Twenty-six

 

The whole McClumpha clan saw them off, Fiona and Rhadka in floods of tears. The sea was calm and the day full of sunshine as they headed south at half-throttle, Edward leading, Sam just behind on the starboard quarter. They reached Denipopoulis during the afternoon. It was nothing more than a fishing village with a stone quay, and, when they moored alongside, the whole village came down to stare at them.

McClumpha’s friend, Savoff, was waiting for them and, by the grace of God, he spoke Italian because he had once conducted trade between Montenegrin ports and Bari. He placed two of his men on the quay to protect the boats from enthusiastic spectators, then he took Sam and Edward to his home and fed them some Bulgarian dish they couldn’t identify but which tasted delicious. He had some recreationary suggestions.

‘Cotel,’ he said. ‘Fifty kilometres south. A fishing village. The following day you should reach Burgas.’

He gave them the names of men who could help and they set off the next morning with the whole of Denipopoulis watching. By the grace of God the weather remained good, the sea calm and the boats behaved perfectly.

‘It’d be a good advert,’ Sam said, ‘if only somebody could see us.’

They made Burgas in the expected time. A friend of Savoff called Boris Enescu was expecting them and sent out a launch to guide them into McClumpha’s little basin. It was just big enough for one small coaster, and the two boats were safely hidden by tall buildings of brick and corrugated iron. As soon as they stepped ashore they were handed a telegram from McClumpha.

‘Oh, Christ,’ Edward said.

Ferdinand’s officials were looking for them and were on the point of paying up. It was important for them to return to Varna at once. Ferdinand had decided he needed the boats for his new war and was even prepared to pay for them from his own pocket.

 

McClumpha was at Varna station to meet them.

‘Roboshva wants to know where you wish to receive the draft,’ he said. ‘They’re suggestin’ ye go tae Sofia. I’m suggestin’ ye don’t. No’ in a million years. They’ll probably wait for you and have it off ye before ye reach the station. Yon Drimic’s as fishy as a barrow-load of rotten herrings. Make him come here. You can have my people tae look after ye. When ye’ve got it, beat it. There’s a Swiss bank in Burgas. Stick it in there. The Swiss won’t let ’em get away wi’ anythin’.’

He offered his office for the signing, and Russian champagne with small Russian pancakes called blinochki were laid on. Roboshva was the first to arrive, and didn’t waste time confirming that the King’s representatives were ready to pay.

Drimic turned up soon afterwards in a big green Fiat. ‘I will arrange for the money to be paid into your bank in London at once,’ he said.

‘That wasn’t the arrangement,’ Edward said stubbornly. ‘Payment was to be here. To me.’

Eventually smiles returned, everybody shook hands and Roboshva insisted on kissing Edward on both cheeks.

‘And the boats?’ he said.

‘At Burgas,’ Edward said. ‘We had to move them because of the threat from Romania.’

It wasn’t an unreasonable argument and the documents were handed over, together with a thick file of plans and instructions. The champagne was drunk and the blinochki eaten and Drimic passed over the bank draft. It was an elaborate document in scarlet, yellow and gold. Edward noticed it was drawn on the King’s personal account.

They stood in silence as Drimic climbed back into his car, and set off up the hill into the town. Edward stared at the bank draft.

‘Don’t be presentin’ it here, whatever ye do,’ McClumpha insisted. ‘Drimic has the banks in his pocket. Take it tae Burgas. Use the Swiss bank. An’ I’ll get y’r message tae Khamlukin but ye’ve no need tae worry about him. He willnae be back here in a hurry. He left a lot of debts and there are a few bum bailiffs lookin’ for him. An’, to cap things, his wife’s run off wi’ a Pole.’

As they burst out laughing, McClumpha continued. ‘I’ll go tae the station an’ get y’r tickets. Ye’ll also need cash. You stay here. Dinnae go oot an’ keep the door lockit an’ y’r heads doon.’

It was good advice. McClumpha shot off in his car while Sam and Edward collected their belongings. He was waiting in Reception as they left the hotel, and shoved a wad of notes into Edward’s hand.

‘We can never thank you enough,’ Edward said.

‘Pchah.’ McClumpha shook him by the hand. ‘It’s ma job as consul, after all. Ye can pay me back when ye’ve time tae stop runnin’.’

Worried about Drimic, Edward had placed the bank draft in the inside pocket of his jacket and used a safety pin to make sure it couldn’t fall out.

‘If they want it back,’ he said, ‘they’ll have to strip me.’

‘They won’t get that far,’ Sam said, opening his briefcase. Inside was a revolver.

Edward grinned and lifted the lid of his despatch-case. Inside there was a revolver of his own. ‘Snap,’ he said.

