Chronicles of the Secret Service (21 page)

As the Mahsud chieftain was about to mount his obediently kneeling camel, Aziz Ullah uttered the words which completed the plotter’s joy and proved conclusively that the intended cat’s paw was not above ambition or beyond temptation.

‘Your words have given me much thought,’ he admitted. ‘The welfare of this country is dear to me, and I would shoulder
any responsibility, however great, in order to raise the people to prosperity. We will speak again, O Khan.’

Abdul Qadir tried not to appear too eager, but could not repress the gleam in his eyes.

‘It will give me much happiness,’ he returned almost casually. ‘Where and when shall our meeting take place? I am wholly at your disposal.’

Aziz Ullah’s eyes became fixed on the ground apparently in deep reflection. At last he looked up.

‘Go alone to the village of Gharat in two days at the hour of noon,’ he bade Abdul Qadir. ‘It is not far from my retreat. Say nothing of your intentions to any man. It would be unwise. Yusuf,’ he indicated that faithful shadow, standing a few yards behind him, ‘will conduct you to me.
Salaam alaikum
. The peace of Allah go with you.’

Abdul Qadir, triumphant, though showing little of it in his attitude, responded suitably, and mounted his camel. The ungainly animal rose and presently the Mahsud and his followers were heading once more for Kabul. Aziz Ullah stood for some time watching them, and there was a smile on his face. In fact, there was something so happy and mischievous about it that it would be more aptly described as a broad grin.

Towards evening on the following day, Aziz Ullah climbed down from his secluded retreat in the mountains and reached the pass a couple of hundred feet below. He was not accompanied, having indicated to his disciples that he wished to be alone. There was nothing unusual about such a desire; he had often before wandered by himself about the mountains, which he was
understood to love. Nobody but he and Major Kershaw knew that these excursions invariably led him to a cave high up and well hidden, though easily accessible. It was their rendezvous; a place utterly safe, because it possessed a bad reputation. Known as the cave of the witch, it was believed to be inhabited by a wicked old woman many hundreds of years old, who held intercourse with satan and other evil spirits. No Afghans of that district would approach anywhere near. It was Kershaw who had first thought of it as an ideal spot in which he and Aziz Ullah could meet. Ginger’s knowledge of eastern Afghanistan and the North West Frontier of India was probably unique. He also possessed an amazing acquaintance with all the local folklore and superstitions.

It took Aziz Ullah the best part of an hour to reach the cave from his retreat. It was a gloomy place, running an incredible distance into the mountain – neither Kershaw nor Aziz Ullah had discovered how far it penetrated; it hardly invited exploration. The entrance, a little over eight feet high by perhaps six feet wide, was hidden by a large withered tree that looked as though it had come under the witch’s spell. Inside, the cave broadened out and was quite roomy, narrowing again farther back.

The Master found Kershaw sitting near the entrance, leaning against a rock, hands clasped round his knees, placidly smoking a pipe. He sprang up with an exclamation of delight, and the two men warmly shook hands. Aziz Ullah sniffed.

‘By Jove!’ he exclaimed in English, referring to the tobacco, ‘that smells good.’

For answer the Intelligence officer took another pipe already filled from his pocket; handed it to his companion who accepted it eagerly. A few seconds later the two were squatting
together, smoking with great contentment. Yusuf and his men would probably have had the shock of their lives had they been able to set eyes on their revered leader at that moment. The spectacle of a bearded Afghan smoking a pipe is strange enough in itself. When the Afghan happened to be Aziz Ullah, whom most people in that district now regarded as a saint sent specially for their benefit, the sight would be well nigh devastating. Fortunately for their peace of mind, none of Aziz Ullah’s followers were able to see him.

‘This is great,’ he murmured. ‘You’re a lifesaver, Bob, which reminds me’ – he turned to the other impulsively – ‘I owe you my life. If you hadn’t thought of that mail jacket, the vultures would have picked my bones clean by now.’

‘Heard there’d be an attempt to assassinate you,’ nodded Kershaw. ‘Rashid went ferreting about and was told excitedly of a miracle. Your stock has soared to the sky, my boy. Tell me about it.’

Aziz Ullah obliged; then plunged into a full account of the proceedings in the
shamiana
. He may surely be pardoned if he displayed a little pride and triumph when speaking of his great success.

‘They realised,’ he concluded, ‘that it would be more to their personal advantage to recommend my proposals than reject them. Anyway, after what happened, and my threat, I don’t think they dare break their promise to put them before government and the amir.’

