The Blockade Runners Page 6

  ‘David, come on, wake up. It’s nearly morning.’

  Still groggy, he got out of bed.

  ‘I’ve already bathed. Get into the shower. We have to leave here before the hotel’s morning staff arrives for work. We’ll use the back entrance,’ she said. She, already dressed, applied her makeup in front of the dressing table mirror.

  Within half an hour, dressed in the same suit he had worn the day before, he was ready. He reached for a valise.

  ‘Leave it in the room,’ she said.

  He stopped. His expression was quizzical.

  ‘In case we have to move quickly. We’ll telephone the hotel and have it secured later.’

  David understood.

  It was still dark when they left the room. They had some items from the bar fridge but proposed to settle these later. They took the fire escape stairway and emerged at the back of the foyer where various doors led either to the kitchen, administration, or staff changing rooms. Unable to find a door that led to the back of the hotel, although they realised there had to be such an exit, they opened a door that led to the kitchen. A notice stated, ‘Kitchen – Staff Only’. These were not the doors that gave access to the dining rooms, but were side entrances.

  The kitchen was huge. Opening the doors revealed a long, narrow room done in white tiles and row upon row of basins, stoves, and open, stainless-steel shelving, with just a few dim night lights on. It was still deserted. They walked down a long aisle between the equipment and exited through what was obviously where they received their produce. This led directly to a large courtyard. A few dumpsters, a small van, and some large four-wheeled trolleys lined the inner walls.

  ‘Stay here,’ Gisela whispered, unclasping his hand. She was dressed in the same business suit she had worn the day before; the skirt was short, the hem a hand or two above her knees. She crossed the courtyard towards the gate and peered through a gap between the two doors. He saw her quickly draw her head back. She returned, walking quickly, an expression on her face.

  ‘There’s a car parked outside with middle-aged guy in a suit sitting in it.’ She paused. ‘At this time of the morning? We can’t go out there. I’m sure he has the rear entrance under surveillance.’

  Damn. He was surprised about how seriously they were looking out for him.

  ‘How are going to get out of here? Surely they have the front under observation as well.’

  A bell rang in the kitchen. They jerked around to face the noise, looking at each other in confusion.

  ‘Quick, inside,’ Gisela said.

  They returned to the kitchen, closing the door, but leaving a slight gap to see through. They could hear footsteps on the concrete from outside the kitchen. Gisela peeked around the door. The night porter was walking towards the gates. She did not know from where he had come. He opened the gates and drove a large electric cart into the yard. They could hear the clattering of milk cans. It was the morning milk van.

  They heard the porter greet the milkman. They obviously knew each other well.

  ‘I’ll be back before you get this lot off-loaded,’ the porter said and they heard his footsteps as he walked away.

  ‘I’ve got an idea,’ David said. He walked out of the kitchen and approached the milkman. The man was clearly surprised at encountering a man clad in a suit, clearly a guest, at this early hour.

  ‘Good morning, guv,’ the milkman said.

  ‘Morning. I’ve a spot of bother, I wonder if you can help.’ David smiled, pulling his wallet from his pocket. ‘There’s ten pounds in it for you, but if anybody should ask, you know nothing. That’s important.’

  ‘Well, that depends, doesn’t it?’ the milkman replied. He was obviously wary.

  ‘My girlfriend and I would like you to smuggle us out to the street in your cart. It’s just down the road, maybe a block or so.’

  David saw the man’s face change as he became more suspicious.

  ‘Hang on, we’ve paid our hotel bills,’ he added. He still held his wallet out. The fact that it was bulging with banknotes was not lost on the milkman. ‘We’re not trying to bilk. If you look out of the gate, you’ll see a guy in a car.’

  ‘Yes, I saw him, guv.’

  ‘Right, he’s the chap we are trying to avoid.’

  ‘Are you sure it’s okay, I’m not about to land myself in the shit, guv?’

  ‘No, the girlfriend and I need to get away without being seen.’

  ‘Oh, I understand!’ the milkman said while tipping the side of his nose. A lecherous grin of understanding appeared on his face.

