Glenn Meade (32 page)

The Corniche, the famous
crescent-shaped road stretching for miles along
Alexandria
's coast, was peppered with hotels
and nightclubs, sidewalk cafes and cheap lodging houses. There was a certain
faded glory about the seafront buildings. Some of the smaller hotels were
actually brothels that catered to both sexes, handsome young Arab men and women
sitting outside on the stone steps, trying to entice customers.

Haider had changed out of uniform,
abandoning his suitcase under one of the carriage seats, and Rachel had donned
a different set of clothes and put on make-up. As the train approached the
outskirts of Alex, they saw the clusters of white, red-roofed houses perched on
the side of the road, the Greek restaurants with their shady verandas, the blue
sea close on the other side, palm trees dotting the coastal sands.

When they pulled into the station
before Ramleh, they saw no obvious military presence on the platform, so they
walked outside and took a cab. Haider told the driver to drop them off along
the Corniche, and ten minutes later they stepped out on to the promenade.

'You'd hardly think there was a
war on,' Haider commented, lighting a cigarette and slipping Rachel's arm into
his as they walked. 'It's like another world after drab old
Berlin
.'

Couples strolled along the
magnificent sunny esplanade, as trams rattled past the
Mediterranean
,
and there were bright coloured kiosks selling candy and trinkets. The only
obvious reminders of the war were the dozens of ships belonging to the Allied
fleet anchored further along the quays, and the sailors and off-duty soldiers
loitering outside brothels.

'They used to call Alex the
Paris
of the
Middle East
.
But then it does have a certain reputation, even seedier than
Cairo
's. They say the brothels cater to every
imaginable taste. Even the ancient Romans named it the City of
Sinful Delights
.'

Rachel noticed two heavily bosomed
Egyptian prostitutes trying to tempt a couple of young sailors into a run-down
hotel.

'It seems things haven't changed
much since the time of
Antony
and Cleopatra. But I'm puzzled that you seem to know Alex so well.'

'My parents took me on visits as a
child, or didn't I ever tell you? My father always had it in his mind that
Cleopatra's fabled treasure palace was buried somewhere under the harbour out
there. But the last time was a year ago - I spent a month operating behind
enemy lines. It wasn't as dangerous as it sounds. And definitely a lot more
pleasant than being shelled by the British in Libya.'

At that moment two military Jeeps
suddenly rounded a corner up ahead, and came to a halt in the middle of the
Corniche. Half a dozen military police jumped out and began setting up a
roadblock, stopping traffic in both directions and checking drivers' papers.

Haider tossed away his cigarette.
'It could be just a routine spot check, but then again they might be looking
for us. Let's not tempt fate.' He took Rachel's hand. They crossed the seafront
road and turned down a narrow back street opposite the promenade. It was
thronged with more brothels and off duty troops, and reeked of unpleasant
smells. 'I know it's taking a risk, but we'll have to give the main railway
station a try.

There's always a chance it
mightn't be watched just yet. This time we'll use our own papers.'

'What happens if someone tries to
arrest us?'

'We get out of there fast as we
can, guns blazing if we have to.' He saw Rachel study him. 'What's the matter?’

'I suppose you know you're crazy,
Jack Haider? You seem to come alive whenever there's danger in the air. Or
didn't anyone ever tell you that?' He smiled, faintly. 'It must be the Prussian
in my blood.' He stood there, an odd look of excitement on his face. 'But you
know the strangest thing? I haven't felt this alive in months.' He pointed
towards another side street. 'The station's about a twenty-minute walk. It'll
be safer if we stick to the back streets.

Right, we'll get going. And let's
try not to look like we're a couple of escaped convicts on the run.'

'They sent me on a wild-goose
chase, sir. Bloody clever pair, I'll give them that.'

Weaver looked at the MP standing
to attention in Myers's office. 'At ease, Sergeant.'

The sergeant stood at ease, put
his hands behind his back.

Sanson removed his cap, his face
and eye patch flecked with sand dust. He sat on the edge of the desk. 'You'd
better tell me exactly what happened.'

