Chapter Twenty-Three.

At Alexandria, the flying boats alighted on Lake Mariut... an artificial lake adjoining the Fuad I Airport; which BOAC had been using by day, since October 1948 in preference to the old base at Rod el Farag. BOAC facilities at the lakeside included their stores, marine office, and yard; engineering workshops and offices, staff canteen, and kitchen in which meals served on the flying-boats were prepared. There was also a restaurant and rest-room for passengers, with a pleasant outlook over the lake. Passengers were accommodated for the night at the Hotel Cecil... a rather grand, eighty-six rooms, four-star Moorish-style hotel, on Saad Zaghloul Square overlooking the sea front.

The BOAC bus delivered Charlotte, Max, and the other passengers to the hotel overlooking the Grande Corniche... the twenty-five kilometres-long, sweeping curve of the waterfront promenade. The entrance to the hotel had a seating area which overlooked the promenade, where various patrons could watch the world go by; drinking coffee and generally whiling away the time under the shade of the palm trees that lined the Square.

Upon their arrival; splendidly attired Egyptian staff offered the new guests a glass of "Karkadé"... Hibiscus tea, whilst they waited to be signed in. In keeping with its reputation of being the former seat of lavish extravagance in Alexandria; the hotel maintained a faded historical sense of Colonial grandeur, and preserved some of its pleasant old-style features... like the old-fashioned, wrought-iron lift with its polished wooden interior panelling, and the lobby's opulent, pillared décor. The motionless fronds of the palm trees adorning the lobby splintered and refracted the light from the crystal chandeliers in the gilt-edged mirrors lining the walls, and from off the polished marble floors.

There were only ten passengers from the flying boat, including the aloof, Times-reading man, and the Oriental girl from the upper cabin; two middle-aged, elegantly-attired women from the aft cabin; and two tough-looking, immaculately-suited men whom Charlotte and Max hadn't seen during the first leg of the outward flight. They must have boarded at Augusta. These two accepted their drinks and took a table to the right of the entrance. Sitting there, with their backs to the window overlooking Saad Zaghloul Square, they were in a perfect position to observe the passers-by in the huge mirror hanging on the other side of the reception hall. Charlotte glanced at Max. He raised an eyebrow. These two smelled of espionage... but on whose side?

The Nederland Line freighter: "Schijnt Meisje" had called in at Port Said, Egypt; the northern terminus of the Suez canal, to take on fresh drinking water on Thursday, 22nd September; having averaged fourteen knots on her voyage from Hamburg. In four days time she would be out into the Gulf of Aden, and well on her way... or, at least, that had been the sailing plan. Now, she was stuck in Port Said, whilst the Egyptian Police tried to figure out why one of her crew, a Chinese, who had been tentatively identified as one Lee WonJin, had been found dumped in a storm drain just off the Djeama'a el-Fna; with his features so disfigured that his identity could only be eventually confirmed by his tattoos. All his possessions had been removed. It must have been robbery... so commonplace in this terminus for lost souls that the Police didn't even bother with most of them... but this one was different. Port Said was a melting pot of love and hate, greed and cruelty... the asshole of the Middle East. Robbery? Perhaps it had been nothing more than that; but, if so; why the mindless violence? The Egyptian Police scratched their heads, but could not come up with a plausible solution.

What they could not possibly know was that the disfigured corpse in the storm drain was just one more statistic in a particularly vicious and acrimonious dispute between rival Triads over territory and sphere of influence in far-distant Hong Kong. The now very dead Lee WonJin had been a foot solder of the 14K Triad and had made the fatal mistake of boasting about the great "Mianzi"... prestige, he would gain by presenting the Dragon Lord of his Triad with a large, flawless Garnet gemstone he had acquired in Hamburg. His smug utterance was overheard by another of the "Schijnt Meisje" crew, who, fatally for Lee WonJin, was a member of the rival, and shadowy Kwun Tong Tung Triad, and decided that his Dragon Lord would also appreciate being presented with this particular gemstone.

Consequently, Lee WonJin had been lured out into the town on the assurance of a night in port of Arak and Sharmota... booze and whores; and had ended up in a storm drain, minus the gemstone, with his head and face kicked in. The Port Said Police had eventually established that he had come from the Dutch freighter, but, with the lack of any evidence, or known motive... other than a straightforward... albeit savage, robbery; had released the ship to continue her voyage through the Suez Canal after three days. As Charlotte and Max sipped their glasses of Karkadé in the Hotel Cecil lobby; the freighter was just approaching Jeddah; almost half- distance through The Red Sea.

