Read Online Cloak of Darkness by Helen MacInnes - Free Book Online Page B

and still predominant; dark-skinned nomads, thin and tall with hawk-nosed faces, who wandered in from the barren hinterland with camels and goats, and lingered indefinitely. Muslims, of course, like the Arab traders who had modernised their act and no longer exported slaves. There were European settlers, too: venturesome small business-men from Greece and Italy. And, of course, the residue of French who had simply stayed on. Add to that mix the indefatigable Indian merchants, the Somali refugees, the Sudanese fishermen, the Ethiopian labourers, and you had a full house.
    Watching the variety of faces and dress out in the street, people on foot going their own mysterious way, Claudel could be grateful that they made his visit easier, less noticeable. But it also meant that the elusive Erik, if he had escaped to Djibouti, had found a place where he could stay submerged until his plans were completed for the next stage of his journey toward West Germany. Yet, once here—if he were here—he would find it more difficult to leave than to reach. There were only fifty miles of paved road in the whole country, hundreds of trails and tracks. And where would they lead him? Into the desert regions of Ethiopia, or south to Somalia, now filled with starving refugees from the war with Ethiopia—hardly worthwhile trying to hire a car (scarce and difficult) or a camel (slow and stately). The railway—one railway only, connecting Addis Ababa in Ethiopia with the port at Djibouti—hauled mostly freight: import-export trade, Ethiopia’s one direct outlet to the sea. And Addis Ababa, Communist, had Soviet advisers and Cuban agents in control. It was unlikely that Erik would find that an attractive prospect.
    So there were two possibilities left to Erik, and Claudel in the last three days had been checking them both.
    First, there was the port for Djibouti, built by the French some three miles from the town. (Or the other way around, Claudel reminded himself: the port was begun first; the town came a few years later.) It had become a complex of installations: piers, quays, docks, water reservoirs, fuel-storage tanks, even a refrigeration plant—everything that was needed for the refuelling and replenishing of French naval vessels (two destroyers were there now; an aircraft carrier had just sailed). There were many paying customers, too, such as passenger ships that had docked for supplies and oil before they cruised onward, and numerous freighters at the loading and unloading piers. Yes, there was a choice for Erik in that variety of vessels. Except that the French were still in command of the port—its strategic importance higher than ever since the Soviet Union now had its friends established on the other side of the Red Sea’s narrow entrance. On Claudel’s arrival in Djibouti, he had visited the port to see his friend Georges Duhamel, whom he had known when they were both semi-attached (a diplomatic way of describing their function) as French Intelligence representatives of NATO. It was part of De Gaulle’s ambiguity—keeping one French foot inside the Western alliance while withdrawing the other foot. Duhamel was now with French Naval Intelligence and had been sent on special assignment to assist the head of security at the port. He had been delighted to see Claudel again, and there were no false pretenses: Duhamel knew of Interintell and approved. He assured Claudel that there had been no European, no imitation Arab, trying to stow away on any freighter during the last two weeks. So, with the alarm on Erik sounded, Claudel could only return to the town and wait, and rely on Duhamel’s eagle eye.
    Secondly, there was the airport. Flights were limited, and checking the passenger lists for the last two weeks was fairly simple. Claudel concentrated on the flights to Egypt and France. The others, to Mombasa and Addis Ababa, were obviously less attractive for Erik: the former because it only led Erik farther afield, farther from