Last Updated on June 3, 2024 by Tom Kane

Chapter Four

A Family Affair

Cairo, Egypt October 1929

Nev Fordham placed his chips on what he considered the winning number. He just knew the roulette table’s wheel was going to stop on his number, which meant he was about to be rich. Nev didn’t even consider the alternative. If he lost, he would be in debt to the biggest loan shark in Cairo, and Dio Deberge was not known to wait for his money when payments were due. His enforcers were adept at entering any premises, invited or otherwise, and removing items to the value of the debt if there was no money on-hand to pay the debt, well, they were not averse to cracking ribs, heads, even fingers should anyone desire to stop them.

But Nev Fordham was certain his ship was coming in and nothing would change his mind.

The casino, La Maison d’Or, as it was grandly called, was buzzing and Nev could feel his luck was changing. The croupier span the wheel and Nev, along with three other punters, stood and watched as mesmerised by the wheel as much as their dreams to becoming instantly rich.

Of course, occasionally punters in La Maison d’Or became rich. But if such a thing happened, they were soon relieved of their wealth.

The spinning wheel was slowing and the gaggle of punters each drew in a breath in anticipation.

The wheel slowed. They let out their breath, even more slowly.

Clatter-clatter, the small metal ball noisily announced its path across the various numbered slots on the wheel. And then it stopped and the four punters let out their breath noisily, fingers gripping the roulette table, necks craning, eyes rolling, each trying to see on what number the ball had landed on.

Nev’s number was twelve red. The other three punters had all placed their bets on red as well, twenty-one, thirty and five.

The little metal ball, that giver of hope and destroyer of dreams, had landed on red, but the number was not twelve, twenty-one, thirty or five. It was seven, just two spaces down from Nev’s bet.

“But that’s not possible,” Nev murmured, staring at the young croupier. “Amir, that is not possible.”

Amir, the teenage croupier stared back, being used to destroying all punter’s dreams. “Sept, rouge,” he said. “I’m sorry Mister Nev. But you have lost, again.”

It was a finality that left each of the punters feeling empty, bereft of anything worthwhile in their lives, their stomachs doing somersaults.

Nev felt sick.

Amir gave a brief, sorrowful smile, as he collected in the winnings for the house.

A shrill whistle blew and the entrance doors to La Maison d’Or crashed inwards, glass and wood shattering. “This is a raid on an illegal gambling house,” a man in a British military uniform shouted. His cap had a red covering which singled him out as Military Police. “Stay where you are and nobody leave.”

People began running, trying to escape the Military Police.

Nev looked at the croupier, then looked across at the bellowing officer. “Oh no, not you. Of all the people. Better scram, Amir.”

“Scram? What is scram,” the confused young man said.

“Run for it,” Nev hissed. “It’s my brother.”

But it was too late. A burly army sergeant had made his way behind Nev and managed to grab both his and Amir’s arm. “And where do you two birds think you’re flying to,” he said in a gruff voice.

Hearing the commotion, the officer looked across to the roulette table and recognition formed on his face, followed by a scowl and a soft groan.

“Nev. Why oh why, Nev?”

The officer walked across the brief space between the doors and the roulette table. He grabbed Nev by the left arm and pulled him toward the doors at the rear of the gambling floor.

“Come with me, Nev.”

“Albert,” Nev spluttered, “you cannot walk in and ruin…”

“Shut up, Nev, or I will arrest you and throw you in the slammer for a few days. You’re a British officer, for heaven’s sake, man. Doesn’t that mean anything to you anymore?”

“But…”

“Shut up, Nev,” the officer said, dragging him across the floor, between the poker, Baccarat, and blackjack tables. Past the cashier’s office, which seemed empty of any staff suddenly, and into the house manager’s office. Again, the place was strangely empty. The British officer gave out a brief murmur as he closed the door. “Nobody at home, it seems.”

“Of course not. They knew you were coming. I wish you had told me, Albert.”

“Sit down, Nev.”

“If only you had…”

“Sit down, Nev, or I will knock you down for putting me in such a fix.”

Nev sat down. “Some brother you are.”

“Nev, don’t act all innocent as the driven snow. You know how it works. I only knew myself an hour ago, and I had no way of contacting you. And yes, I am supposed to be your brother and I’m about to do something that could cost me my career. And that would not please some particularly important people, would it?”

“No, I suppose not. Very well little brother, get it off your chest.”

“Where did you get the money from to gamble here? And how much of it have you lost?”

Nev realised there was no way out. “Dio Deberge. Twenty thousand.”

