Power of the Sword - Smith Wilbur (читать книги онлайн регистрации .TXT) 📗

Let's go and have a look anyway., He settled his hat on his head and buttoned his overcoat to the neck for there was a cold wind sweeping across the airstrip, bringing memories of the snows of the Drakensberg mountains, and the highveld grass was bleached silvery by the frosts of late winter. He and Shasa climbed into the back seat of the black police Packard and neither of them spoke on the short journey into the centre of Pretoria.

At the gates to the railway workshops there was a double guard of police and military personnel. They checked the occupants of the Packard carefully, not visibly impressed by Blaine's status.

The chief inspector in charge of the investigation was in the office of the workshop manager and his report had little to add to what they already knew. They had so far been unable to find any irregularity in the production or packaging of weapons.

Give me the tour, Blaine ordered grimly, and the entire party, Blaine, Shasa, the chief inspector and the workshop manager, went out on to the main production floor.

Workshop, was hardly a correct description of the large factory that they entered. Originally built to service and repair the rolling stock of the state-owned railway, it had been expanded and modernized until it was capable of building its own locomotives from scratch. Now the long production line along which they picked their way was turning out armoured cars for the desert war in North Africa.

The working of the factory had not been halted by the police investigation and the cavernous sheds roofed with

corrugated iron echoed to the thunder of the steam presses and the cacophony of the lathes and turret head drills.

How many men do you employ? Blaine had to shout to make himself heard in the uproar.

Almost three thousand altogether, we are working three shifts now. Wartime production. The manager took them through to the furthest building.

This is where we turn out the small arms, he shouted.

Or rather the metal parts. Barrel and blocks. The woodwork is manufactured by outside contractors. Show us the finished articles and the packing, Blaine ordered. That's where the trouble is, if there is trouble. After assembly and checking, the completed rifles, British Long Service No 4 Mark 1 in .303 calibre, were greased and wrapped in yellow grease-proof paper, then packed in the long WD green wooden cases, ten rifles to a case. Finally the cases were loaded onto steel pallets and trundled through to the despatch stores.

When they entered the despatch area there were a dozen uniformed police constables working with at least fifty factory employees in blue overalls. Each case was being taken down from the tall stacks and opened by one of the constables, then the wrapped rifles were taken out and counted, repacked and the case lids relocked.

The checked cases were being stacked at the far end of the storehouse, and Shasa saw immediately that only about fifty cases remained to be opened and inspected.

The chief storekeeper hurried across from his desk and challenged Blaine indignantly. I don't know who you are but if you are the bloody fool who ordered this, you need your arse kicked. We have lost a day's production. There is a goods train at the siding and a convoy waiting in Durban harbour to take these weapons to our boys up north. Shasa left the group and went across to watch the working constables. 'No luck? he asked one of them.

We're wasting our time, the man grunted without looking up, and Shasa silently reviled himself. A day's war production lost because of him, it was a dire responsibility and his sense of despondency increased as he stood and watched the remaining cases opened, checked and resealed.

The constables assembled at the door of the stores and the overalled factory employees went out through the tall sliding doors to resume their posts on the production line.

The police inspector came back to where they stood in a small disconsolate group.

Nothing, Minister. I'm sorry. We had to do it, Blaine said, glancing at Shasa. Nobody is to blame. Too bloody true somebody is to blame, the chief storeman broke in truculently. Now that you've had your fun, can I get on with loading the rest of the shipment? Shasa stared at him. There was something about the man's behaviour that set off a little warning tingle down his spine, the blustering defensive manner, the shiftiness of his gaze.

Of course, he thought. If there was a switch, this is where it would take place, and this fellow would be in it to his neck. His mind was starting to slough off the inertia of disappointment and anti-climax.

All right, Blaine agreed. It was a wild-goose chase. You can get on with your work. Hold on, sir, Shasa intervened quietly, and he turned back to the storeman. How many railway trucks have you loaded already? There it was again, the shift of the man's eyes, the slight hesitation. He was going to lie. Then he glanced involuntarily at the sheaf of papers in the clipboard that lay on his desk beside the doors that led out onto the loading bays.

Shasa crossed quickly to the desk and picked up the sheaf of loading manifests. Three trucks have already been loaded, he read from the manifest. Which are they? They have been shunted away, the storeman muttered sulkily.

Then let's have them shunted back here right away, Blaine intervened briskly.

Blaine and Shasa stood together under the arc lamps on the concrete loading quay while the first of the closed railway goods trucks was unlocked and the sliding door opened.

The interior of the truck was loaded to the roof with green rifle cases.

if they are here, they will be at the bottom of the load, Shasa suggested. Whoever is responsible would get rid of the evidence as soon as possible. He'd make damned sure they were the first cases loaded. Get down to the bottom cases, Blaine ordered sharply, and the top cases were carried out and stacked on the quay.

Right! Blaine pointed to the back of the truck. Get that case out and open it. The lid came up and the constable let it fall to the concrete floor with a clatter.

Sir! he exclaimed. Look at this. Blaine stepped up beside him and stared down into the open box, and then he looked up again quickly.

The chief storekeeper was hurrying across the floor of the shed towards the doors at the far end.

Arrest that man! Blaine shouted urgently, and two constables ran forward and seized him. He was struggling angrily as they dragged him out onto the loading quay.

Blaine turned to Shasa, his expression grim and his eyes flinty. 'Well, my boy, I hope you are satisfied. You've given us a mountain of work and a lot of sleepless nights ahead, he said.

Fifteen grave men sat around the long polished stinkwood table in the panelled cabinet office and listened silently as Blaine malcomess made his report.

There is no way of establishing with any certainty exactly how many weapons are missing. other large shipments have been sent out since the first of the month and as yet neither of these has reached its destination in Cairo. They are still in transit but we must expect that weapons are missing from both shipments. I estimate some two thousand rifles together with a million and a half rounds of ammunition. The men around the table stirred uneasily, but nobody spoke.

This is alarming, of course. However, the truly disturbing aspect of the business is the theft of some thirty to fifty Vickers machine-guns from the same source. This is incredible, Deneys Reitz muttered. That is enough to launch a nationwide rebellion. it could be 1914

all over again. We must make sure no word of this gets out.

It will cause panic. We should also consider, Blaine went on, 'the tons of explosives hijacked in the karoo. Those would almost certainly be used to disrupt communications and prevent deployment of our limited military strength. If there was to be a rebellion Please tell us, Blaine, the prime minister held up a finger.