  ‘Okay, guv, let me unload this; it’ll make room for you. The porter will come back to check the goods so you best disappear. I’ll make a plan to get him to go back inside so that you can come out and board. You’ll have to squeeze in and hunker down behind this panel here.’

  The space looked minute to David. He slipped back into the kitchen, hiding just behind the door. They heard the milkman unloading the van, packing the goods on the small platform before the door. Within minutes, the porter again appeared and diligently began to check the delivered goods against a document in his hand: milk cans, orange juice, yoghurts and various other items. Once done, the porter disappeared.

  As soon as he was out of sight, the milkman beckoned to them and they climbed into the rear of the cart. The milkman placed a few cans in front of them.

  Gisela and David sat with their knees drawn up against their stomachs, their faces only inches apart, their heads lowered. He could not but notice the considerable amount of thigh Gisela displayed, so much her suspenders were visible.

  The cart jerked into motion and they were flung together. He could smell the fragrance of her perfume and feel her warm breath on his cheek. He was acutely aware of her nearness.

  ‘Close your eyes. You’re not supposed to look,’ she whispered. She must be embarrassed, he thought. He didn’t know whether she was serious or whether this was just in jest.

  He heard the gates being closed. He did not dare look up, knowing that they were close to the car in the street. A minute later, the cart bumped slightly. It now ran over cobblestone, with its unmistakable slight rumble. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the walls of high-rise buildings on both sides. The trolley slowly stopped in the alleyway.

  ‘Guv, you can get out now. It’s safe. We’re about a block away from the car.’

  They were relieved to uncurl themselves from their cramped positions. Gisela pulled her skirt down.

  ‘Who’s that guy in the car, guv?’ the curious milkman could not help asking.

  David jerked his thumb in Gisela’s direction, saying nothing. Again, he pulled his wallet from his pocket.

  ‘Thanks, we appreciate this. Please not a word to anyone. Here’s another ten.’

  The milkman’s eyes widened. Two weeks’ wages for a short ride?

  ‘Guv, if you are ever around here again, just let me know.’ He beamed as he pocketed the banknote.

  They walked the length of the alley until it exited into the main road. It took a while before they found a passing cab. The driver was surprised to be flagged down at this hour by a well-dressed man and woman carrying their bags, but nodded when David gave him the name of a large, well-known hotel adjoining Heathrow Airport.

  ‘Let’s lose ourselves in the crowd,’ he said to Gisela.

  She smiled. ‘You know, you don’t smell bad at all.’

  He realised she was referring to the ride in the milk cart. He laughed. ‘You’ve great legs.’

  They both laughed, evaporating the tension.

  She opened her handbag and withdrew two passports. They were olive drab and embossed with Bundesrepublik Deutschland. He recognised them immediately.

  ‘I came prepared. You are now Werner Seidlitz and I am Vera Wagner, just two ordinary Germans; tourists, in fact. I think we need to change clothes to play the part, something less smart and conspicuous.’

  He became aware that the relationship had subtly changed
during the past few minutes, triggered by their shared danger.

  ‘You’re quite an operative. I’m impressed. Of course, you realise that if you had been searched, you would’ve given the game away.’ David grinned at her.

  ‘They aren’t after me. They’re after you.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right, but be careful,’ he replied, unconsciously patting her hand on the seat next to him. She never removed it or showed any sign of surprise.

  The cab stopped in the driveway of the hotel opposite the main entrance. The hotel was grotesque. Designed to hold as many guests as possible, it resembled a white brick wall, an assembly of cubes randomly stacked one on top of the other, an edifice of concrete, chrome, and white paint. It lacked character, modelled on the enormous hotel chains springing up all over cities – merely a place to sleep, devoid of all frills. Coffee, tea, sugar, and milk powder were all in little packets in the rooms, the only meal available being breakfast, and at an extra cost if you took it. However, the one upside was that these hotels, while sterile, were squeaky clean.

