Operation Scheherazade
by Sinbad
Chapter 8
“Me?” squeaked Ricky.
“Er, yes. You see, we need to make contact with the King in a way that doesn't arouse suspicion, but at the same time in a way that the King will recognise and trust as genuine. You, my boy, were chosen by Hussein as trustworthy when he handed you that banknote in Aqaba. We think if he sees you again he will recognise you, and if you pass a message to him he will trust that it came from us. We think that the best way to get a message to him is if you take it. Will you do it?”
Ricky looked across at Chris, who was looking about as stunned as he himself was feeling.
“Can Chris come with me?”
“I'm really sorry, but this time, no he can't. You see, we can't send you on a mission, as it were. That would arouse suspicion straight away. You have to go back to Jordan for your school holiday to see your father. Chris will have to go to his parents. Where are your parents, Chris? Not back in Jordan, I guess?”
“No sir, we've bought a house near Guildford.”
“Then that's where you must go at the end of term. I know it would be nicer for you if the two of you could do this together but it wouldn't work. So you'll just have to catch up next term.”
Ricky thought about it. “So I get back to Jordan, but how do I meet the King? It was just a co-incidence last time, I can't sit on the beach in the hope of meeting him!”
The fat man managed a wry smile which dislodged his glasses. He pushed a finger up the bridge of his nose to re-position them. “We've thought about that. In the middle of your school holiday, the International Hill Climb is due to take place. Have you heard of it?”
“Yes” said Ricky. “No” said Chris.
“It is a motor race. The cars have to race up a steep mountainside on a road that's mostly hairpin bends. More to the point, it was started a few years ago by King Hussein himself, and he continues to be involved in the organisation and publicising of the event, and takes part each year. He's the current record holder. I want you to persuade your father to let you go as a spectator. And then I want you simply to join the queue for the King's autograph after the race. Do you think you can do that?”
Ricky lost the last vestiges of his angry attitude, enthused by the prospect of this adventure. “Dad loves car racing, and there'll be just the two of us now Mum's staying in England.” His voice cracked momentarily as he realised the implication of what he had just said. “I bet I can get him to say Yes. Why can't I just tell him why we have to go?”
“You can, if you think it necessary. But the fewer people who know about it the better, and if you can keep the secret even from your father, I'd be pleased.”
“I'll try. But what's the message, and how do I give it to the King?”
“Ah, that we haven't quite sorted out yet. There's still five weeks till the race and lots can happen between now and then, we might have to change the message at the last moment. But it'll be written down; we might even be able to get it written on a banknote like before. And you just drop it while the King's signing your autograph book, and pick it up, and when he hands the book back to you, hand it to him and say 'this is yours, sir.'. With any luck he'll have recognised you and will be expecting something like that, but even if he isn't, we think the money with writing on it will jog his memory.”
“Will I be in danger?”
“Well, we don't know for sure. We will take every precaution and we'll have some of our own people there to support you if anything goes wrong. But put it this way, we are sure you'll be in less danger than anyone else would be, attempting the same thing. You see, the King knows you and will certainly trust you, after all, he chose you, not the other way around. That's our trump card, we think.”
The room went quiet for a moment. Everyone seemed to be deep in thought.
It was Lord Beaulieu again who spoke.
“Ricky, we need you to think carefully and tell us whether you are prepared to do this. It may be dangerous, I can't pretend we can promise it won't be. So it's your choice, I won't try to persuade you. If you don't feel you can do it just say so and that will be the end of the matter. We'll just take you back to school and we'll probably never meet again.”
Ricky pondered what he'd heard and suddenly something clicked and he realised something he'd completely forgotten up to this point. And it made him sit up straight.
“The school! They'll have missed us by now! We need to let them know where we are – that we're okay! What do we tell them? Oh, sh...sugar.”
“Mr Danvers does have his uses. Let's see what he's arranged.” He raised his voice. “Danvers!”
The tall thin man came back into the room. “Danvers, have you cleared it with the boys' school for them to be out of school late?”
“Yes, sir. I phoned the school and explained that they've been helping to clear the brambles from the corner of St Andrews churchyard, and all the workers have been invited to take tea at the vicarage afterwards and he's got permission for them to be there. I don't think the story will be questioned because in fact several boys from the school have been helping, and have got permission to stay for tea. The vicar probably won't know one boy from another. They have to be back by seven in time for prep. But I think we can get them there by then.”
“Thank you, Danvers. Well done.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
As Danvers left the room again, Lord Beaulieu spoke quietly but seriously. “You haven't answered my question, do you want some time to think about it?”
Ricky looked at Chris again. Chris gave him a smile, careful not to push him one way or the other. “I'll do it.”
A long sigh escaped the big man and he smiled his relief. Chris beamed at Ricky and Ricky caught the look and realised that he'd decided the way Chris had hoped he would. He relaxed a little, for the first time since the toyshop.
“Is there anything you would like to ask about before we take you home? We'll have to get a move on now, or you'll be late for prep.”
“No, I don't think so.” And then, suddenly realising, “Oh yes there is! How can I contact you, and how will you get the message to me, the one I have to take to the King?”
“Between now and the end of term, I'm afraid you can't. It's too dangerous and could jeopardise the whole operation. But before the term finishes, Danvers will find you and give you the message. Any message you have for me you can give to him then. Okay?”
“He won't follow me around town first, will he?”
“No he won't do that again.”
“Okay.”
“Right then. If you've had enough to eat we'll get you back to school. I'm going to give you each a rather special present. Come over to my desk.”
He eased himself awkwardly out of his chair and the boys, intrigued, followed as he waddled across the room. He opened a drawer in his desk and took out two small boxes, each about seven inches long and a little over an inch across. As he handed them to the boys, he told them “These are fountain pens. They're perfectly normal fountain pens, except that they're loaded with rather special ink. So we'd like you not to use them day to day because we haven't supplied you with an extra ink supply. Now, the only special thing about the ink is that we have equipment that can identify the ink when it's on paper. So if we get a message that we think comes from one of you two, we can tell for sure by analysing the ink. We can even tell which of the two pens wrote the message. Let's see, now...” and he peered into the boxes that both boys had opened by now. “Ricky, your pen has a red button on the top of the cap, and Chris, yours has a green button. Remember Red for Ricky and Green for Chris, and don't get them mixed up. Then if for any reason and at any time you send us a message we'll know we can trust that it really came from you.”
“Wow” said Chris and Ricky together.
“Well, goodbye boys. I wish you very well. And thank you!”
He shook hands with them in turn and Danvers appeared again to take them home. As the boys disappeared down the corridor, he watched them trotting behind the lanky Danvers for a moment, and then settled back into the swivel chair behind his desk He picked up a file from the blotter and opened it. There was now only him in the room, but if there had been anyone else there to observe, they would have seen the front of the file carried the words
'Operation Scheherazade'
and below that, 'Classification: Red 9'