Kingdom Lock Page 3

  ‘Glad you made it tonight, Lock. I was beginning to worry about you. It’s been nearly three months. Did you not get my messages?’

  Lock turned to face the major, surprised at how annoyed he felt at being distracted from his thoughts. He grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray.

  ‘I’ve been busy.’

  ‘Have you, indeed?’ Ross narrowed his hazel eyes, looking after Amy, and sipped at his champagne. He took hold of Lock’s arm and indicated over to Townshend and his audience. ‘There are some very important men here tonight, Lock. You’d do well to take note.’

  ‘I came here to see Amy.’

  Ross ignored his remark. ‘You see that short, balding fellow with the silver moustache and irritable, impatient eyes?’ he continued. ‘That’s Lieutenant General Sir John Nixon. He’s the Commander-in-Chief of India’s Southern Command. And the distinguished-looking chap next to him, with the chiselled face and bushy moustache? That’s Lieutenant General Sir Percival Lake. He’s the man London have sent over to protect our oil interests in Basra.’

  ‘I have no oil interests in Basra,’ Lock said.

  ‘Tisk, Lock. Be quiet and listen,’ Ross said, ‘you may learn something. He’s here to finalise negotiations with the Shah over buying up the majority stock in the Anglo-Persian Oil Company before the Russians and the Germans get too influential. Russia I’m not so worried about, but Germany’s on the march, as you well know, and the bloody Shah’ – Ross paused and raised his glass to a passing major – ‘is totally incapable of keeping foreign intrusions at bay.’

  ‘Foreign?’ Lock said. ‘Like His Britannic Majesty’s representatives?’

  Ross shot Lock an irritated glance. ‘It’s not a matter to be trifled with, Lock, the future of our nation is at stake. Lake is ambitious and I’ve heard rumour he’ll be staying on as the new Commander-in-Chief of the Indian army. It’s hard to keep up, but one thing’s for certain, oil is going to be the new power base, Lock, in this troubled world of ours, and I have my suspicions about this bloody war.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘The assassination of the Archduke Ferdinand.’

  Lock choked on his champagne and coughed.

  ‘You can’t be serious?’

  ‘Think about it. Take him, over there.’

  ‘Who?’ Lock looked in the direction the major had jerked his chin. It was at the only person, beside himself, who wasn’t in uniform or native dress. He was a rather grey, sallow-faced man in his mid-to-late forties, clean-shaven, and wearing round spectacles perched on a straight, thin nose. ‘The gentleman in the dinner suit, with the glasses?’

  Ross pursed his lips. ‘Yes. Lord Shears … A bit of a mystery, really. So far, all I know is that he’s an oil tycoon, Anglo-Persian’s man. I wager he’s here to ensure that APOC maintains its interests in the region, no matter who wins the war. They’re only interested in self-preservation. He arrived on the steamer from the Cape with a letter of introduction from Lord Crewe himself, and it is not just any old businessman that has references from the Secretary of State for India, Lock. He’s apparently “to advise” as to the best way to protect the oilfields on Abbadan Island and the pipeline that runs through neutral Persia. He has a lot of influence with the government in London, more so than Sir Percival, in fact. But I do know for certain that he’ll be travelling with us to Basra.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Lock turned in surprise to Ross.

  But before he could get a reply, General Townshend broke away from his conversation and stepped forward and held out his hand to Lock.

  ‘Major, is this him, is this your man?’ he beamed, looking at Lock with a glint in his eye. His voice was velvety and warm, with no hint of an accent, just pure aristocratic English.

  ‘Major General Townshend, may I introduce Mr Kingdom Lock,’ Ross said.

  ‘Delighted, sir, absolutely delighted,’ the general said, pumping Lock’s hand. ‘I don’t know where to begin to thank you for getting Amy out of that damned internment camp. You saved her life, Mr Lock.’

  ‘She actually saved mine, sir,’ Lock said.

  The general gave a chuckle of laughter and patted Lock on the shoulder, and continued to shake his hand. ‘She’s her father’s daughter all right. A crack shot and a stubborn streak as long as the Lyari River. Just like her mother.’ He turned and called back to his wife, ‘Alice, chérie, s’il te plaît!’