‘I can satisfy your mind on that point,’ Kershaw told him. ‘I made judicious inquiries this morning by making use of the resources of the legation. A memorandum has already been placed before the amir for his approval and government met
today to discuss the recommendations – recommendations, mark you! You’ve done a wonderful job of work for Afghanistan, old son. It must never be known that Aziz Ullah is anybody but – Aziz Ullah. How are you going to manage that?’

‘Like an old soldier,’ laughed the other, ‘I’ll simply fade away. I should hate to rob them of their illusions.’

Kershaw nodded.

‘It’s the only way,’ he agreed. ‘It won’t do any harm if they continue always to think you’re a saint sent specially to succour the oppressed, and disappeared in proper saintly manner when your work was accomplished. Shouldn’t be surprised if that’s how most saints won the label. I wish we could make those blighters suffer who engineered the plot to murder you. Bloody swine!’

Aziz Ullah knocked out the ashes from his pipe, and asked for a refill. Kershaw handed him a bulging pouch. Quickly Aziz stuffed the bowl full, lit the tobacco carefully and, when it was burning evenly, puffed away with deep contentment again. Presently he smiled quizzically at his companion.

‘Bob,’ he remarked, ‘your patience is monumental. You are burning to yell, “What of Abdul Qadir?” Yet not a murmur concerning our
pièce de résistance
has left your lips. Amazing!’

Kershaw grinned.

‘I knew you’d out with it when you thought fit,’ he returned. ‘The ubiquitous Rashid found him, and kept watch on him and his boy friends. He told me they had gone to visit your camp. Well, since you have brought up the subject, what’s the news?’

‘The very best.’ He entered into a detailed account of his conversation with Abdul Qadir Khan, concluding with the arrangements made to continue the discussion on the following
day. ‘Talk about craftiness,’ he declared. ‘Abdul Qadir has the cunning of all the monkeys, serpents, and devils that were ever conceived – that is, if a devil is conceived. We’d never have nailed him any other way, but this. Lord! What a brain the chief has!’

‘We haven’t nailed him yet,’ commented Kershaw, but he was tremendously elated, and made no effort to hide his glee. ‘The chief’s brain,’ he went on with frank admiration, ‘may have worked out the whole scheme, but what a marvellous job you’ve done. I take off my hat and boots and any darned thing you care to mention to you.’

‘Don’t!’ begged Aziz Ullah. ‘You’ll make me blush.’

‘Blush away. It’d be a pretty sight. I’ve never seen a blush on a brown skin before. But seriously, you gave me fits yesterday. If you’d gone and got yourself killed—Hell! I don’t want to think about it. What’s the scheme for tomorrow?’

‘Is Rashid with the ponies in the usual place below?’ asked Aziz.

Kershaw nodded. ‘He has the pack mule with him.’

‘Good. Well, listen! I’ll bring Abdul Qadir here on the pretence that it is not safe to talk anywhere else. If he knows of the evil reputation of this cave and won’t come up, things will be a trifle difficult. But keep your eyes skinned, Bob. Before you and Rashid do your stuff, I must fool him into telling me where he has all those machine guns and ammunition stored, and I want you to listen in, for you know his country and I don’t. I should hate any mistake to arise through my not getting hold of names or directions properly. Taking it for granted I get him to come up here, you and Rashid will be concealed in the cave, and I hope you miss nothing that is said. What signal shall I give when I think it is time for you to act?’

‘I think the best thing you can do is to stroll away with him. That will be signal enough.’

‘Stroll away with him!’ exclaimed Aziz Ullah. ‘But—’

‘I’ve been thinking things over,’ interrupted Kershaw. ‘On no account must he think you’re concerned in any way, otherwise he’ll take steps afterwards to damn you in Afghanistan. We don’t want your pearly white reputation to be soiled, for the sake of the poor beggars who believe in you. It wouldn’t be fair. Just walk away with Abdul Qadir and leave it to Rashid and me. We’ll appear when he can’t possibly suspect that you took him to the cave for any ulterior reason; I know several ways down from here; Rashid and I will circle round, and get ahead of you. Don’t worry! He won’t see or hear anything suspicious. And don’t forget! Directly we appear on the scene like a couple of villains in a Lyceum melodrama, beat it like hell, shouting that you’re off to fetch Yusuf and Co. I’ll take care afterwards he thinks you and your men are searching for him. Believe me, there won’t be a chota suspicion, even in Abdul Qadir’s astute mind concerning Aziz Ullah, when I’ve done with him.’

They sat perfecting their plans for half an hour or so longer; then Aziz Ullah knocked out the ashes of his pipe, and reluctantly gave it back to Kershaw. The two friends shook hands, and parted, descending to the pass by separate ways.