‘Never mind guns,’ McClumpha advised. ‘Keep y’r eyes open. Ye need have no worries aboot the boats. If Drimic tries tae steal ’em for his own use, we’ll move ’em. Intae Enescu’s yard. They can be hidden there as well as in mine. I wouldnae trust yon Drimic not tae sell ’em again and pocket the money.’

 

Dark clouds were massing over the hills and heavy drops of rain began to fall as the train jerked into movement. Crowds gathered on the platform to applaud its departure, and Edward spotted Drimic and Roboshva. When he saw Edward leaning out of the window, he ran forward a few steps, pointing to someone in one of the coaches behind.

‘Sam,’ Edward said, ‘I think we’re being followed already. And if we are, it’s because they’re hoping to get this bank draft back. If Drimic has someone on this train they can only be looking for us. I suggest that at the first opportunity we drop off and catch the next train.’

‘Here we go again,’ grumbled Sam.

 

Provadiya was a small town tucked into the bottom of a range of mountains. It was packed with people who had left Sofia after the threat of invasion, and who were now trying to make their way to the sea. As the train stopped, Drimic’s agents, both dressed in black with homburg hats, jumped down and mingled obtrusively with the peasant women squatting under the trees. Eventually, a red-capped guard bustled along the platform pushing people back on board. Whistles blew, flags waved and they saw the two men head back to the train.

‘Right, Sam.’

Picking up their cases, they made for the door. Like all Continental railway carriages, the door had steps to ground level for the low station platforms.

The train was just gathering speed as they opened the door and jumped out. As they went sprawling, Edward saw one of Drimic’s agents at a window.

Dusting themselves off, the two men picked up their belongings and headed for the station exit, surrounded by indignant railway officials.

‘Come on, Sam,’ Edward said. ‘Those bastards’ll be waiting at the next station. We’ll have to think of something else.’

But outside, there was a livery stable which hired horses and traps.

‘That’s the answer,’ Edward said. ‘We’ll follow the road. Can you ride? I can’t remember.’

‘No.’

‘Oh, well,’ said Edward. ‘Too bad.’

 

‘I’d manage better,’ Sam groaned, ‘if the wretched thing was fitted with a tiller.’

The road led into the hills, which climbed beyond them to a clear sky.

‘We have around eighty miles to go,’ Edward said. ‘We should be able to reach Burgas in about three days.’

‘What makes you think they won’t be waiting for us at Burgas?’ Sam asked. ‘Why not cross the border into Greece?’

For three days, in increasing cold, they plodded along. There were few roads and, at every village, by signs and the few words they had learned, they were able to set themselves on the right route. The inns were few and far between but they found reasonable food and hard beds for the night. On the fourth day, they became aware they were being followed by two horsemen.

‘Can you hit anything with that?’ Edward asked, as Sam fished out his revolver.

‘Shouldn’t think so. How about you?’

Edward shook his head.

At the next village they took a loop road away from the main route south. They didn’t stop to ask directions and wondered if they’d lost their pursuers. Towards evening, feeling more or less safe, they passed through a village called Picep, then turned back to the main road. Heading between rock-scattered hills in the last of the sunshine, they were wondering where to stay.

‘We could sleep in the open,’ Sam suggested. ‘It wouldn’t do us any harm for one night.’

A breeze had started which promised to make the night chilly.

‘Hang on, Ted,’ he said. ‘We’ve got company.’

At a bend in the road by a rocky wall surrounding a field, two men waited. Two horses were tethered to a tree. Drimic’s agents.

Edward’s eyes flickered about them. There were dry-stone walls on either side of the road, and behind them a narrow humpbacked bridge which they had just crossed.

‘What do you suggest we do now?’ Edward asked.

‘Rush ’em?’

‘And get shot before we’ve gone a couple of yards? Let them come to us.’

It was a good guess. The two men walked over, while Edward and Sam sat waiting in the saddle.

‘Paper,’ said one of them in English. ‘I want.’

Both men were holding revolvers.

‘Very well,’ said Edward, reaching inside his jacket.

But instead of the bank draft, he brought out the heavy revolver he had bought in Sofia and slammed it down hard on the man’s head. As he did so, he saw the other man raise his gun and found himself looking down the hole in the barrel. There was a bang that echoed round the hills and set the horses dancing in fright. He saw Sam fall from his saddle, while the second Bulgar was flung sideways against the stone wall. He groaned once, then slid down against it to sprawl on the grass at its base, leaving a smear of red on the stones.

‘Jesus,’ Sam sat up. ‘I hit him.’

Vaulting from the saddle, Edward bent to examine the two bodies.

‘You not only hit him, Sam,’ he said. ‘You killed him.’

Turning to the other man lying crumpled in the road, he turned him over. Blood oozed from his nose and ears and his face looked like wax.

‘In fact, I think we killed ’em both,’ he said.