  A handsome woman dressed in pale green excused herself from the group and glided over to the general’s side. She was a little younger than her husband, tall and slender, with a soft, rounded face framed by lightly curled brown hair that, like her daughter’s, was piled up upon her head. Lock could see Amy’s beauty in her mother’s face, the same piercing emerald eyes full of mischief and determination.

  ‘Alice, this is the young man who rescued our darling child from the lair of the enemy.’

  Lady Alice held out her hand. Lock wasn’t sure if he should shake it or kiss it, but Lady Alice just held his grip and studied him intensely. He returned her gaze, and what he saw there was genuine warmth.

  ‘Mr Lock, Amy has told me so much about your gallantry,’ she said, her French accent as soft and delicate as a waterfall. ‘I am indebted to you, as is my husband, for returning her safely to us.’

  ‘Well, my lady, I think the Turks were rather glad to get shot of her, to be honest. I know I was.’ Lock bowed his head.

  There was a moment’s awkward silence and then Townshend slapped his thigh and laughed. Lady Alice smiled brightly and was about to say something more when Amy burst forward with a young blond officer in tow.

  ‘Here he is! Kingdom … I mean, Mr Lock, I’d like you to meet Lieutenant Casper Bingham-Smith.’

  ‘Lieutenant Smith.’ Lock held out his hand.

  The blond lieutenant was tall and slim. Lock was immediately impressed with how fit he looked and guessed he rode regularly, probably hunted, and perhaps he did a little boxing, too. His face, though admittedly handsome, had a certain cruelness about the eyes. ‘It’s Bingham-Smith, actually,’ he said, looking down his nose at Lock, ‘with a hyphen.’

  ‘Casper,’ Amy hissed, ‘don’t be so rude.’

  Lock lowered his hand. ‘A hyphen. You must be so proud?’

  ‘I note you’re not in uniform, Lock?’ Bingham-Smith said.

  ‘Very observant of you,’ Lock said.

  ‘Too good for the military are we, Lock?’

  ‘Casper, stop it,’ Amy insisted.

  ‘May I ask you something … personal, Mr Lock?’ Bingham-Smith said, ignoring Amy’s pleas. Lock shrugged. His patience was wearing thin, but he let the insolent young officer continue, having seen his manner was affecting Amy and her opinion of her so-called fiancé-to-be. A selfish act, perhaps, but one worth playing out.

  ‘Your eyes …’

  ‘Casper!’ Amy growled.

  ‘What about them?’ Lock said curtly.

  Bingham-Smith snorted. ‘Don’t be like that. I’m sure we’ve all been dying to ask. I’ve never seen eyes two different colours before – not in a person, that is. It’s heterochromia, isn’t it?’

  Lock nodded.

  ‘There was a mangy old sheepdog in our village …’ Bingham-Smith paused, frowning. ‘And I do believe Alexander the Great had the … erm, similar … eyes, I mean …’ he smiled, insincerely. ‘Is it a birth defect?’

  Lock didn’t reply straight away, sensing the growing discomfort amongst the small group, but also noting that they were all waiting for his answer.

  ‘No. A fight. When I was a boy.’

  Bingham-Smith nodded his head. ‘A scrapper, eh? What did you do?’

  ‘Do?’ Lock said.

  ‘To the person’ – Bingham-Smith waved his hand in front of his own eyes – ‘who did it?’

  ‘Set fire to his bed.’

  ‘What!?’ Bingham-Smith spat. There was a murmur of surprise from the others, but Lock noted how uncomfortable Amy seemed, and he suddenly regre
tted letting the line of questioning get this far.

  ‘Did you … kill him?’

  ‘No, Lieutenant. Bastard wasn’t in it at the time. More’s the pity.’

  Bingham-Smith was about to add something else when the general stepped in.

  ‘I think, Amy, you and Casper should return to your friends,’ Townshend said. ‘Mr Lock and I have some business to discuss.’

  Bingham-Smith cleared his throat and glanced nervously at the general. ‘Only jesting, sir,’ he said. ‘I’m jolly grateful to Mr Lock for rescuing my Amy.’ He held his hand out.

  Lock took it graciously, but it was limp and clammy and the look in Bingham-Smith’s grey-blue eyes was one of contempt.