  Two clerks manned the reception desk. ‘A double room, please,’ Gisela said. She slid an American Express card over the counter.

  This surprised him. Sure, the previous night they had shared a room, but that had been out of necessity to avoid the black-suited spooks who had visited him. But now?

  They had the elevator to themselves. Neither spoke. If she thought he would say something about the room they were about to share, she was mistaken. He was not about to make a fool of himself. Was this to confuse the enemy or had she some other motive? If he queried her reasons, he could leave her with the impression that he thought she had designs on him. If she countered saying that she did it to throw the English, he’d look like a bloody fool, embarrassed. She would not have to say it, but the message would be clear: hey, don’t flatter yourself.

  Since the unexpected intimacy of the milk cart, he’d felt like a voyeur. He remembered her legs and hoping her skirt would ride up higher. Was he a latent deviant? Though his mind had been taken up with escaping the detection of the man in the car, he still got aroused.

  The hotel room was clinical and clean with two three-quarter beds pushed together. Beside them were nightstands with lamps. A large dressing table stood against the wall opposite the beds. Above this, a large mirror took up most of the wall. Leading off the room was a fully-equipped modern bathroom. There was no under-counter fridge with drinks. These had to be collected from a dispenser down the passage, which required coinage to operate. Another machine provided free ice.

  ‘The first thing we need to do is change our backgrounds. That will require a drastic change in clothing. I suggest we go shopping.’ Gisela opened her suitcase on the bed.

  ‘Christ, I’m starving. Can’t we go and find breakfast first?’

  ‘No, first the clothes, then the breakfast. I’m going to make you look like a college student. You look young enough to still be a student.’ She eyed him. ‘I need you to look like one of those permanent students you find in Germany, needing years to get their degrees. A career student. Let’s keep the British guessing.’

  ‘That’s really not flattering.’

  ‘Wait, you haven’t seen your girlfriend yet.’ She laughed.

  They left the hotel and walked to a brand new mall, one of those clusters of shops of every description interlaced with a few fast food outlets that seemed to be springing up wherever huge numbers of people gathered, such as airports and central points in suburbia. This was a new shopping concept to him, obviously, something imported from the Americans. It hadn’t arrived in South Africa yet.

  She dragged him into a young man’s clothing shop. If you were looking for a suit or tie, this was not a shop to frequent. It sold only sweatshirts, T-shirts, jeans, and assorted paraphernalia, all casual wear.

  ‘You’re a thirty-four?’

  He nodded. She removed a few hangers with jeans and shirts. She handed him the jeans.

  ‘Try these on.’

  He emerged from the change-rooms and she nodded.

  ‘We’ll take them,’ she said without consulting him.

  They left the shop with a few packages containing enough clothing to give him a few changes. Next, they entered a women’s boutique. This took longer, as she often tried something on and then discarded it for something else. Of course, he was constantly asked for his opinion, which didn’t matter as she ignored it anyway.

  They returned to the hotel to change. David emerged from the bathroom in jeans and a sweatshirt over which he wore an unbuttoned shirt. He had never worn a shirt unbuttoned before. It felt strange. Against the cold, he had a kapok duffel coat in a khaki material. It had a small West German black, gold, and red flag on each upper arm, a copy of the jackets issued to the German military, which had become fashionable. To cover his head, he had a navy blue German ski-cap, one of those where you could fold the sides down to protect your ears. The flaps were up, buckled together above the visor. David thought it was hideous and lost no time saying so.

  ‘Wear it. It’s the perfect disguise. German students don’t have any dress sense. Just remember, speak only German, okay?’

  He nodded. She was the boss when it came to espionage.

  Her transformation was amazing. Gone was the makeup and her hair was now done in a simple ponytail. Dressed in blue jeans and a loose, bulky, red pullover with a wide roll neck, she looked like a teenager.

  ‘Do you like?’ she asked. She pirouetted in the room and smiled at his look of surprise.

  ‘I do. You look as if you’re still at uni – or haven’t even got there yet.’

