Chapter 24
A fter he had retired for the night, Rat had sat in his room for some time pondering the telegram from Lord Langley. More specifically, he had sat wondering what additional details might be forthcoming about this so-called “highly placed friend”. What did that mean, and when might Lord Langley have the additional information that he promised?
Rat sat and considered whether there was any more information that he might provide that could in any way help Lord Langley with his inquiries. He reflected on what they had learned, both directly and through indirect, anecdotal conversation. Rat had the greatest respect and admiration for Lord Langley and would never presume to explain world affairs to his mentor. However, he was unsure how much of the sentiment on the ground was being transmitted back through official channels by the likes of Sir Reginald. Was the consul even aware of the extent to which the French might be manipulating the situation behind the scenes?
Finally, Rat had decided that there was nothing to lose by returning to the consul’s home and sending another telegram laying out what they believed they knew so far. If it helped Lord Langley, all the better, and if it didn’t, well, there was nothing to be lost. Rat was far too secure in his mentor’s professional and personal regard to worry that the earl might think less of him for sending possibly superfluous information. Having made this decision, Rat was determined to write and encrypt a note immediately.
Sitting at the desk in his room, Rat considered what he wanted to tell Lord Langley. Then, using the Playfair cypher again, he wrote the note in code. Satisfied with what he’d written, Rat determined to return to the consul’s home as soon as possible the following morning to send another telegram.
The next day, Rat rose and dressed quickly in the djellaba from the previous evening and was ready to leave as early as was acceptable for a morning call. Rat was disinclined to get back on another mule if he didn’t have to. He believed he remembered the way through the Medina to the Batha district, so he felt he did not need to bother a servant to accompany him.
As he walked through the courtyard, he encountered Fatima, who was sipping mint tea and considering how she might spend her day. She looked up as Rat advanced. “Are you heading out, Matthew?” she asked.
It was astounding how Fatima managed to turn even the most mundane sentence into a flirtation when she so wished. Rat blushed and answered, “Yes. I wish to return to the consul’s home to send another telegram.” Then as much out of politeness as a desire to spend more time with the beguiling woman, he asked, “Would you care to join me?”
Fatima shook her head vehemently. She had no desire to run the risk of encountering the consul. Of course, as much as she found the man a roaring bore and had no interest in being courted by him, she was also irritated that he hadn’t bothered to send even a note, let alone a token of his esteem that morning. If Consul MacLeod had sent such a thing, she would have loudly and publicly expressed her exasperation at the man’s annoying persistence. However, now that he hadn’t, she was seething quietly at the consul’s neglect. The last thing in the world she intended to do was to turn up at his home and have there be even a whiff of desperate interest inferred.
As much as Rat was always happy for Fatima’s company, in this instance, he was not unhappy to have her decline the invitation. To travel with her would mean getting the mules and servants and turning the entire outing into a far bigger endeavour than if he were just to stroll there alone and ask a servant to take him to Alister Blackadder’s office. Blackadder was such a good chap that Rat did not doubt that the man would excuse him dropping by uninvited.
Rat’s certainty that he remembered how to navigate the Medina to the Batha district might have been overly confident. In fact, it took him quite a few wrong turns before he finally stumbled, more by luck than judgement, across the consul’s home. Rat walked up to the large, oak front door and rapped on the knocker.
A huge, hulking manservant opened the door. The man’s size and visage reminded Rat of Wolf’s bosom friend, Bear. Certainly, in Bear’s case, his terrifying look belied a very sweet and gentle nature. Rat wondered whether the same could be said of this man. Certainly, he didn’t seem particularly sweet as he informed Rat that the consul was not at home. Rat said that he had actually come to see Mr Blackadder in order to send a telegram back to London. The servant’s dismissive look as he opened the door and invited Rat in told him all he needed to know about how the household staff viewed their European overlords.