  ‘Monsieur Lock, I really cannot thank you enough for bringing our eldest back safe and sound,’ Alice said, trying to lighten the prickly atmosphere. ‘If there is anything Charles or I can ever do to repay you, then do not hesitate to ask.’

  Lock shifted his attention from Bingham-Smith and smiled at Lady Alice.

  ‘Just doing my duty, ma’am.’

  Bingham-Smith snapped a quick salute to the general, and taking Amy by the arm, gently, but firmly, escorted her away.

  ‘Casper, how could you be so rude?’ Amy fumed.

  ‘If you’ll excuse me, too, Monsieur Lock, I must continue to circulate,’ Lady Alice said. ‘Perhaps I will see you a little later? I have a small token of gratitude to give to you.’

  Lock bowed his head again. ‘I’d be delighted, ma’am.’

  ‘Yes, quite right,’ Townshend said. ‘You’ll have to forgive young Casper, Lock. Can’t be easy for him. All Amy talks about is you. I think he’s feeling a tad inadequate.’

  Lock gave a non-committal grunt, as he watched the young couple get swallowed up by the crowd. ‘I thought your daughter had better taste, sir.’

  Townshend frowned. ‘Major, if you’d care to escort Mr Lock to the library, I’ll join you directly.’

  Ross nodded and, placing a hand on Lock’s arm, led him in the opposite direction.

  The library was dimly lit and smelt faintly of stale cigars and brandy. Books lined every wall from floor to ceiling. There was a drinks trolley next to a pair of deep and inviting worn blood-red leather armchairs. An oak table stood between them, empty except for a leather-bound folder and a green-shaded reading lamp that spilt a circle of light into the shadows. Opposite was a marble fireplace. A fire was burning away in the open grate. Ross made his way to the drinks trolley and poured himself a glass of brandy, then went and stood beside the fire. Lock was scanning the shelves. He pulled one large volume out, a blue leather-bound book with gold lettering on the spine, and opened it. An elegant carriage clock set on the mantle chimed the hour. Lock was surprised to see that it was ten o’clock.

  ‘Do you like Napoleon?’

  Lock looked over as General Townshend came into the room.

  ‘I remember your daughter telling me about his strategies, sir.’ Lock closed the book and put it back on the shelf.

  The padded library door made a soft click as Townshend closed it behind him. ‘Yes, Amy may be a trifle … free-spirited, but she’s got a head for military manoeuvres. Not like her younger sister, Audrey. She’s just obsessed with society and marriage.’ The general drifted off for a moment, staring into space. ‘Amy should have been a boy really,’ he mumbled, then clearing his throat, he focused back on his two guests.

  ‘Well, gentlemen, sorry to have kept you, got cornered by that Shears chap. Right, a drink and then let’s get down to business.’ He rubbed his hands together and walked over to the trolley, fixed himself a brandy and soda, picked up the leather-bound folder, and went to stand next to Ross. ‘Have you told him?’

  ‘No, sir,’ Ross said.

  ‘Hmm. Now, Lock, the major has filled me in on your background,’ Townshend said. He placed his glass on the mantle, opened up the folder and started to leaf through the papers within. ‘You were born in … Australia? Really? You don’t have an accent.’

  ‘I was brought up in India and schooled in Somerset, sir.’

  ‘You joined the army at sixteen,’ Townshend read, ‘the British army, and were with the British exhibition to Tibet and fought under Major Younghusband at Lhasa in 1904 …’ He looked up as if for confirmation. Lock nodded. ‘Promoted regularly until you made platoon sergeant … And then this.’ Townshend shook his head slowly and tutted. ‘Dishonourable discharge, and after such an exemplary record, too.’

  ‘I was a young lad, sir,’ Lock said.

  ‘Not when you were kicked out, you weren’t,’ Townshend said.

  ‘I was just twenty-one, sir, and, as I have explained to the major—’

  ‘How old are you now?’ Townshend interrupted.

  ‘Twenty-six, sir.’

  ‘Five years to gain maturity! Pah!’

  ‘Sir, he’s one of my best agents,’ the major said.

  Townshend chewed his lip thoughtfully and turned another page in Lock’s file.

  ‘You were working as a civil engineer,’ he continued, ‘supervising the laying of telegraph lines across Turkey, for the Société Ottomane des Téléphones, when the major recruited you into the White Tabs … is that correct?’