  They were both wearing sturdy black boots, styled after the German military. They were quite fashionable and commonly sold as ‘Wehrmacht boots’. He thought the name apt.

  They breakfasted at a Lyons Tea House, one of the many fast food outlets in the mall, both having the full breakfast. David felt better after his and even ate a portion of hers. Once again, he went through the ritual of contacting Doyle, providing a meeting time. They met at the Chinese restaurant, but this time David had Gisela in tow.

  Doyle confirmed that the Georgio V was in Bandar Mashur. She would leave the harbour some time the next day for Marseilles with her new cargo of crude. Engine trouble would develop before leaving the Persian Gulf and her crew would carry out repairs while she was anchored off the coast. This would be entered into the log as an overheating propeller shaft requiring a few days to rectify. In reality, nothing would be wrong. However, it would enable the complete contingent of officers, currently all Greek nationals, to be replaced with a French command of officers and engineers who were standing by in Kuwait City. The deckhands, most of whom were Koreans, would remain on board. Once in international waters, a company especially created for this purpose would purchase her complete cargo and the ship would be redirected to Beira. Currently, her cargo manifest gave Rotterdam as her port of destination.

  Doyle seemed taken with Gisela and was intrigued by their relationship, not knowing whether this was simply a business relationship and platonic or not. Gisela also noticed Doyle’s interest, but she kept her mien professional.

  When opportunity knocked, David whispered, ‘I think our mutual friend is developing the hots for you.’

  She smiled and then replied, ‘It’s not him. It’s his damn pecker.’

  David thought her response hilarious.

  There was more to this woman than he had thought.

  ****

  ‘The Deborah will dock in Bandar Mashur about a week later, going through the same process,’ said Doyle. ‘However, in this case, we have a different intermediary shelf company. The crude will be shipped to Genoa. At least that’s what the documentation will say. We’ll let the tanker pass through the Suez Canal, then redirect the ship and change the crew.’

  ‘When will the Georgio V get to Beira?’ David asked.

  ‘In about five weeks.’

  ‘And the Deborah?’

&
nbsp; ‘That’ll take about five or six weeks at least,’ Doyle replied.

  David turned to Gisela. ‘I was going to suggest that we accompany the tanker, boarding her at Kuwait City, but I don’t think our presence would help if things go wrong. We would both be directly associated with this escapade and it would elevate us to public figures. Do you agree?’

  She thought about it. ‘You’re right. I think we should be in Beira to meet the ship. That’s where the fun will start. The British might attempt to stop her off the Mozambique coast.’

  ‘I agree,’ Doyle said. ‘It’s already common knowledge that they have a frigate stationed off the coast for precisely that purpose. I understand it’s the HMS Bristow.’

  ‘Christ, I should’ve stayed with my knitting. My father used to say, “Schuster, bleib bei deinem Leisten,” David muttered. He realised how far removed he was from the real world. Oh, this was real all right. Too damned read and too dangerous and not his forte. He was a banker, not an undercover agent.

  ‘What’s that?’ Doyle did not understand what David had been getting at.

  ‘Nothing – just a stupid remark. Something about not straying from your area of expertise,’ David replied. He dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. Gisela looked at him, but did not comment.

  ****

  They spent the next three weeks moving around Great Britain and Europe, sometimes together, often separately, retaining Frankfurt as their base.

  Rhodesia’s huge textile industry demanded fabrics. David pulled off a good deal with Société Abelon, one of the largest textile manufacturers in southern France. The French company was happy to do business, their prices high but not as exorbitant as others he had obtained. A deal was struck. The French would ship these as exports to South Africa through Durban. Payment would be effected in French francs against a letter of credit drawn on the Société Générale Banque in Paris, the drawee bank being the Republic Bank in Johannesburg.

  Gisela had learned quickly and was already an astute sanctions buster. Her German background enabled her to approach German manufacturers, who didn’t give a hoot about the British embargo provided they could not be directly implicated. Household appliances, motorcars and trucks, machinery and electronics, all from Germany, had become her specialty. Pharmaceutical requirements and other medical needs were also in continuous demand.