Easily remembering his way back to Alister Blackadder’s office, Rat strode down the corridor and knocked on the door. There was no answer. Rat considered what he should do. While it was possible that Alister had merely stepped out for a few minutes, it was also possible that he was out running some errand for Consul MacLeod and might be gone quite some time. Now that Rat had determined to send the telegram, he was eager to see it transmitted. How hard could it be to use the machine? He wondered. Surely, the most challenging part of sending a telegram was the knowledge of Morse code. If nothing else, Rat was too impatient to send the telegram and wondered if he could translate his message into Morse code. After all, he was trained in cryptography.
Determined to at least examine the telegram machine to see if its use was self-explanatory, Rat entered the office and made his way over to the machine and examined its buttons and wires. Wasn’t it merely a case of using it almost like a typewriter? It looked simple enough.
Out of an abundance of caution, when he had left Alister Blackadder’s office the evening before, Rat had taken his decrypted note, the translation from the Morse code and the original telegram. These were still in his pocket. Now, Rat wondered whether he might be able to work backwards from the telegram that had been decoded to figure out the right Morse code symbols to use. Then, he could write his encrypted note out in Morse code and then send it himself. Of course, there was the possibility that not all the necessary letters were represented on the telegram from the day before. Still, the note had been long enough that Rat was sure that he could infer the alphabet by comparing the telegram to the note that Blackadder had gleaned from it, and if necessary, he could change some of the words he’d used.
Going over to sit at Alister’s desk, Rat reviewed the original telegram in Morse code and the paper that Alister had translated it to. He quickly determined what the Morse code alphabet was, minus a few letters that he felt he would be able to work around. It took him a little time, but finally, Rat ended up with a note in Morse code quickly enough that he allowed himself to feel proud of this accomplishment.
Glancing at a pile of papers on the right side of the desk, Rat suddenly noticed his name on one that was partially hidden under a book. Normally, Rat loathed the idea of prying through other people’s things, but in his new role for the Bureau, he’d made his peace with the possibility that he might have to overcome this qualm. Apart from anything else, if it was about him or a telegram for him, Rat felt he had a right to know what the message said. Gingerly pulling out the paper, Rat read what seemed to be an encrypted telegram for him that had been decoded from Morse code. He wondered why Alister Blackadder hadn’t sent word to him this morning about the telegram. Even as he thought this, Rat realised that Blackadder might have done that and that a servant could be on his way to the riad at that very moment.
It didn’t take long for Rat to decrypt the decoded telegram. Once he had, Rat sat back in Alister’s desk chair and considered the implications of what he’d read. As the full import of the telegram from Lord Langley sank in, Rat considered if he even needed to send the message he had intended. Finally, deciding to amend it somewhat, he quickly wrote out what he wanted to say, encrypted it, and then again puzzled out what the correct Morse code would be. Finally, crossing back to the telegram machine, he considered how he could send the message.
Just as he was about to hit the first key, he heard a noise behind him. Turning around and seeing who had entered the office, all he saw was the hulking manservant. It seemed as if there was someone else standing behind him. Rat’s first thought was to explain his presence there. He had just started to explain himself when the huge man crossed the room quickly, and before Rat could say much more, he found himself punched in the face. While the punch might have done no more than give him a black eye, Rat lost his balance, fell back, hit his head on the corner of the table that the telegram machine was on, and lost consciousness.
The last hazy words he heard were from a voice that sounded vaguely familiar, “Nosey, nosey, Mr Sandworth. Rifling through papers. What am I going to do with you now?”
As Rat lost consciousness, the voice said irritably, “Kacem, why on earth did you let him in here?” The only reply was a grunt.
When Rat finally came around, he found that he was in the dark and that he couldn’t move. After a moment, he realised that his hands and feet were bound, his mouth gagged, and he had something over his head which explained the darkness. Where was he? The last thing he remembered was being in Alister Blackadder’s office and trying to use the telegram machine. What had happened after that? It was all a little fuzzy, and he had a terrible, throbbing headache. Rat had no idea how long it had been since he first entered the office. Had he been unconscious for a few minutes or a few hours?
Rat tried to remember how he had come to fall, but those last few seconds were a blur. He did remember finding the still encrypted telegram and the shocking news it had relayed. Now, as he sat unable to do much more than think, Rat reflected on what it must mean. Timothy Shandling had been protected, helped to escape, and had continued to work for the Foreign Office in an unofficial, more shadowy role. The British Foreign Office!
