‘I don’t think this concerns me.’ The silence had forced it out of him. His hand reached for the bell-push.
I waited, and he hesitated. Curiosity had won. He turned to me and said harshly, ‘David Whitaker was employed by us. We should know the locations he was surveying. We have a right.’
‘Have you?’ I asked.
‘Yes. And I’ll add this: I find it very difficult to understand why you should have been given this information whilst the Company has been left in the dark.’
He was facing me, and after what seemed a long time his eyes fell away to the desk again. He was puzzled. A little frightened, too. I thought he’d every reason to be both.
‘David Whitaker knew he was going to die.’ I said it slowly and with emphasis. And before he had time to recover from the shock of what I’d said, I shifted my ground. ‘Does Colonel Whitaker know his son’s dead?’
‘I really cannot say.’ He was still considering the implication of what I’d told him, and I was convinced it was something he hadn’t known before.
‘We regarded the sister as the most suitable person to inform.’ And he added, ‘The boy was illegitimate, you know.’ It was a mistake, for it confirmed something I had come to suspect — that David’s background was known to the Company. But he didn’t seem conscious of it. Nor did he seem conscious of the drift of my questions. ‘I think you will agree, when you’ve read the report of the search, that everything possible was done.’
‘But they didn’t find his body?’
‘No. And if you knew the sort of country it is there, that wouldn’t surprise you.’ He seemed anxious to reassure me on this point. ‘It’s a big dune country and the sand is moving all the time. It obliterates everything. Even his truck was half-buried when they located it.’
‘It was a seismological truck, I believe?’
He nodded.
‘One of yours?’
He didn’t answer immediately and there was a sudden stillness in the room. And when he spoke he chose his words carefully. ‘I’ve already told you he was employed by the Company at the time of his death.’
‘Oil company trucks are usually marked with the name of the company, aren’t they?’
‘What are you implying?’
There were no markings on this particular truck.’
‘How do you know?’
There was a report of the search in The Times.’ ‘Oh, so you’ve seen that.’ He hesitated. ‘Not every truck, you know, is marked with the Company’s name.’
That doesn’t answer my question,’ I said. ‘Was that truck a Company truck or not?’
I thought he was going to evade the question. But then he said, ‘No. No, it wasn’t one of our trucks.’
‘Whose truck was it then?’
But he’d had enough. ‘I’m not prepared to discuss the Company’s affairs. The truck has no bearing on the boy’s death.’
‘I think it has,’ I said, as his hand reached for the bell-push again. And I added, ‘One final question. Can you tell me where I’ll find Colonel Whitaker?’
‘Whitaker? I thought it was Gorde you’d come to see?’
‘Whitaker, too,’ I told him. ‘David may have been employed by you, but he was on loan to his father at the time of his death.’
‘Quite untrue. The Times is in error.’ And he pressed the bell. The interview was at an end.
As though he had been waiting for his cue, the secretary came in immediately. ‘See that Mr Grant has a copy of the report on the Whitaker search, will you, Firweather. He can take it away with him.’ Erkhard turned to me. ‘Have you a taxi waiting?’ And when I shook my head, he told his secretary to arrange for a Company car to drive me back to Manama.
‘You haven’t told me where I’ll find Colonel Whitaker?’ I said as I got to my feet.
He couldn’t very well refuse to answer me in front of his secretary. ‘In Saraifa, I imagine.’ And he added, ‘But if you’re thinking of going there, I should remind you that you will not be granted a visa.’
Did that mean he’d use his influence to prevent me getting one? I hesitated, glancing up at the map. The flags had names on them and because it might be the only opportunity I’d have, I went across to it and had a close look at them. There were only two anywhere near the Saraifa-Hadd border and the names on them were Ogden and Entwhistle. That map is confidential, Mr Grant.’ It was the secretary, at my side now and quite agitated.
‘You needn’t worry,’ I said. ‘I know nothing about oil, so it doesn’t tell me anything. Who did the ground search?’ I asked Erkhard.
‘Entwhistle,’ he answered without looking up.
‘I’ll give you that report now,’ the secretary said.
Erkhard didn’t look up as I left, determined to give me no excuse for further questions. In the outer office I asked if I could write a note to Sir Philip Gorde. The secretary gave me a sheet of Company notepaper and I wrote it at his desk with him more or less standing over me. I marked the envelope Personal, but I was careful to say nothing in it that Erkhard didn’t know already. The secretary promised to see that it went out by the next plane. ‘If there is a reply, I’ll send it down to your hotel.’ He gave me a duplicated copy of the report of the search and showed me out.
I read that report in the car driving back to Manama. It told me very little that I didn’t already know. The truck had been discovered by nomads of the Rashid tribe who had passed the news on to some Harasis going down to the Gulf of Masira. The naukhuda of a dhow had brought the news across to Masira Island and the RAF Station there had radioed it on to RAF HQ Aden. A Valetta, landing at Masira on the milk-run up from Kormaksar, had begun the aerial search on March 11, and the abandoned truck had been located after a three-day search. Erkhard had then ordered Entwhistle, who was operating about seventy miles away, to break off his seismological survey work and proceed at speed to the area.
Due to a broken spring Entwhistle had not reached the abandoned truck until three days later. He had then carried out a systematic search, but had found no trace of David and the few nomads he encountered knew nothing about him. After four days lack of supplies had forced him to” retire. Meantime, the Valetta, supported by a plane chartered by GODCO, had carried out an intensive air search, but the rough going had put Entwhistle’s radio out of action and it was not until he joined up with Ogden’s outfit on March 24 that he was able to report his failure to find even the body.
It was obvious that no blame attached to the Company. As Erkhard had said, everything possible had been done. I put the report away in my briefcase. The only man who could tell me anything more was Entwhistle, and remembering the position of his flag on Erkhard’s operations map, I knew there wasn’t much chance of my having a talk with him.
We were approaching the town now, the twin minarets of the Suq al-Khamis Mosque standing slender against the sky, and I told the driver to take me to the Political Resident’s office. The PRPG, sir?’ He slowed the car. ‘Is not in Manama. Is out at Jufair by the Naval Base.’ He hesitated. He was a very superior-looking Bahraini. ‘You wish me to drive you there?’
“Please.’
He turned right and we reached the Jufair road by the National Cinema. ‘Have you a pass, sir? Everybody need a pass to enter Jufair Naval Base.’ But the native sentry on the gate knew the car and he let us through without question. We were close to the sea then with a frigate lying white as a swan on the oily-calm water. The road curved amongst the trees, the Government blocks standing discreetly back in semblance of a country estate. It was all manifestly English, and so, too, was the Passport Control Office with its forms. Purpose of visit … what did I put for that? I handed my passport to the clerk, together with my application for visas. ‘Abu Dhabi, Dubai, Sharjah and Saraifa. That’s quite a tour.’ He shook his head doubtfully, turning over the pages of my passport. The first three, they’re Trucial sheikhdoms — they may be possible. But Saraifa; that’s quite out of the question.’