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘And then you had a stint in the Far East … Tsingtao?’ Townshend raised a questioning eyebrow at Ross.

  ‘It’s a former German port on the east coast of China, sir.’

  ‘Really? Never heard of it … and then you returned to Turkey after we had declared war on them … and what did you do?’

  ‘I set about sabotaging the telegraph lines.’

  ‘He also did a little snooping for us, sir, until he was asked to get your daughter out of Constantinople,’ Ross said.

  ‘Quite, but ther—’

  ‘He has considerable experience, sir, that’s what counts,’ Ross said.

  Townshend brushed his carefully manicured English moustache thoughtfully and stared at Lock. He was clearly attempting to give the illusion that he was mulling over what to do, even though Lock knew he had already decided. Otherwise, Lock told himself, he wouldn’t be here. He remained cool and turned his gaze to the flames. The wood spat in the hearth and the clock softly ticked away the evening.

  Townshend closed the folder and put it to one side. ‘I’ve been discussing your situation with Major Ross, Lock. He insists that given your background, your knowledge of Turk and Arabic languages and their customs, having lived and worked amongst them for a number of years, not to mention my daughter’s gushing tales of your resourcefulness in a tight spot,’ Townshend smiled briefly, ‘that you would be the perfect man for work …’ He paused and glanced at Ross.

  ‘… of a special nature,’ the major said.

  ‘More rescues? More snooping?’ Lock said.

  ‘Well, not exactly,’ Ross said. ‘We were thinking more about …’

  ‘In the field?’ Townshend offered.

  ‘Precisely!’ Ross said.

  ‘What field would that be, sir?’

  ‘You’ll have to have some official status, of course,’ Townshend said, ignoring Lock’s insolence. ‘So we thought a commission. Besides, there’s a war on and it would only have been a matter of time before you would have been called up.’

  Lock was momentarily taken aback. ‘But, sir, as you have already pointed out, what about my army past? Won’t that be a problem?’

  Townshend laughed. ‘I don’t mean in the British army. No, no, that would never do.’ He paused once more and looked to Ross. ‘The major and I feel it would be more prudent for you to be commissioned into the army of your birth nation. In case of …’

  ‘Complications,’ Ross said.

  ‘I see, sir,’ Lock said.

  ‘So, you’ll be part of the general’s 6th Poonas and still be working for me,’ Ross said. ‘But in Australian uniform.’

  ‘Well, Kingdom my boy, how does that sound? Interested?’ Townshend raised an expectant eyebrow.

&nb
sp; Lock didn’t respond immediately. He just held the old man’s gaze. He didn’t want to join the army again, he’d had his fill of military service, of saluting. He liked the White Tab work, being his own boss, if he didn’t count Ross. Besides, he was thinking of making a little trip home, back to Australia. To get away for a while, recuperate, take in the desert air of the outback. But then there was Amy and he suddenly realised everything had changed. For the first time since he lost Mei Ling in Tsingtao, he felt alive again, inside. And that was thanks to her, to Amy. He still felt the loss of the Chinese girl deeply, but the scars were healing. The war wasn’t going anywhere soon and it was only a matter of time before it caught up with him. He looked to Ross, then back to Townshend. He was going to regret this, he thought, but what choice did he really have?

  ‘Very well, General … sir, I accept.’

  ‘Bravo, my lad, I knew you wouldn’t let me down.’

  The two men shook hands vigorously.

  ‘When do I leave, General, sir?’

  ‘Keen to get on, eh? That’s the spirit! You’ll have to watch this one, Major, eh?’ he winked.

  Ross nodded slowly. ‘Aye, I already am.’

  ‘Now, I know you have an army background, Lock,’ Townshend said, ‘but being an officer and a gentleman is a very different matter. There’s an officer cadet training camp in—’

  ‘Sir,’ Ross said, ‘I think we can dispense with all that nonsense. Lock is an experienced man, nearly five years’ military service under his belt. It’s all there in that folder you have. He’s adept at weaponry, close-order drill, marksmanship, scouting, tracking, elementary tactics, and that sort of thing. Not to mention the last five years he’s had with the Société Ottomane. Team leadership under pressure is a given. Besides, time is of the essence. You’ve said so yourself.’