018. Down The River

Having left Hattie in the care of the British Consulate, Caroline and Mohsen entered the driver's cab of the Ford truck and set off east towards the Nile River. It would take three hours to reach their destination along dusty, unpaved roads. With nothing more to say to each other, the two companions travelled in silence.

The hours, and miles, ticked by. The weather was stifling hot, and sweat gathered on Caroline's brow and trickled down into her eyes, making it hard to see. The road – if it could even be called that – was a hazy blonde streak that blurred into the surrounding dunes. The heat was so bad Caroline found it hard to concentrate. More than once the Ford slid off the road and into the sand, jostling her and Mohsen about in the cab.

Eventually, the terrain hardened up and the Nile River came into view. The banks of the river were so thick with palms and tall grass that it almost obscured the water altogether. Nestled between them was a short wooden jetty, with a punt moored on one side. Like all punts, this one had a shallow draft and squared off bow. Unlike most, this one was much larger and motorized, with a centrally mounted steam engine and tall funnel which turned a propeller at the rear (or so Caroline theorized).

'That our boat,' Mohsen said as they approached, 'Is good. Solid.'

Caroline pulled up alongside and her and Mohsen exited the vehicle. As they boarded the punt (which was named Jezebel), Caroline asked:

'How far up the river is Rex and Spalding's crew?'

Mohsen shrugged, 'Ten hours. More maybe. We catch them, our boat faster.'

'Do you know where they're going?'

'Down river all I know.'

Mohsen began stoking the punt's small boiler whilst Caroline looked through the cargo onboard. Jezebel was well stocked with tins of food and two twenty litre "jugs" of water. There were also several unmarked wooden crates, each approximately two feet by five feet.

'What are these?' Caroline asked, pointing at the crates.

'Eppykays.' Mohsen said.

'What?'

'Eppykays,' he said again, and struck a pose: one fist pressed to his chest, the other held out a foot in front of him. He made a peculiar sound:

'Kek-kek-kek-kek-kek.'

Realisation dawned on Caroline. Not Eppykays, but E-P-K's; crates of machine guns. She gave a nod of understanding to Mohsen, who returned to his previous task.

Not exactly standard equipment for a Nile cruise, Caroline thought to herself. She could not fathom why Rex or even Spalding would require such heavy artillery for such a journey. There was still so much she did not know.

After twenty minutes or so, the boiler was hot enough to produce steam, and Mohsen started the motor. The punt eased forward gently, the only noise coming from the loud throbbing of the motors. The scenery was to die for, Caroline considered, as her young companion manoeuvred the punt into deeper waters and south along the river. In less than half a day she would be seeing Rex once more, and may finally get some answers from that devious Spalding. What was he up to, she wondered.

============

Just shy of thirty miles downriver, Spalding and his men were sitting aboard the Ahab, another motor-punt. Spalding was absorbed in a book, "The Life and Times of Akhnaton, Pharoah of Egypt" by Arthur Weigall. Sykes was idly picking his teeth with a toothpick whilst Jacobs taunted their native guide, Akiki.

'Leave him alone.' Rex, still undercover as "Baxter", said.

'Or you'll do what, ginger beer*?'

Spalding glanced up from his book, 'He's right, leave the boy alone, Henry.'

'But, sir...'

'You heard me, Mr. Jacobs,' he turned a page in his book, 'There are far more useful things you could be doing with your time.'

Jacobs snorted, 'Like what, reading one of those camp books like you're doing?'

Without looking up, Spalding said, 'No, I was thinking more along the lines of drowning yourself in the river.'

Sykes chortled loudly and Jacobs sauntered off angrily to the front of the boat.

'I don't know why you keep him around, boss,' Sykes said, 'He's as dumb as a two pound note.'

'One can always use someone for heavy lifting, Mr Skyes.'

'Yeah, or as a sandbag in case there's a flood...'

Eager to change the subject, Spalding turned to Rex:

'You're awfully quiet today, Baxter.'

Rex - as Baxter - shrugged, 'Just thinking, sir.'

'Good man, we could use a few more thinkers around here. What's on your mind?'

Rex peered over the side of the punt, 'Nothing practical. Friends left behind, that sort of thing.'

'There's nothing wrong with being impractical, Baxter. Some of our finest thinkers were. Einstein, Neitze, Jung...'

'Wasn't she in "Too Young to Marry"...?' Sykes asked.

'You're thinking of Loretta Young, Sykes.'

'Oh, right sir.'

'Hardly one of our finest thinkers, wouldn't you say, Baxter?'

Rex wasn't listening. He was too preoccupied thinking about Mohsen...and Caroline. He should not have let the boy go off on his own. It was irresponsible. Sure, he could look after himself, and had done in the past, but those times were different. In previous situations, the two had been separated due to unforseen events. This time, Rex had let Mohsen go off on his own to preserve his cover. It had been the obvious thing to do at the time, and still seemed obvious now. But it did not feel right to Rex; not at all.

He just hoped the poor boy was okay...

TO BE CONTINUED...

*ginger beer is cockney rhyming slang for "queer"