As arranged Yusuf met Abdul Qadir in Gharat at noon on the following day. The Mahsud was conducted towards the retreat in the mountains. He was entirely alone, having fully understood, or so he thought, the reason for Aziz Ullah’s warning. He knew quite well that the hiding place was known only to the twenty
disciples apart, of course, from Aziz Ullah himself. No doubt he was greatly flattered that so much trust should be placed in him that he was to be taken actually to The Master’s home, the whereabouts of which had always been kept a closely-guarded secret. He proved to be wrong in his expectations. He was not conducted to the place after all. Aziz Ullah met him in the pass. Telling Yusuf to join the others and informing him that he would probably bring the Khan up to the little plateau later on for a meal, he led his guest on up the pass.

‘It is well that we should be alone,’ he explained to Abdul Qadir. ‘My followers are entirely trustworthy, but the matters of which we speak should not be heard by other ears than our own.’

He did not think it necessary to mention that he could quite easily have ensured secrecy on the plateau. His present manner of leading Abdul Qadir into the trap prepared for him was least calculated to rouse suspicion in the Afridi’s mind. Once the latter had been in the retreat and had noted how easy it was to avoid eavesdroppers there, he would have been bound to wonder why it was considered necessary to take him elsewhere. Abdul Qadir Khan smiled to himself. His words had obviously taken root. Aziz Ullah was no different from other men where ambition was concerned. The Mahsud was riding a hill pony and, out of courtesy to The Master who, of course, was on foot, dismounted. Aziz Ullah told him he was acquainted with a cave where they would be quite secure from interruption. Casually he asked if his companion knew the mountains well; was greatly relieved when Abdul Qadir confessed entire ignorance of that district. They came at last to one of the paths leading to the cave of the witch. The pony was tethered in a clearing, and
the two climbed to the ledge where Kershaw and Aziz Ullah had sat the day before. Abdul Qadir shivered a little. He was as superstitious, despite his European training, as most of his race, and the gloomy neighbourhood depressed him.

‘Truly this is a lonely and dismal place,’ he observed, as he accepted his companion’s invitation to sit down. ‘It is certain we shall remain undisturbed here. It is in my mind that men would avoid it as a place of the devil.’

Aziz Ullah laughed softly.

‘True believers who walk in the ways of Allah need fear no evil,’ he reminded the Afridi.

Abdul Qadir eyed him curiously.

‘You speak Pashto with an unusual accent, O Master,’ he remarked. ‘You come not from this part of the country?’

‘I was born at Herat,’ explained Aziz Ullah, ‘and have been, since a child, in the holy city of Mesched. Persian has thus become more my tongue than Pashto.’

For some time they spoke of Persia; of anything, in fact, but the subject upon which Abdul Qadir’s mind was centred and which, he believed, was uppermost also in the mind of The Master. To come directly to the point is rarely done in the Orient. Gradually, however, the eager Afridi brought the conversation to the reason for the meeting. Even then they conversed more or less in parables, each knowing perfectly well the hidden meaning contained in the other’s words. The longer this went on, the greater became Abdul Qadir’s elation. He was certain now that the man squatting by his side yearned to control Afghanistan, would never be satisfied until he was created amir. Whether the reason behind this was a belief that
he could do great things for the people or merely personal ambition did not concern the Mahsud. The latter’s only interest in helping him ascend the throne was in obtaining him as an ally to fight later against the English. At last, after they had been sitting in that lonely spot for nearly an hour, Abdul Qadir Khan threw aside all subtlety. Suddenly he launched into an enthusiastic discourse, its main theme being Aziz Ullah as amir. He told his intended cat’s paw that the time was ripe for him to take possession of the country.

‘The people will rally round you with great eagerness,’ he declared. ‘From your retreat in these mountains, you must issue a proclamation that it has been revealed to you by Divine interposition, that you must rule. I have no doubt,’ he added craftily, ‘that this is the truth, for the thought would not have entered your mind had it not been put there by Allah. Wait but until I can bring twenty thousand well-armed Afridis across the border ready to back you or fight for you. In three weeks I can rally fighting men of the Yusufzai, Mohmand, Orakzai, Mahsud, Bettani and others into a powerful force. The Shinwaris on this side of the border will join at once, and before long the whole Pathan race will be behind you. The Afghan army will quickly follow the example. I have talked with many of the soldiers, and know they are much impressed by you. The first and most important matter will be to imprison without warning the present amir in his palace at Paghman and to arrest all the members of government as they sit in session. I will undertake all military plans. It will be best for you to remain in the mountains until this is done. Then will come your proclamation. I am wholeheartedly your ally, O Master. Speak
that I may know you are agreeable to this, and our compact can be made.’