Weaver had had Sanson radioed as
soon as he heard Myers's news, and Sanson had sped back to HQ, leaving the
patrols to carry on searching the villages. Weaver had filled him in, and told
him about the identities of the two dead officers.

The MP appeared uncomfortable in
the presence of three officers. 'Speak up, Sergeant,' Weaver prompted.

'There wasn't a sight of the two
men anywhere. I had some of our lads cover the main roads out of town, but they
didn't see any staff car. And there was no report of any other civilian or
military vehicle stolen. But when we got back to the station, I checked out the
abandoned Jeep. Turns out it belonged to the two officers who'd gone missing.'

'What did this young woman look
like?' "Very attractive. Late twenties. Blond-haired, blue-eyed.

Slim, average height. And a bloody
good actress, I'd have to say.'

'She claimed she was South
African?’

'Yes, sir. Said her father was a
colonel, serving in Alex.'

'And yet you didn't check her
bloody papers?' Sanson said angrily.

The MP blushed. 'She told me she'd
forgotten them, sir.

And then I reckoned there was no
need - not when it seemed the officer could vouch for her.'

Sanson made an effort to control
his anger. 'You say he presented himself as Captain Jameson?'

The MP nodded. 'That's what's
frightening, sir. He played it as cool as you like. Spoke with a perfect
upper-class English accent -' He broke off and glanced at Myers. 'Begging your
pardon, sir, I meant-'

Myers nodded abruptly. 'I know
what you meant, Sergeant.

Go on.'

'He was about thirty, I reckon.
Give or take a couple of years. Tall, handsome enough, dark hair and eyes.
Capable looking chap, I would have said. Then, when I checked with Amiriya,
they told me Captain Jameson and another officer, Lieutenant Grey, had gone
missing. And then I heard they'd been-'

'We know what you heard.'

'Would you recognize either of
them if you saw them again?'

Weaver asked.

'Oh yes, sir. Not a shred of doubt
about that.'

'What about his papers?' Sanson
interrupted. 'The photographs couldn't have matched.'

The sergeant blushed again.
'Sometimes it's difficult to tell with photographs, sir, especially if
someone's wearing a uniform and there's a passing resemblance. But he was a
cool customer - told me to go ahead and check with his CO when I noticed his ID
was a week out of date. He seemed so convincing, I took his word for it.'

'He's certainly a ruthless, clever
sod, whoever he is,' Sanson said to Weaver, and walked over to the wall map.
'You say they took the local train, heading west towards here?'

'Yes, sir,' the MP replied. 'I
questioned the stationmaster. He saw the man and woman board together after I'd
left. That's when I radioed HQ.’

Sanson said to Myers, 'Where's the
final stop?'

'The Ramleh, the main station. But
they'd have reached there long ago - it only takes about half an hour. I'm
assuming, of course, that was their destination - there are several other stops
along the way.'

'Get some men to the outlying
stations on the route and question the railway staff. Find out if anyone saw a
couple matching the descriptions get off at any of them.' Sanson looked over at
the sergeant, his anger at the man's incompetence barely controlled. 'That'll
be all for now. Wait outside.'

The man left, and Sanson said,
'They've got only two options. Move on, or stay in town.'

Myers glanced at his watch.
'There's a train leaving for Cairo in just over an hour, sir. The two-fifteen.
And there's another for Port Said an hour later. If they decide to keep running
while their luck's good, it might do no harm to keep an especially close watch
on Ramleh station, as Lieutenant-Colonel Weaver has suggested.'

Sanson grimaced. 'You can bet your
backside we'll be watching. Plainclothes only. Don't have your men trooping in
together - filter them into the station in twos and threes, through the front
and back entrances. Tell them to be discreet - one wrong slip and we could ruin
any chance we've got of catching these bastards.'

'Yes, sir.'

'And you'd better find us some
civilian clothes. Arrange it with the stationmaster so that all passengers have
to pass through only one or two barriers, so we can keep a close watch on
things.

Have medical assistance standing
by too, in case we need it.'

'We're cutting it a bit fine for
me to organize all that, sir.'

'No excuses, Captain. Just see
that it's done.' Sanson picked UP his cap, slapped off the sand dust. 'Anything
else you can think of, Weaver?'