While Lord Langley’s telegram had been short on details and brief in its explanation, Rat had read enough to glean that various government entities might have somewhat different aims in North Africa. However, perhaps the most shocking part of the telegram had been the name of the person in the Foreign Office who had facilitated Shandling’s escape: Somerset. That one word had shaken Rat almost more than anything. Somerset in the Foreign Office, the same man who had asked to call on Melody, was likely the duplicitous mastermind behind everything they had been investigating in Morocco: Brett Rothnie’s disappearance, maybe murder; the attempt on Alessandro’s life; and finally, Shandling’s murder and Alessandro’s arrest. And now, instead of being able to rush to Melody’s side and protect her from whatever nefarious part of the plot Captain Somerset intended to implicate her in, Rat was bound and gagged, presumably by Somerset.
Lord Langley had implied that while the Secret Service Bureau worried that France’s actions in Morocco might be a threat to British interests in North Africa and seek to curb French ambitions, the Foreign Office wanted to maintain Britain’s neutrality in the Moroccan crisis. How far might the Foreign Office, or at least some men within it, go in their support of France’s occupation of Fez? More to the point, what lengths might they go to in order to shore up their French allies in the region?
As Rat considered this question, he heard a door open and close, low voices speaking, though not in English. In fact, he thought they were speaking in Arabic. Rat wasn’t sure what was happening, but he knew one thing: if anyone came looking for him, would there be any evidence that he had been violently taken from this room? Thinking quickly, he realised that while his hands were tied together, he could manipulate his fingers. He wore a pinkie ring that Lord Langley had given him on his sixteenth birthday. Before he had a chance to reconsider, Rat managed to get it off his finger. It landed on the floor next to him.
Rat realised that it was a good thing he had acted quickly because before he knew it, he was being picked up, thrown over someone’s shoulder, and carried. A few moments later, Rat could hear another door opening, and then he felt that they were outside in the brutal heat of the middle of the day. If that was the case, then he had been gone for some hours. Rat was glad that Fatima at least knew where he had gone. How long before he was missed and someone came to discover what had happened to him?
This hope was shattered when he felt himself thrown into something, which was revealed to be some kind of cart. Then, he felt some kind of material thrown over him before the cart began to move. Where was he being taken, and what hope was there of his friends discovering him now? It felt like forever that he was bounced around in the cart. It wasn’t moving quickly, from what Rat could tell, so he guessed that it was being pulled by a man, maybe a donkey, probably through the narrow, busy alleyways of the Medina.
Rat imagined that a cart, pulled by a donkey, with some nebulous lump covered in sacking wouldn’t cause any comment in Fes. He tried to yell, but the gag was bound too tightly around his mouth. Finally, he felt the cart slow down and then come to a standstill. Before he knew it, strong arms had grabbed him out of the cart, thrown him over a shoulder again, and he was moving. And then, suddenly, he was put down.
Rat wondered whether he would be left as he was and was relieved when the sack was removed from his head and his hands and feet untied. It occurred to Rat that with his hands loose, he might fight back.
Just as he had this thought, a heavily accented voice said in broken English, “I hold a gun, so no funny business. Also, I take your gag off now. No people to hear you scream, so keep quiet,” the man said before removing the material from Rat’s mouth. “I put a ladder in hole and you climb down. Any of the funniest business, and I shoot.”
Rat felt himself pushed down towards the ground where, after some scrabbling around, he felt the rung of a ladder. It wasn’t easy climbing in the dark, but Rat had no choice and went down the ladder slowly until he reached the bottom. After a moment, there was a sound that indicated that the ladder was being pulled up. There was silence for a moment, then Rat heard movement, and the banging then the locking of a door. Rat looked around. Well, he could have looked around if it hadn’t been so dark in whatever dank, uncomfortable hole he had been thrown into.
As Rat’s eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, and realised with a start that he was not alone in the hole. “Nice to have company, finally,” a voice said wearily. “I’m Brett. Who are you?” Rat realised with surprise that his new companion must be Brett Rothnie.