Having finished their drinks; Charlotte and Max were deferentially ushered into the ancient lift by a young hotel porter, and carried sedately up to their suite on the third floor which overlooked the plaza and the harbour. The balcony to the suite was very narrow, but the view over the Eastern Harbour and along the sweeping Corniche was marvellous. The room was a beautifully sumptuous, old-world style suite with a large, crystal chandelier, high ceilings; and contained dark wood furnishings and rich Gold and Burgundy fabrics. The substantial double bed was made up with crisp Egyptian cotton sheets.

On an ornate table flanked by plush-upholstered, classic 1930's-style, English, Lloyd loom chairs, was an Art-Deco ice bucket containing a one-litre bottle of iced mineral water, accompanied by crystal tumblers; a plate of assorted fruits, and a plate of assorted Middle-eastern delicious desserts. The young porter placed their overnight bags on the deep, Moorish-patterned carpet and hesitated.

Charlotte smiled and handed him a five Dollar bill. The young porter's face lit up. American Dollars! He stammered,

'Shokran jazeelan Madaam'... 'Thank you very much, Madam;'

As he backed out of the room.

Charlotte smiled and walked across to the window, opened it and stepped out onto the balcony. The view across the harbour was beautiful. Max came, and stood behind her. He put his arms around her and kissed the nape of her neck as they looked out beyond the harbour walls across the azure expanse of the Eastern Mediterranean. As they admired the tranquil view, there was a gentle knock on the door, and the young hotel porter returned, proffering a silver plate upon which were carefully arranged, several pieces of fine dark chocolate. He placed them on the table, smiled bashfully, and left.

Max insisted on feeding her the chocolate as he gently undressed her; then carried her to the bed, laid her on the soft and luxurious Egyptian cotton sheets that were wonderfully cool to the touch in the balmy night breeze from off the bay; threw off his clothes and joined her. She turned to him; the heat from her skin was like the warmth of the sun against his skin. Her face leaned closer, pressing her cheek against his chest. Her warm breasts pressed against his stomach. His lips pressed into her own; his palm gently cupping the soft weight of her breast. Her lips worked gently under his, and he felt the nip of her teeth at the same moment her hands pulled him closer.

Slipping his own hands around her waist, he crushed her against him. There was something sweet and addictive about her, a subtle taste that he knew he wanted to sample over and over again. And Charlotte knew that this man could give her something that others never could. Perhaps it was his Russian soul; a natural kindness of heart, simplicity and resignation. Remarkably intelligent, he had the heart of a child, which showed in his delight when he held her closely in his arms.

And so, she snuggled into him; and gently, they made slow sweet love caressed by the balmy, soft breeze that breathed in through the open window from off the sea.

The following morning, in the elegant dining room of the Cecil, Charlotte and Max were enjoying the buffet breakfast which comprised a choice of either "Falafel"... balls made from ground chickpeas, topped with salads, pickled vegetables, drizzled with sesame-based sauces, and served in a "Pita," or wrapped in a flatbread known as "Lafa;" or "Ful medames"... slow-cooked brown fava beans served with olive oil, chopped parsley, onion, garlic, and lemon juice. Ful medames was typically eaten with Egyptian "Eish masri" bread.

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For those less-adventurous travellers, there were boiled eggs, or if they so wished, a made-to-order, personally cooked omelette. Any of these choices was followed by assorted Danish pastries, cheeses, fresh fruits; dried fruit, honey, jams, coffee, tea, and juices.

At her mooring out in the harbour, their flying boat rested languidly on the mirror-like surface of the water with her mighty engines silent; having flown the short distance from Lake Mariut during the night. A gaggle of small craft hove to and fro, replenishing her supplies. The fuel barges were being brought up under the great, silver sweep of her wings, upon which the maintenance engineers were standing, waiting to haul up the sinuous black snakes of the refuelling hoses.

