Read Online Rogue's March by W. T. Tyler - Free Book Online

lower shelves crammed with local and Belgian newspapers, together with the daily mimeographed bulletins circulated by the ministry of information, many yellow with age. Two books lay on the top shelf next to a candlestick, the only books Reddish saw. Behind the empty rattan chair at the far end of the coffee table was a reading light. Alongside was a table holding a telephone, yellow legal pads, and a clay pot filled with pencils.
    He supposed de Vaux used the porch as a study, shut away from the distractions of domestic life. The two books drew his eyes. They were dog-eared, their bindings tattered, the cloth covers ringed with watermarks. He couldn’t read their titles, but they interested him, clues to the man many had heard of but few knew. He’d been collecting the odd pieces for years, and now he leaned forward and was putting on his steel-rimmed reading glasses as de Vaux returned carrying glasses and beer bottles.
    â€œThe UN left them here,” he explained, guessing Reddish’s intentions. “A crate of them. That’s all that’s left, those two. Used this place as a reading room, game room. Even had an Indian librarian. That’s the UN for you, wogs everywhere. This was the place where a soldier could write home, feel sorry for himself after the sun went down.” He lifted one of the books from the shelf and pushed it across the glass-topped table. “You’ll know this one. They say there’s not an Englishman that doesn’t.”
    Reddish adjusted his glasses and opened the tattered cover. It was a copy of Robinson Crusoe . “I know it,” he muttered, studying the brittle flyleaf. Pasted inside the front cover was a faded gum sticker: “Property of Chapel Library, Birmingham.”
    â€œChap I knew in the Fifty-fifth Merc Brigade used to carry a copy in his kit. A Yorkshireman. The way he talked, you’d think it was the only book he ever read. Maybe it was. Didn’t save him though. Took a tracer in the throat, and his friends buried the book with him. He was clever with words. Maybe that’s where he got them, out of that book.” He took back the volume and opened it. “I read it to keep my English up, read it by myself to learn what a man can do, the way he did. It helps. Relaxation, see, but it’s not a boy’s book. Never was. There’s a lot there if you’ve got the patience for it.” He pushed the book aside. “So what’s this about the PLO. On their way south, you say?”
    Reddish gave him the typewritten list of Jordanian passport numbers and the names of the Palestinians. De Vaux studied it silently. On the wall behind him was a military map of the nation, the location of army groups and their zone of responsibility marked in heavily with a grease pencil. Before the President had moved Colonel N’Sika to the para brigade following the student clashes, N’Sika had been the chief of intelligence at GHQ and de Vaux his aide in charge of the foreign intelligence collection effort. Reddish guessed that the map probably dated from those days at G-2.
    â€œI was wondering if anyone over at G-2 would be interested in the list,” Reddish began as de Vaux lifted his eyes. “I don’t have any contacts over there, not since you left.”
    â€œThere’s a major who follows it now. He might be interested. But the internal security directorate would have responsibility. They’re the chaps that would take charge.”
    â€œI can’t get hold of anyone at internal security. A little odd, I thought.”
    De Vaux shrugged. “It’s the way they are. You can’t find them until they need you. I can get this to them.”
    â€œWe have another report that interests us more. It could have something to do with this Palestinian group. Maybe not.”
    â€œYou brought it with you?”
    â€œNo. It’s not that kind of report. We think guns might have been brought in