I guess you've covered
everything.' Weaver nodded towards the door. 'Except we'd better take the
sergeant along. He saw them once. He'll recognize them again.’

It took Haider and Rachel almost
half an hour to reach the Ramleh station. There was a small cafe - the Petite
Paris - on the corner opposite, and Haider led them to one of the tables and
beckoned a waiter.

'What's wrong?' Rachel asked.

'A little reconnaissance might be
in order first. Let's have some coffee. I can recommend the Yemeni, it's first
class. And we'd better eat something while we can.'

They ordered coffee and pastries,
and Haider watched the station entrance across the street. There were the usual
soldiers in transit, entering and leaving the massive entrance, kit-bags over
their shoulders, and a couple of Egyptian traffic policemen stood chatting on
the square. They didn't seem to be paying much attention to anyone, and Haider
noticed no obvious military presence.

'It seems quiet enough. But then
again, they could have men posted undercover. It's a risk we'll just have to
take.'

He observed the station for ten
more minutes, then finished his coffee. 'If there's even a whiff of trouble,
you stick close to me. Understand?'

Rachel nodded.

He felt for the revolver in his
pocket, stood, looked down, and offered her his arm.

'Time to test the water. Ready?'

She stood and took his arm.

The Ramleh was chaotic, a massive
stone building with high vaulted ceilings. There were several filthy-looking
food stalls just inside the entrance, busy with passengers, mostly Arab
peasants.

They crowded the station, many of
them barefoot and wearing djellabas, accompanied by wives and children,
carrying boxes tied with string, wooden crates packed with chickens and
pigeons.

Weaver stood behind the ticket
barrier, wearing a linen suit loaned by one of Myers's staff. The air was
clammy with smells and stifling hot. The sergeant was by his side, sporting a
blazer and flannels, his skull-cropped haircut covered by a Panama hat.

The train for
Cairo
left in fifteen minutes, the one for
Port
Said
an hour after. There was only one barrier through
which all passengers had to pass to gain access to the platforms, and weaver
and the sergeant stood a short distance away from the uniformed Arab, ticket
inspector, but close enough to see the faces of everyone who passed through.

Weaver glanced at the station
clock. The hands struck 2 p.m.

A long queue had formed and there
were murmured protests from some of the European passengers, but the Arabs took
the inconvenience in their stride, used to mindless bureaucracy and delays. So
far, the sergeant had spotted no one resembling the couple. Another checkpoint
had been set up further down the platform, out of view of the passengers, where
two plainclothes MPs were double-checking the identity cards of everyone who
was allowed through.

Weaver felt confident that if they
spotted the couple they couldn't escape.

It had been a manic rush to organize
everything. He'd arrived only five minutes ago through the back way, changing
into the borrowed clothes in one of the army trucks parked at the rear.

Ten armed plainclothes men were
posted around the station, six further along the platforms, and another two
dozen uniformed troops were holed up in the stationmaster's office, if needed.

Sanson had chosen to position
himself outside the main entrance with two plainclothes MPs, ready to block any
escape, and a couple of motorcycle riders were parked in a nearby side street,
alongside a waiting ambulance and two doctors, in case there was shooting.

The station was a chaos of human
traffic, which made the job all the more difficult. Weaver saw Myers and
another plainclothes officer lounging against a pillar twenty yards away,
smoking cigarettes and standing over a couple of bettered suitcases, pretending
to be waiting passengers. Myers looked over and Weaver shook his head. They had
seen no suspects so far.

Suddenly the sergeant touched
Weaver's arm. 'There's a couple about twenty feet from the barrier, sir-'

'Where?'

'The lady's fair-haired, wearing a
blue dress. The man with her's wearing a light-coloured jacket.'

Weaver tensed and glanced down the
queue, trying not to make it obvious. He saw the couple. They looked like
European refugees. The sergeant said, 'They're a bit far away to get a proper
look, but there's definitely a resemblance.'

'You're not certain it's them?' ‹
'Well - no, sir. At this distance I couldn't be sure. And the lady looks like
she's wearing a lot of makeup.'