“Good.”

Nev looked at his brother. “Good?”

“That’s what I said. I want you to go along with whatever Deberge has in mind for you to pay him back, then offer to sell him military secrets. Our military secrets.”

“And then put the hangman’s noose around my neck, I suppose.”

“Nev, as you rightly pointed out, I am your brother, and I would not let any harm come to you. Dio Deberge is a dealer in secrets. He lures people like you…”

“People like me. Meaning suckers.”

“If that’s what you want to call it. I prefer an undercover operative, playing his part in routing out a nest of spies. The lady next to you at the table. Did you not recognise her? No, of course you didn’t. You were too intent on feathering your own nest. She works as a secretary for the Military Attaché at the French embassy. Next to her, a German spy and next to him an Italian spy. All selling their secrets to fuel their gambling habits. You want to end up in a Cairo gutter with your throat slit?”

Nev shook his head.

“Didn’t think so. I’m up for Captain soon and that will soon be followed by Major. I’m moving up in Military Intelligence and I will help you, if I can, this one time. After that, Nev, dear brother, you are on your own. You get caught again and there will be little I can do for you, and those in high places will deal with you, not me. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” a sullen Nev Fordham said.

“Good. Now, back to this minor problem. Here’s what I propose we do…”

“There is another aspect to this sorry mess.”

Albert sighed. “Tell me it isn’t another huge loan.”

“No, not a loan,” Nev said, his face flushing with embarrassment.

“I can see a showstopper here, Nev.”

“I sold something for money.”

“What? The Crown Jewels?” Albert said with a slight hint of humour in his voice. “You’re not smiling, Nev, and that worries me.”

“I sold a state secret. And yes, that makes me a traitor.”

***

Albert literally dragged his elder brother out of the casino, and into a waiting Super Snipe staff car.

The driver didn’t have time to open the door for his passengers and could see the anger on Albert’s face. “Where to, sir.”

“Nowhere, Thomson. Take a walk and make it at least a thirty-minute walk.”

“Yes, sir,” a bemused Thomson said. He patted his camouflage jacket to make sure he had his cigarettes and matches and exited the car. As he shut the car door, he whistled a ditty he had learned on a drunken spree with an American sailor. Whistling was always an excellent choice if, like him, you could never remember the words.

Albert pushed Nev into the rear seat of the car and followed him in.

“Talk to me,” was all Albert said.

“It’s quite simple. I needed money to pay my gambling debts.”

“Debts? How much in total?”

“Thirty thousand pounds.”

“And you raised that selling British Army secrets?”

“No. I raised that, and more, selling upgrade plans for the Browning M1919A2 Medium Machine Gun. Specifically, for use with cavalry units.”

“And when did you sell these plans?”

“Six months ago, and before you ask, it was to parties unknown, but I suspect they were Italian.”

“So, you have been a busy bee stacking up your gambling debts. And you selling other countries’ state secrets. Secrets, I might add, that will amount to nothing, as that upgrade was less than useless if memory serves.”

“Correct.”

“Don’t look so happy about it. You’ve still committed an act of treason, even though it was selling secrets belonging to the Americans.”

“Yes, I know. But it has a certain synergy to it, don’t you think?”

Albert, twisted round on the back seat and the car’s springs creaked in response. His movement made the old leather give up the aroma of Capstan full strength cigarettes. Albert made a mental note to bring that up with Thomson.

“How many times have you done this, sold secrets to pay your debts?”

“Three times. Twice, the third would have been tonight.”

“Now, you are going to carry on with this transaction, but we will be listening in and we will nab Dio before any damage is done. You are officially on my payroll now, but don’t expect to get paid. So, give me the lowdown.”

“I’m not taking orders from you. Hallan’s my boss.”

“Not anymore, he’s dead.”

“Dead? How?”

“I don’t know the full ins and outs, but what has transpired is Lord Hallan was on the pay of German intelligence.”

“No. Never, not him.”

“Yes him. He was trying to sell secrets to do with a new German cipher to an independent spook he thought was MI5.”

“Sounds complicated. “

“It is. But not for you, not anymore. You’re in my team now, brother. And we do this my way.”

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Chapters 1-2: http://fictionbooks.online/walking-away-from-midnight-sample-chapters-1-2

Chapter 3: http://fictionbooks.online/historical-fiction-walking-away-from-midnight-sample-chapter-3

Chapter 4: http://fictionbooks.online/historical-fiction-walking-away-from-midnight-sample-chapter-4