As they sat drinking coffee, watching the Grande Corniche of Alexandria come to life, and imagining what the spectacular Pharos standing guard over the Eastern Harbour would have looked like in ancient times; the "Schijnt Meisje" was steaming out from the Gulf of Aden into The Arabian Sea, before heading south-east towards Cape Comorin... the southernmost tip of the Indian Peninsula. From there, she would head out past Dondra Head at the southernmost tip of Ceylon, and proceed across The Bay of Bengal towards Singapore.

In his cabin, Yik King Wong emptied the contents of the little velvet pouch onto the rough blanket covering his bunk. The gems lay on the coarse weave of the cloth; sparkling in the yellow glare of the bulkhead lamp. He grinned. Eight Diamonds... each, not less than one Carat; six Sapphires... including a flawless, dark-blue, Burmese Sapphire... and four deep-red Rubies. Not a bad haul! Then, of course, there was the real prize, as far as he was concerned... the big, clear, blood-red Garnet. The other stones would easily finance his life-style in Hong Kong for many months, but the Garnet would ensure that his status within the hierarchy of the shadowy Kwun Tong Tung Triad would be substantially enhanced when he presented it to the Triad's Dragon Lord.

He gazed at the gemstone, holding it up to the bulkhead lamp so that the facets of its fine oval cut sparkled and sharded the light. Then, as he gazed into its depths, a tiny spark of light suddenly ignited and slowly grew brighter. He sat fascinated, as the spark flared deep in the heart of the gemstone. It was beautiful... hypnotic... and somehow, slightly frightening.

Yik King Wong quickly scooped up the stones and poured them back into the little velvet pouch... but as his fingers touched the Garnet... suddenly, he was gripped by a cold shiver... almost as if, at that very moment, a grey goose had flown over his grave. He shrugged; it was nothing... probably caused by a draught where someone had left a deck ventilator open. He slipped the little pouch under his pillow and settled down to get some sleep before his next watch duty.

The purser arrived at the Hotel Cecil a little after 06.45am to gather his passengers. Take off was scheduled for 7am. As another BOAC passenger tender ferried them across the bay, Max noted that the two suspicious-looking men sat in the stern seats from where they could observe all the other passengers.

Max glanced at Charlotte, and said, in a low voice,

'They are behaving exactly as I would... if I was keeping a target under observation. I'm going to challenge them once we're on board.' She shook her head.

'No, Max. Remember, we are supposed to be ordinary American tourists flying out to the Far East.'

The fuel barges were being towed away as the passenger tender came alongside the flying boat undulating gently at her mooring buoy. Heavy with fuel, she sat low in the water. The passengers were helped aboard through the rear starboard door and were shown to their respective seats. Max turned, and saw the men disappearing up the spiral staircase to the upper cabin.

As they took their seats, Max turned to Charlotte.

'When we're airborne, we'll go up. Then, we'll see who they really are.'

She stared at him.

'D'you think that's wise, Max?'

He gave a wry grin.

'Washburn told me to look after you, and I have an uneasy feeling about those two.'

He was interrupted whine of the engine starter motors, and the metallic clatter and coughing as Kincaid pressed the starter buttons of the inboard engines. The propellers turned sluggishly at first, and then slowly picked up speed until they were two glittering discs reflecting the morning sun. The sound of the rear entry door being closed and the hum of the hawser winch in the bow echoed through the hull as the crewman slipped her mooring. Slowly, "Pembroke" began to move across the mirror-like surface of the inner harbour as Kincaid eased her out from her moorings; steering the aircraft by using his engines and the flight controls to allow the wind to turn the boat gradually onto her track across the bay.

At the eastern end of the Grand Corniche, he turned her into the wind and started the two outer engines. Running them up to speed; he watched the instrument needles flickering up to their optimum readings. He glanced out of the cockpit windscreen. The Fire control launch was zigzagging away along the take-off lane breaking up the calm water with its wake. Kincaid nodded to Tim Walker.

'OK. Let's go.'