Weaver knew that if it was the
wrong couple and they approached them, it could jeopardise everything. Other
passengers in the queue would see the incident, and if the real suspects were
among them, they might smell trouble and slip out of the queue. Myers and his
companion were waiting by the pillar in case that happened, but the queue was
so congested and the station so busy, Weaver just hoped the strategy worked. He
looked back at the couple. They had moved up in the queue, maybe fifteen feet
away, and he avoided looking at them directly. 'You still think there's a
resemblance?'

'Yes, sir,' the sergeant answered.

'When they get near enough, move
closer and try to get a better look. Be as discreet as you can.'

He gave a faint nod to Myers,
waiting at the pillar. The captain tossed away his cigarette, said something to
his companion, and they both got ready to move. Minutes later, the couple had
almost reached the ticket inspector. Weaver saw the man produce a pair of
tickets, and gripped the Colt in his pocket.

'Now,' he prompted the sergeant.

While the couple were busy with
the inspector, the sergeant stepped closer. As he studied their faces, the
woman looked up, saw him, and smiled disarmingly. The sergeant turned, came
back and shook his head. 'Sorry about that, sir. It looked like the two I saw,
but it's definitely not them.'

'You're very sure about that?'

'Certain.'

Weaver felt deflated. He looked
over at Myers and shook his head, saw the captain relax.

He glanced at the station clock:
2.05.

Dozens more passengers, many of
them Europeans, some military but mostly civilian, were still joining the end
of the queue in the final rush to board. Weaver felt on edge and wiped his
brow. The boiling afternoon heat that penetrated the packed station was
overpowering, and the tension of waiting didn't help. He guessed that if the
Germans were out there, they'd try and leave it until the last minute, just
before the carriages pulled out.

'Keep your eyes open,' he told the
sergeant. 'If they're going to try and board, it'll happen soon.’

Haider stepped into the crowded
station with Rachel on his arm. He looked around cautiously. The only soldiers
he saw were obviously off duty, drinking beer at the Arab food stalls while
they waited for their trains, others heading towards the platforms carrying
kit-bags over their shoulders.

'Everything looks normal enough,
but you never can tell.'

I He led Rachel towards a
timetable on a pillar near the ticket booths. 'Achmed was right. Two-fifteen.
We've got fifteen minutes before the train leaves. Think you could buy us a
couple of tickets?'

'What if the train's full?'

I Haider smiled. 'I think you'll
find a little baksheesh will work wonders.' He gave her some money. 'Buy
returns - they're always less suspicious than singles. And don't worry, I'll be
right here, watching.'

He "waited as Rachel went to
join the ticket queue. He noticed a young man in civilian clothes standing off
to one side of the row of busy ticketing counters, idly reading a newspaper.

Haider saw him glance over at
Rachel a moment, before he returned to reading his newspaper. Haider felt
uneasy. The man might be military police, or he could simply be waiting for
someone. It was hard to tell. He made no attempt to approach I'll Rachel, or
anyone else in the ticket line, but his presence made II Haider feel distinctly
unsettled. The platforms were too far away for him to get a good look and see
if there were any military III checks in progress, and he didn't want to leave
Rachel alone. He looked at the station clock. It read five minutes past two.

Rachel came back with the tickets,
and Haider said, 'Any problems?'

'No. Two returns, like you asked.'

'Right, here goes. Keep your
fingers crossed.'

He took her arm again and they
walked towards the platforms.

There was a long queue waiting in
line for just one ticket barrier, which immediately aroused Haider's
suspicions. When he looked ahead he noticed two men in civilian clothes
standing to one side of the barrier, near the uniformed Arab inspector. As one
of the men lifted his Panama hat to wipe his brow, Haider froze. It took a
second or two, but he recognized the sergeant from the station that morning.

'Damn it to hell'

He was just about to turn away
when he noticed the face of the second man standing next to the sergeant. 'My
God, I don't believe it'

'What's wrong?' Rachel asked.

Haider's eyes were wild with
disbelief, and he didn't reply. Instead, he took a firm hold of Rachel's arm,
slipped out of the queue, and pulled her into the crowd.