Cloak of Darkness by Helen MacInnes Read Free Book Online Page B

at his watch. “Here’s the gist. The details you’ll learn tomorrow from the tape.” He took out his cigarette case, laid it beside him. “Two photographs, up close,” he said as he produced his lighter and added it to the case. “Moore has changed his hair colour since I knew him. It was brown, brindled. Probably got bleached, living in so much strong sun. So, since he is disappearing from sight, he has dyed his hair black, eyebrows, too. These photos will at least show how he now looks.”
    Gilman asked, “He talked easily?”
    “Incessantly. Some of it as a cover-up, a justification for his own role. But it’s all informative, more than he realised. The main points are these, in order of importance to us: first, Erik. Moore did meet him. He was in South Yemen about ten days ago. Refused to follow orders from two Cubans who had been sent to meet him there, and took off. Not by the airport and not on a freighter. Disappeared completely. Heading for West Germany, no doubt. By what route?”
    Gilman said, “He would scarcely risk crossing the desert into North Yemen. The frontier is watched—an undeclared war going on. Anyone from Communist South Yemen could be shot on sight.”
    Claudel had a suggestion. “What about bribing his way onto a dhow? Small boats under sail don’t use the docks. The dhows sneak over to Djibouti from South Yemen all the time. It’s a short distance—the narrow entrance to the Red Sea—a few kilometres.” Claudel ought to know: he had two agents in Djibouti, a good listening post as well as a smuggler’s delight. Once it had been part—a very small part—of the French Empire in East Africa. Now it was independent, and only recently, but still with the French presence around to guard their port.
    “That’s an idea,” Renwick said. “So why don’t you leave for Djibouti tomorrow night—or the next day at latest? Erik may not be there, but your agents could have heard rumours or gossip. They sail in and out of South Yemen, don’t they? Besides the news on Erik, we’d like to know if any right-wing terrorists are being trained in left-wing camps.”
    Claudel nodded, his quick mind already measuring the best means of transportation. “Mon Dieu, it will be hot. Djibouti in July?”
    Gilman looked at Renwick. “Then you didn’t question Moore about right-wing terrorists being trained in South Yemen?”
    “Thought it better not to mention terrorism at all. I just let him talk about it. He could have been on a fishing expedition, trying to find out how much we have uncovered.”
    Gilman agreed, but with regret. “Who is he working for? The Soviets? Or other unfriendlies?”
    “As far as I could find out, he’s now working for himself— or, rather, for Lorna.” Then, as eyebrows were raised, Renwick added, “Listen to the tape.”
    “Did you find out any more details about Erik?”
    “Just giving a seminar on how to escape if caught. It’s my guess he is trying to reach his old stamping ground. That’s where his real support is—the Direct Action group, with their sympathies and backers. Communists? He tried using them before, but they used him. He will be wary of them, of course, but if he needs their help, he will take it. On his terms. It seems the Cubans wanted him on their terms. It didn’t work. He probably became more of an anarchist than ever in that Indian prison.”
    Gilman nodded. “I’ll alert Richard Diehl in Frankfurt that Erik could be heading for West Germany. Other friendly Intelligence agencies, too. But if somehow he reaches Libya or Algeria—”
    “The Communists there don’t have enough diplomacy to handle Erik. The quarrel between him and the Cubans was savage. Moore thinks Erik will never make it—the Communists will take care of him. But I wonder.”
    “I could wish they would,” Claudel said frankly. “It would save a thousand lives. If Direct Action has Erik back to mastermind operations—they could be on a disaster scale. Like