A Spy in the Shadows (Spy Noir Series Book 1) (33 page)

The Prime Minister stood up at one point and made a speech about a previous visit to Cairo telling the guests ‘I was here in 1921 meeting with Lawrence of Arabia, discussing Iraqi freedom.’  Then he proposed a toast to ‘the success of the Tehran conference . . . in all manners’, he added at the last, stealing a glance at Salinger.

Everyone sat back down and began dinner.

A waiter knocked and spoke to one of the British officers stationed at the door.  He came to Salinger and leaned over whispering there was a telephone call for him.  Salinger stood and followed him out of the room.

He was shown to a telephone on a desk at the far end of the hallway.

“Salinger.”

“How did you know, my friend?”  Chubok’s voice came through static over the line.

“Your man found out different from what we thought?”

“The body was in terrible shape as you can imagine.  Being burned and then left out in the desert overnight didn’t help.  And then,” Chubok paused, “it was buried of course.”

“Chubok, come to the point.”

“The body could not have been Goli.  It was the remains of a man.”  A long moment.  “It is instead quite possibly that of a British solider reported missing two days ago.”

“You’ve been very helpful, Chubok.”

“I think otherwise.  I think perhaps I’ve created a dangerous situation for you by telling you this.  Be careful.”

Salinger hung up and rejoined the others.  When he sat down, Mayfield leaned over.  “What was that all about?”  They spoke in low voices.

“The body at the oasis—it wasn’t Goli.”

Mayfield’s face widened.  “Now listen here, Salinger.  We have no reason to believe other than Leni Boland worked for the German government.  The episode at the train station was the end of a serious situation . . . and that’s that.”  Mayfield stared at him.  “Okay, what are you thinking?”

“We have to work with facts,” Salinger said, “even though it doesn’t give us a clean ending.”

Roosevelt cut a glance at them from across the room. 

“Yes, I see,” Mayfield said rearranging the spoon at his plate.  “You believe that I wanted Traveler so badly that I’d want it any way I could get it, but that’s not true.  Goli was her own woman.  Her purpose was different than anyone else.  Revenge makes one do those sorts of things that don’t add up once you’ve reconsidered them.”

“Such as yourself toward Traveler?”

“Exactly,” Mayfield said.  “I offer myself as an example.  Now—enjoy yourself—you may never have the opportunity to have dinner with the President Roosevelt and the Prime Minister of the British Empire again.”

But Salinger noticed it, that distant look on Mayfield’s face when he turned back to his plate.

----

The dinner lasted until midnight.

Churchill stood offering a toast, and then announced, “he was serving as a tour guide to the President for the remainder of the evening, showing him the Sphinx.  Built among the great pyramids,” he said.  “One of man’s greatest mysteries—head of a pharaoh and the body of a lion.  Emperors have knelt before it.  Scholars have studied it.  And tonight Mr. President and I will wonder over it.”

Everyone laughed.  It was Churchill at his best.

Salinger followed the assembly as they filed through the lobby.  He went as far as the double glass doorway and watched as they were loaded into a line of Buicks, polished metal skins glittering beneath the bright overhead lights.  Something doesn’t fit, Salinger thought, lighting a cigarette.  The last tumbler of this vast puzzle they had fought through the last several days just wouldn’t fall into place.  How did a British soldier end up dead and burned to death with Goli’s car?  Goli was one of the most important women in Iran.  She didn’t have affairs with common soldiers, and how does a woman such as that just disappear?

The last piece of the puzzle was there . . . and the reason it wouldn’t fall into place was . . . the airplane . . . the supply plane from the archaeological site.  If it were found then he could believe that they had reached a conclusion.

The plane . . .

Salinger went to the front desk.  A young thin man with a quick smile greeted him.

“Is there a phone I can use?”

“Absolutely, sir,” he said, “If you’ll step over here.”

Salinger went to the side of the long front counter and the clerk placed a phone in front of him.  When the operator came on the line, Salinger told her that he wanted to be connected to the Cairo Airport.  He reached a general operator who forwarded his call to someone in flight schedules.

“This is Gamal. 
Flight operations.  How may I assist you?”  The voice was young and spoke quick Egyptian.

Salinger identified himself ‘working with the American military’.  “Gamal, I need to ask you to search your records for some information.”

“Certainly, sir.”

“Concerning any private aircraft landing at the airport.”

Hesitation.  “Oh, I don’t know about that, sir.  Some of the information—”

“Gamal, listen to me carefully,” Salinger said firmly.  “I work with the American military.  The information I’m asking for could be vital to assuring the safety of some very important people.  I don’t have time to come down there.”

“But without proper authorization . . .”

“I can assure you that we don’t have time for that.”

Salinger heard Gamal’s breathing on the other end.  Finally, “how may I assist you, Mr. Salinger?”

“I need information on any private aircraft that landed at the airport within the last eighteen hours.”

“A private plane, sir?”

“Yes, recently.”

“A moment, please.”  There was the rustling of papers.  Low voices.  “Our records do not show a private plane during that period.”

Salinger doubted himself. 
“Any aircraft other than military?”

“Another moment.”
  Sounds in the distance and then he was back.  “A supply plane was rerouted to Cairo with minor trouble earlier tonight.  The engine was repaired by the pilot.”

“Type of plane?”

The ruffling of papers.  “A Weaver Twin Engine.”

“Anything about the pilot you would remember?”

“Ah, of course, sir . . . one could not forget her.  A beautiful woman who paid handsomely for overnight storage in one of the available hangers, and full preparation for scheduled departure.”

