Read Online The Collectors - Book Four: Diamonds and Sand (The Collectors Series 4) by Ron Sewell - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ron Sewell
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adjusted every hour. Tends to veer to the right although has been known on occasion to wander left. Good dead reckoning required at all times. With a flight duration of twenty-four hours we could end up where we started.’
Petros read what amounted to a report and noted its contents. On his map of Africa, he drew a thick, dark line from Luderitz to Tripoli and leant back in the chair. “Where did you crash?” he muttered.
He reread the notes. A German-speaking officer gave him water . Why would he write that? His face lit up. “Special Forces.” He dragged the distant information from his memory, shifted his position to the room’s computer, and typed in ‘Long Range Desert Group’. His gaze wandered across the mass of information. It appeared that the majority of LRDG operations took place between Tripoli and Benghazi, which made sense, as they were the main German supply routes. He tried various other alternatives but nothing of any importance showed. Frustrated, he paced the room until it came to him, The Imperial War Museum archives.
Hopeful, Petros packed his notes and maps, took the underground to Lambeth North, walked the short distance along Kennington Road, and climbed the steep steps to the entrance. He surveyed the exterior of the former Bethlem Royal Hospital or ‘Bedlam’ as it was better known and wondered what its long gone patients might have thought of it now.
To the left of the entrance stood a large man with thick grey hair and similar bushy eyebrows, dressed in a grey uniform.
Petros approached. The man gave him a knowledgeable glance. “Can I help you, sir?”
“I hope so. Who do I need to see to check the archives?”
He gave a wry smile. “That’ll be Mrs Masters. I’ll take you to her office.” He led Petros across the ground floor exhibits to a locked door. When opened he pointed. “Door at the end, sir. Tell her, Alfie sent you.”
“Thank you.”
Petros stared at the closed door and wondered if he would find the answer to his dilemma. He knocked on the dark-stained wooden door and entered.
He gave the woman with striking red hair seated behind a desk, a reassuring smile as she glanced up. “Petros Kyriades. Alfie directed me to your office.”
She smiled and placed her pen on the desk. “That man sends everyone to me. How can I be of help?” She pointed to a chair. “Please. Not many know of the back rooms where the staff work.”
Petros sat. “Mrs Masters, I’m undertaking research for a book I’m hoping to write with reference to the German Jews who came to England and joined the army. I believe a few completed special training. These men served in North Africa. I checked the normal sources but can find little of importance.”
“Area of Operation?”
“Libya, 1941.”
Her fingers operated the keyboard with speed. She looked at him. “I have the Long Range Desert Group, SAS, and Special Forces. Which one do you think is yours?”
“Shall we try Special Forces?”
Mrs Masters’ face had a puzzled expression.
“Found anything?” asked Petros.
There was a long silence. “Nothing, absolutely nothing.”
“Thanks for trying.”
“Mr Kyriades, you don’t understand. Most unusual, there’s zilch, and it can’t be classified.”
“So what you’re telling me is whoever they were existed, but there are no records."
Mrs Masters looked
Petros read what amounted to a report and noted its contents. On his map of Africa, he drew a thick, dark line from Luderitz to Tripoli and leant back in the chair. “Where did you crash?” he muttered.
He reread the notes. A German-speaking officer gave him water . Why would he write that? His face lit up. “Special Forces.” He dragged the distant information from his memory, shifted his position to the room’s computer, and typed in ‘Long Range Desert Group’. His gaze wandered across the mass of information. It appeared that the majority of LRDG operations took place between Tripoli and Benghazi, which made sense, as they were the main German supply routes. He tried various other alternatives but nothing of any importance showed. Frustrated, he paced the room until it came to him, The Imperial War Museum archives.
Hopeful, Petros packed his notes and maps, took the underground to Lambeth North, walked the short distance along Kennington Road, and climbed the steep steps to the entrance. He surveyed the exterior of the former Bethlem Royal Hospital or ‘Bedlam’ as it was better known and wondered what its long gone patients might have thought of it now.
To the left of the entrance stood a large man with thick grey hair and similar bushy eyebrows, dressed in a grey uniform.
Petros approached. The man gave him a knowledgeable glance. “Can I help you, sir?”
“I hope so. Who do I need to see to check the archives?”
He gave a wry smile. “That’ll be Mrs Masters. I’ll take you to her office.” He led Petros across the ground floor exhibits to a locked door. When opened he pointed. “Door at the end, sir. Tell her, Alfie sent you.”
“Thank you.”
Petros stared at the closed door and wondered if he would find the answer to his dilemma. He knocked on the dark-stained wooden door and entered.
He gave the woman with striking red hair seated behind a desk, a reassuring smile as she glanced up. “Petros Kyriades. Alfie directed me to your office.”
She smiled and placed her pen on the desk. “That man sends everyone to me. How can I be of help?” She pointed to a chair. “Please. Not many know of the back rooms where the staff work.”
Petros sat. “Mrs Masters, I’m undertaking research for a book I’m hoping to write with reference to the German Jews who came to England and joined the army. I believe a few completed special training. These men served in North Africa. I checked the normal sources but can find little of importance.”
“Area of Operation?”
“Libya, 1941.”
Her fingers operated the keyboard with speed. She looked at him. “I have the Long Range Desert Group, SAS, and Special Forces. Which one do you think is yours?”
“Shall we try Special Forces?”
Mrs Masters’ face had a puzzled expression.
“Found anything?” asked Petros.
There was a long silence. “Nothing, absolutely nothing.”
“Thanks for trying.”
“Mr Kyriades, you don’t understand. Most unusual, there’s zilch, and it can’t be classified.”
“So what you’re telling me is whoever they were existed, but there are no records."
Mrs Masters looked
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