"Innes, Hammond - The Doomed Oasis" - читать интересную книгу автора (Innes Hammond)

I had been called as a witness, not for the Defence, but for the Prosecution. Every word I uttered would be taken down and rushed out of Bahrain by telephone and radio; and thousands of miles away the metal drums of the presses would pour the story out to waiting millions. Representatives of almost every London newspaper were here and half the world's press, packed so tight in this improvised courtroom that they could hardly breathe. And outside in the broiling, humid heat were the photographers and the newsreel men and the television recording units, and at the airfield across the water on the island of Muharraq, special planes waited to fly the pictures that would be flashed on the screens of television sets in the homes of countless people.

Here and there in that sea effaces below me were people I recognized, people who had taken part in the events I was going to have to describe. There was Sir Philip Gorde, director of Gulfoman Oilfields Development, looking old and battered, his heavy-lidded eyes half-closed; and beside him, Erkhard, very neat and cool. Colonel George was there and Captain Berry, easily distinguishable, smart in their uniform of short-sleeved khaki shirts and well-creased khaki longs. Sue had followed me in, and it came as something of a shock to me to see that she had seated herself next to that strange, half-Arab, half-French girl who called herself Tessa. Captain Griffiths, too, his beard neat and pointed - a reminder of Cardiff and the visit that had started it all.

Raise your right hand. I did so and my gaze shifted involuntarily to the prisoner in the dock. He was watching me and for a moment our eyes met. I thought he smiled, but I couldn't be sure. I had a sense of surprise, almost of shock. Perhaps it was the tropical suit, the neatly brushed hair; he looked a different man. There was only the arm still in a sling to remind me that this was the man whose singleness of purpose had captured the world's imagination. The Book thrust into my hand disrupted my thoughts.

Repeat after me. My lips were dry. I had turned away from him, but I knew he was still watching me. I swear by Almighty God.

'I swear by Almighty God'

That the evidence I shall give the Court.

'That the evidence I shall give the Court--' And as I said it I was wondering how the public at home would react to what I was going to have to tell the Court. Until today they would have had quite a different picture of the prisoner - a mental picture culled from garbled versions of his exploits heard over radio and seen on television, read in newspapers and periodicals, a colourful, larger-than-life picture entirely at odds with the neat figure standing alone there in the dock accused of murder.

Shall be the truth.

'Shall be the truth--' They should never have brought the case. He was a national hero and whatever the verdict of the Court, the public's reaction would be a violent one. But would they be for him or against him?

The whole truth. '

The whole truth--'

And nothing but the truth.

'And nothing but the truth.'

Your full name please?

'Aubrey George Grant.'

And then Counsel for the Crown, on his feet and facing me: 'You are a solicitor by profession I believe?'

'Yes.'

'Were you called upon to act for the prisoner on his arrest?'

'Yes.'

'When did you cease to act for him?'

'As soon as I realized I was being regarded as a material witness for the Prosecution.'

'You have acted for the prisoner before. I think?'

'Yes.'

'When was that?'

'Just over four years ago.'