Tim Walker pushed the two outer engine throttle levers all the way forward to their stops on the quadrant, watching the rev counter needles climbing around the dials to an indicated two-thousand, five-hundred revs. He watched the spray from the side window as it began to recede from the arc of the idling inner props, and, as "Pembroke's" nose began to rise, he opened the throttles of the inner engines to full power. She surged forward and the floats lifted clear of the water. She was running straight and true on her planing step and the indicated airspeed was climbing quickly. Kincaid was holding the control column hard back and keeping the wings level as the speed built up. Ninety-five... One hundred knots. Her tail was beginning to settle as she planed across the Eastern harbour leaving a foaming white wake behind her. One-hundred-and-five knots indicated, and she came free of the water. Walker eased back on the throttle levers. She was getting close to the two-thousand, six-hundred revs limit. On- hundred and- twenty knots indicated... he reached forward and turned the switch knob on his control column to retract the flaps, as, with the deep roar of her Pratt & Whitney Twin Wasp engines echoing across the harbour, "Pembroke" rose majestically over the headland of Anfushi bay and banked gracefully around to starboard; heading east, and climbing away into the bright sunlight of a new morning.

Her passengers were not to know that, within a few short months, these flying boats would be gone; replaced by land planes... that this was the last, brief, flowering golden age of these luxurious silver flying boats arriving and departing their destinations in elegant splendour; leaving just a rush of spray filled with the promise of adventure and romance.

A little later, having crossed the coast; Captain Kincaid settled the flying boat into the next leg of her flight out across the seemingly endless sands; crossing the southern tip of Israel, and on across Transjordan and Saudi Arabia to Bahrain. The land below was a dingy yellowish brown, with nothing but rolling sand dunes and stark rocky outcroppings. Max turned from the cabin window and nodded to Charlotte.

'Time to see who our two shadows really are.'

He slipped the colt automatic out from his shoulder holster and, pulling back the slide, chambering a round. He then slipped it back into the holster under his left arm, having checked that the safety catch was "On."

Charlotte led him up the narrow staircase to the upper cabin. Cautiously, she glanced over the top step. The two men were sitting at the forward end of the cabin on the port side. They were alone, and drinking coffee, lounging in their seats. As her head and shoulders appeared at the top of the staircase, the nearer of the two men turned, put down his coffee cup on the table and smiled at her.

'So here you are, Captain Mckenna! Please come and join us. You have enjoyed your flight, so far, I hope?'

He glanced towards Max, who was emerging behind her.

'Relax, Colonel. There's no need to draw your weapon. We have been waiting for the right moment to make contact with you both.'

Charlotte stared at him.

'I'm afraid you are making a mistake. We are Americans flying out to Hong Kong on...'

The man smiled again, and interrupted her.

'You are Captain Charlotte Mckenna, and the gentleman is Colonel Maxwell Segal. You are both CIA on detachment to Seoul. Let me introduce myself. I am Lambert, and...'

He motioned to his companion;

'... This is Hollis. We are MI6, and have been attached by London at the request of Washington to ensure that your journey is not interrupted. According to the Berlin Station, all hell has broken loose at Karlshorst over Colonel Segal's disappearance. So far, they have traced your movements to Hamburg and met with a dead end. We are here to make sure it stays that way.'

Max gave Lambert a cautious, quizzical look.

'Why are you addressing me as Colonel? I am merely Captain Mckenna's Security Escort Officer.'

Lambert smiled.

'Nice try, Colonel. You were formerly Lieutenant-Colonel Maksim Siegel of the Berlin-Karlshorst Headquarters, Soviet Military Administration. Your former comrades are rather miffed about your elimination of four of their operatives during your exit from Berlin, and have promulgated a directive to terminate both of you. So far, we have ascertained that a death squad comprising four individuals of Balkan origin have been tracing your movements in and around Berlin, and on towards Hamburg. Our sources report that a trail of killings of people you were involved with, has followed you; most likely as a result of attempts to extract information from the victims concerning your movements. Up 'till now, they have eliminated Kreiber; the District Deputy in Joachimsthal; Major Feona Putyatin, a Soviet cryptographer at the Luisenstrasse Central Kommandatura in Berlin; and a black-marketeer, Ulrich Krössner in Hamburg. This last one was suspected of being killed by a couple of Hamburg Detectives, but we have a fairly credible suspicion that they were working for the Soviets.'

Hollis nodded.

'Our boys in Hamburg reported that, when this Balkan squad came up empty, and realised that you had left Germany, they passed on the contract. We don't know who has taken it on, and that is why London has assigned us as protection for you on your journey to Hong Kong. Once there; our jurisdiction ends and you will officially be in the hands of the Hong Kong Police... but, we'll be around to keep an eye on you.'