not peace you're after–it's passing out,

  'Then you can put the body aboard the Orga.'

  'Another horrid name?

  'When I get bored by my lady tourists I call her the Orgasm. Scares 'em off or lures 'em on. Depends. Actually It's the name of the village in Cyprus where she was built.'

  'Cyprus! Who's taking my homeland's name in vain?'

  Relieved to get away from Gigi's needling, I swung round on my stool to greet the newcomer. Byron, the Greek – a needle-sharp, devious, sophisticated ex-tanker officer who (if you believed his stories) had been washed by many waters, from the Persian Gulf to Piraeus. His long coal-black hair and lush sideburns against a tanned skin (also visible past swelling chest-muscles nearly to navel level through an open mauve shirt) would have made him the envy of any male model. And he knew it. Women couldn't stay away from him: he knew that, too, and bore the burden stoically. He sailed a bigger boat than mine. What his cargoes were was anyone's guess. Mine was that they were arms and anununition. He had a pied-à-terre the uncharitable would have called it a 14

  funkhole– in the town of Them, eight hundred steps up the cliff from the bar. We often drank together. He was witty and entertaining; the most delightful liar I've met.

  'Byron! Come and help me get the taste of Gigi out of my mouth.'

  He grinned and said something to her in Greek which sent her sulking to the far end of the bar.

  'I thought Gigi's was the most likely place to find you.'

  He splashed himself a liberal dose of the Skaros. 'There are three people in Thera looking for you tonight' '

  Three?'

  'Myself, Ari, and the postmaster, old Tsaras. He'd fall apart at the seams if he tried the steps'

  'You've found me.'

  'But Ari has the telegram. He talked Tsaras into letting him deliver it to you at the excavation site.'

  'Ad knew damn well I was away in Athens.'

  Ari was an urchin, about ten years old, who attached himself to me whenever I came ashore. He was an orphan and lived in a hovel in Theta. Perhaps the strength of the pro-prietary feeling about me was in direct proportion to my liberal tips.

  'Knowing Ari I'd say he was touching some sucker of a tourist for the fare to the site, and then hoping to double up by what you gave him'

  I laughed. 'You bloody Greeks are all the same at heart–from the cradle onwards,'

  'Aren't you interested in the telegram?'

  'Why should I be?'

  'The typical beach-comber syndrome.'"

  'Where'd you learn that fine phrase, Byron? It sounds like the exit line of one of your women.'

  He grinned, 'She was American. We met on an intellectual level.'

  I looked him over. 'And you couldn't bear all that beau& ful body going to waste.'

  'The telegram is something special Old Tsaras was all steamed up about it.'

  Gigi came over and joined us. 'Maybe it's from Athens, about the vases you took.'

  'Never. Athens wouldn't bother about me. They'd get in touch direct with the Prof.'

  15

  Byron spreading his hands in the deprecating, sympathetic way that only a Greek can, asked, 'Home?'

  'No one gives a damn.'

  'Old Tsaras said something about its being long-distance.' I refilled our glasses. 'Long may the home fires burn. And burn. And burn.'

  Byron gave me a penetrating glance and said something to Gigi.

  She replied in English. 'He's been in this mood all evening.' `

  Listen, you two,' I said. 'I do
n't want any sympathy and I don't want any tears; I don't need 'em. Santarin's my life.

  I'm here by my own choice and I like it the way it is.' `That's why you're not interested in your telegram– maybe from the Cape?'

  'Who said the Cape?'

  No one. But that's where you're from.'

  'Know the Cape, Byron?'

  'I've sailed round it times enough.'

  'Fine. Then you'll understand what I'm going to tell you, being a tanker man yourself. Ever hear of the Walewska?'

  'What tanker man hasn't? Ripped herself open on a reef off South West Africa, carrying a full load of 150,000 tons.

  In these days of shortages! Then some trigger-happy sonofabitch commanding a frigate sent her to the bottom without even waiting to see .

  'I didn't send her to the bottom. I blew her sky-high.'

  A charge of plastic explosive under the seat of his pants couldn't have lifted him quicker off his stool.

  'Christ! You! You?'

  'Yes. Me. Mel'

  Without being able to shift his eyes from me, he said to Gigi, 'Get me some of that whisky you keep stashed away for Americans.'

  She gave us both a startled glance and scuttled away.

  Byron said slowly, holding out his right hand, 'I want to shake the hand that threw away a million dollars in a flash of flame– pool ! Like that.'

  Cut it out,' I replied. 'Don't get

  melodramatic. I had enough drama from the Press at the official inquiry into the sinking. From everyone, in fact That's why I'm here.'

  `You were kicked out–cashiered?' Byron's voice was full of awe and admiration,

  16

  Gigi came back with the whisky and a light which she placed on the bar counter.

  'No I wasn't. I quit. Of my own free will. The Navy was on my side. All the way. But there was a king-sized ruckus over the Walewska. The tanker company sued the. Government for millions. The court hearing went on for months and I was target number one. By the time it was finished I'

  d had the lot of them. Sure, I would have got another ship but I didn't intend to be strung along for the rest of my life at the end of a radio asking, "Please sir, may I do this, please sir, may I do that?" I was the captain of the frigate and I made the decision. I stand by it.'