Free The Secret War by Dennis Wheatley, Tony Morris Page A

all, then,” Lovelace cut in.
    â€œNo. At present Zarrif is at his home in Athens. We knew that there was reason to suppose that he would remain there for about three weeks when we sent for you. He is not due in Addis Ababa until the first of May. That is the date which has been arranged for the signing of the concession.”
    â€œHe may be leaving Athens at any moment now, then,” Christopher said anxiously.
    â€œUnfortunately, that is so. Therefore the affair is doubly urgent. When you responded to our call that you would leave immediately, we naturally expected you would sail on the
Europa
and arrive six days ago. Your delay in reaching Europe has caused us grave anxiety. It shortens so much the time you have to work in.”
    â€œIf time is so essential, why did you select an American?” Valerie asked.
    â€œBecause Zarrif is very carefully protected. It was decided that a wealthy young American would be less suspect than anyone on this side and would stand more chance of getting at him.”
    â€œYou’re wrong there,” said Christopher quickly. “I was warned that they knew what I was up to before I left the States and that if I quit the country I’d be dead within a week. That’s why we took the longer route via Canada and a slower boat.”
    Barrotet’s eyebrows shot up into his broad, low forehead.
    â€œ
Mon Dieu
!” he exclaimed. “But this is difficult—perhaps you are being watched now.”
    â€œI doubt it.” Christopher shook his head. “We came by Miss Lorne’s plane from Rotterdam and went to earth in this hole after Lovelace had taken us seven times round Paris in seven different taxis.”
    â€œThat is good, but the fact that they know you mayprove a serious handicap to your operations.” Barrotet produced a sheaf of papers. “Look! Here are particulars about Paxito Zarrif, also a letter stolen from a Mr. Jeremiah Green as he lay dying of fever in the Sudan. He was on his way to Zarrif as a go-between, on behalf of the Abyssinians, but he did not know Zarrif personally. We had hoped that by presenting yourself to Zarrif as Jeremiah Green you could have found an opportunity to …”
    â€œAs they know Penn to be associated with the
Millers of God
, they’re certain to have cabled his description,” Lovelace interrupted. “He daren’t adopt your plan now. He’d be rumbled at the start.”
    Barrotet’s black, boot-button eyes fixed themselves upon the Englishman. “Does the enemy yet know that you have taken a hand in this affair?”
    Lovelace shrugged. “There is no earthly reason to suppose they have ever heard of my existence.”
    â€œThen why should you not impersonate Jeremiah Green, and lure him on some pretext to a spot where … Penn could do the rest?”
    Valerie’s eyes were on Lovelace’s face again. He was fingering uncertainly the small upturned moustache which decorated his upper lip.
    â€œYou are sure that if this concession goes through it means a universal smash-up?” he asked after a moment.
    â€œYes. We who know the inside facts are virtually certain of it.”
    â€œAll right—I’ll do it then.”
    Barrotet pushed across the papers. “I am glad that you have so decided. Please now to memorise these few names and addresses that I will tell you. They are the
Millers of God
living in the Near East upon whom you may call for assistance in case of necessity. Afterwards, when you make your escape, it is better that you should go on to Haifa or Cairo and lie low there for a time than that you should return to Europe, where theInternational police will be more occupied in trying to trace Zarrif’s executioner.”
    Ten minutes later the Frenchman left them, and his last words were: “Remember, please, that time is short. All our previous efforts to stave off war will have been wasted unless Paxito Zarrif is