A few of the ships were beginning to come in already, the faster ones and the nearer ones which consisted in the main of the smaller units of the British Mediterranean Fleet and some shipping which had not been far off the Rock when Hammersley’s urgent hastener had gone out. Some entered from the eastward during Debonnair’s vigil, and she saw their lights coming round Europa to turn into the Bay. She traced their progress, five miles across the water, to the outer anchorage or in through the breakwater to secure alongside the moles, and as she watched them come she wondered. Though she had gathered quite a lot, she’d never asked Shaw for all the details; as always, it was he who had to volunteer the information, and she accepted the risks without question. That there was some awful threat hanging over Gibraltar, of course, she knew. Now she realized that this influx of shipping, so suddenly, must clearly be connected with that threat, and perhaps for the first time she began to see the size of this thing that Shaw had been assigned to.
And the key to it — or one of the keys — lay there, so near to her on Getares beach. So near, and yet so far from Gibraltar.
She looked down at Ackroyd. Her thoughts as she did so were not particularly cheering.
Lights winked from the naval signal station in the Tower in Gibraltar’s dockyard, sending out simply the berthing signals to the incoming ships. Full secrecy was being maintained still, the sealed orders in the warship captains’ safes were not yet being opened, would not be opened until a general signal went out from the Tower. As for Spain, Hammersley had decided that since the ships were coming in now he need not ask permission for any land exodus to take place. Miracles, he felt, could still happen, and if one happened in this case Spain need never know the truth. The actual start of the evacuation was the ordained time to give that human warning to the Military Governor in Algeciras…
In Gibraltar and aboard the ships the explanation of an ‘exercise’ was being accepted — up to a point. Officially even the Company Commanders, who had the lists of families by streets and sections, didn’t know for certain, couldn’t make the assumption, that this was the Real Thing — though, as Hammersley had seen, they all suspected it pretty strongly by now. They suspected it, and they feared what might happen in the streets of Gibraltar when the men, with rifles and bayonets, started to round up the civilians after H.E.’s broadcast warning that they were to leave the Rock for ever. The sentries on The Convent saw an extraordinary amount of coming and going after Hammersley had got back from his night drive and staff officers came and went in connexion with a variety of final details which needed H.E.’s formal assent; and the sentries drew their own conclusions. They’d seen ‘exercises’ before, and the ordinary exercise wasn’t a bit like this.
And in Ackroyd’s workshop volunteers from among the Admiralty technicians began the final, last-ditch job: the stripping-down of AFPU ONE in a suicidal bid to locate the source of the trouble.
At dawn Shaw roused the other two (some instinct had woken him soon after his two hours were up, and he’d ticked Debonnair off for overstaying her watch) and the little party moved on into Algeciras proper, Ackroyd mooning along between Shaw and the girl. The physicist was refreshed, as they all were, after a few hours’ sleep, but he was quiet — for which Shaw was grateful — and his arm didn’t seem to be hurting him so much now. It was something like a mile and a half into the town, and as they went they felt the life creeping back into their bodies; the chill of the night and the sea vanished from their bones under the warmth of the sun in the atmosphere as it came up, throwing a back-cloth of gold and red and purple and green behind Gibraltar, sharpening the Rock across the Bay into relief; showing, too, the concourse of ships which had now entered Gibraltar’s waters. A great liner, as Shaw watched, made the turn off Europa, coming in fast for the anchorage, a string of flags fluttering from her signal yard and her lamps busy. They must, Shaw thought, be pretty certain now that something was going to happen. Time must be very nearly up.
Though terribly, agonizingly conscious of that time-shortage and the urgency, Shaw said, “Debbie, we’ve got to get some food inside us. There may be another long chase ahead for all I know, and a fat lot of good we’ll be to cope with anything like that unless we’ve eaten while we can.”
She smiled at him. “Fair enough — I’m starving.”
They walked on, through the narrow, smelly streets waking up to the bright day, with the Sunday-dressed people going to early Mass, the women in their striking mantillas. Mr Ackroyd had perked up a lot now, and he walked along almost cockily, his face turning from side to side, with its still slack mouth overdrooped by the wispy moustache. They found a cafe which was just opening up for the day, and they went in and sat down, and Shaw ordered breakfast to be brought quickly; which, after many grumbles from the proprietor, it was. They tucked into ham rolls and omelettes and plenty of hot coffee, and, though the coffee tasted of acorns, that meal did them an immense amount of good. Things didn’t look quite so black after that.
They lit cigarettes with their coffee, but there wasn’t much time to enjoy the smoke. Shaw, wanting to press on now and get to the Consulate, paid the bill, and, rested and refreshed and unwound, they went out into the warm street where the town was coming to full, vociferous life.
CHAPTER TWENTY
It was just his luck, Shaw thought despondently.
The Consul was away on business, and there was no knowing when he’d be back; the Vice-Consul had just been operated on, and was in bed. Shaw, who suspected that the Consul’s business was concerned with the removal of British subjects living along the Spanish coastal strip, tried to get something satisfactory out of the young Spanish clerk who was the only official he could find, but the man — a decent young fellow, and no doubt under strict orders — wasn’t giving anything away as to the Consul’s whereabouts, not even when Shaw asserted — as under the circumstances he was bound to do — his British nationality. Of course, he carried no proof of this, but Debonnair had her British passport, and Ackroyd was obviously as English as Yorkshire; also, Shaw had a convincing manner, and, becoming once again the naval officer which basically he always was, he used his personal authority to good purpose, and got the clerk to agree to his making a telephone call in privacy.
Shaw, watching every word he uttered, rang Staunton, and was able to make the Defence Security Officer understand that he’d got hold of Ackroyd and would cross the frontier as soon as he could pick up Karina and get his hands on that bit of the mechanism which he could now confirm as having been removed by Ackroyd. Staunton, who said he would advise Hammersley to delay the evacuation as long as possible beyond noon, offered to send a car to pick Shaw up — although, as he said, the Spanish authorities had apparently got wind of something going on, and had become very sticky at the La Linea frontier, and would very likely do all they could to cause delays to British transport. Shaw rejected this offer as likely, in the circumstances, to call too much attention to him and his mission — he would, he said, in view of the frontier situation, probably come across on the Algeciras ferry.
When Shaw rang off he ferreted out the clerk again.
Coming somewhat obliquely to the point, he said, “Look here, señor. While I am in Algeciras I’d like to look up an old friend of mine. His name is Manuel Zafra. Can you tell me where he’s living now?”
Shaw was looking hard at the clerk, saw him take the point. The clerk said sadly, “Señor, Manuel Zafra met with-an accident. He is no longer with us.” His voice dropped a little, although they were alone in the office. “But I think — now — that I understand.”