“When is she scheduled to fly out of Cairo?”

“Eleven tonight, sir.”

If Gamal said anything else, Salinger didn’t hear him because he had darted out the lobby, the telephone hanging from the edge of the front desk.  He ran out the door and toward his car.  The night air was dry and the wind at burned his face.  Where was Mayfield?  Yes, he had gone with Churchill and the others. 

By the time he reached his car and started the motor, Salinger had placed each item neatly in its place.  The last tumbler of the puzzle.  As impossible as it sounded, Salinger admitted it to himself that both he and Mayfield had been blind to the truth . . . for their own reasons.

Goli was Traveler!

-Thirty-Five-

Salinger remembered the layout around the Great Sphinx from the night of their wedding when he and Julia had taken a romantic walk through the ancient ruins.  If the procession—and Goli—had followed the highway north of the Sphinx then he would never get there in time.

There was only one possible action to stop the madness.

He slammed the sedan across the ditch and cut across the desert south of the temple knowing he had to eliminate time to catch up.  Moments later, he slid up in the sand, south of the Valley Temple of Khafu.  He calculated how much time and distance separated him from when Churchill’s procession had left the hotel.

Five minutes?  Ten minutes?

Roosevelt was confined to his movements because of his handicap, so they had to stay close to the automobiles.  Another thought struck him—Churchill had taken the President to see the Great Sphinx, but had they driven straight there?  Or had they detoured to look at other sights?

Salinger pulled up to the causeway and killed the motor.  He began to run toward the walkway.  To the right was the Old Sphinx Temple.

Straight ahead—glowing under vivid lights—was the Sphinx.  His strange, ancient face staring down on the unfolding danger. 

----

Goli sat in the delivery truck off the highway and in the sand north of the Khafre’s Causeway.  At the wheels, ran a two-foot high wall and beyond there was only sand between herself and her target.  She took the rifle from the seat and stood outside.  It was a balmy night.  A breeze murmured against an indigo sky.  Even at this late hour tourists stirred about—people who always sought to be close to the mysteries of the world.

Goli drew the weapon close to her chest, and checked the mechanism.

What a stroke of fate it was, because just as she had pulled up at the hotel the caravan of sedans was pulling away.  At first she feared they were returning to the villas where security would be much tighter.  Then she had followed them here, realizing their destination . . . and her opportunity . . .   

. . .
at the Great Sphinx Winston Churchill would die.

----

Salinger raced toward the causeway running parallel west to the Sphinx.  His heart pounded in his throat as the dread of being too late clouded at his mind.

The thought of Goli’s betraying his feelings and succeeding in her plot was more than he could bear to think.  She had deceived him—he had been fooled . . .  she had used them all like pawns in her game since he had returned to Tehran.

He reached the causeway—cut across—and ran toward the highway.

----

Goli followed the highway toward the Sphinx.

She had gone forty meters to a rise in the sand when she suddenly froze. 
Voices in the distance, slipping through the night air.

Drawing the rifle to her, she hugged it against her heaving chest. 
Voices that came much clearer now.

Finally.

A pale moon showed through a gap in the clouds, gleaming off the top of three sedans parked in front of the Sphinx.  What luck!  She ran back to the truck knowing now that revenge was within her grasp.

----

Salinger was half way between the causeway and the Sphinx when the delivery truck flew by in the darkness, descending upon the group of sedans.  Salinger sprinted across the opening as he saw a shadow move around the rear of the truck.  Headlights exposed a surprised President glaring out the sedan’s back window.  Churchill was perhaps fifteen yards away leaning on a walking cane.  The security men had walked ahead several yards.

The shadow came around the back of the truck and knelt.

Goli!

She hesitated at the rear of the vehicle, and then lifted herself onto the open tailgate.  Salinger’s heart sank when he realized that he would never reach her in time.

----

To the right of Churchill, a large man lunged in front, a frantic move attempting to shield the Prime Minister.  Goli’s first shot ripped away the man’s lower jaw, spinning him around.  Her second shot caught him in the side, and he dropped.

The diversion had given Salinger time.

Desperately, he aimed his revolver at the truck on the run and fired an impractical shot, if only to freeze her for a moment.  Then he fired off another round in full stride.  Almost unbelievably he saw her drop back to the ground. 

Salinger knew he hadn’t hit her, but had accomplished what he wanted for the moment.  It had caused her to hesitate.  The next shot must count.  Mayfield came from around the last sedan, his revolver drawn.

Salinger was perhaps thirty yards away. 
Then ten.  Then he was at the sedan.

Goli jumped out of the rear of the truck, aiming the rifle at him.

Mayfield was instantly in front of him, pushing him out of the line of fire.  There was a dull thud, and the major spun awkwardly away from him.

Salinger saw Goli, half hidden at the rear of the truck, as she twirled toward the sedans.

“Get down!”  Salinger yelled.

She would get off her shot and Churchill was in her sights.

Salinger brought his revolver up and squeezed off another desperate shot.  The weapon lurched in hands.  Two shots reported.  The security men were running back down the hill toward Churchill.

Churchill lay face down in the sand.

Salinger looked back at Goli.  She froze for an instant . . . and then danced comically on one leg.  She regained her balance for an instant, attempting to get off another shot.  His second shot hit her directly in the chest.  Her body lunged backward onto the ground. 

Salinger waited for a long moment and spun around searching for Mayfield, finding him curled in the sand.  He went and stood by an officer near him.  Kneeling, Salinger quickly realized how badly wounded he was.  Shot in the chest.  Salinger placed his hand over the wound and thick blood covered his hand.