Glenn Meade (36 page)

Deacon poured himself a large
brandy, swallowed it quickly, then slammed the glass on the desk. 'Drop it.
We've got bigger problems right now. And you ought to be careful about where
you point that toothpick. Salter's the kind of scum who doesn't take a threat
lightly.' He tore a slip of paper from the sheet on his desk, and scribbled
down an address. 'The way things are, we don't need Salter's trucks. And he's
not going to like that. Even if I pay the bastard, he's going to think I'm
trying to double-cross him. But that's another day's worry.' He threw across
the Packard's keys. 'For now, take my car and drive to Alex, as fast as you
can.'

Hassan frowned. 'You said it's
swarming with the army and police.'

No one's going to be looking for
you there. Besides, no one should recognize you in that disguise, without the
beard, and you said yourself no one got a good look at you at the hotel.’

I 111 I ill Deacon handed him the
slip of paper. 'Go to this address and ask to speak with Inspector Sadek. And
make sure none of Salter's men are tailing you.'

Hassan looked at Deacon as if he
were mad. 'A policeman?'

'A retired policeman - he's a Nazi
sympathiser. We need to know whether our friends have been caught. I'll have to
inform
Berlin
when I transmit tonight. Sadek ought to be able to find out. If everything
looks hopeless, drive to Rashid as quick as you can, and tell that cousin of
yours to get rid of the boat - we don't need him to hang around the river any
longer. I don't want a shred of evidence to lead back to us if our friends are
rounded up and interrogated, and they tell about their bolthole.'

'Can't you phone this inspector?'

'He doesn't have a phone, not
since he retired on a pension.

If Sadek's not at home, ask his
wife how to contact him, but either way find him, and tell him I sent you. If
he's reluctant to help, get him to phone me and I'll handle it from this end.'
11 Hassan frowned. 'And what will you be doing?'

I 'Visiting the cafe again, just
in case by some marvel our contacts still turn up.'

Gabrielle Pirou heard the knock on
her door. She was in the back room on the ground floor which served as her
private office, wearing an old cardigan draped over her shoulders, her feet up
and stretched out on the couch, as she dipped into a box of chocolates and fed
tidbits to her poodle.

'Enter.'

Safa came in. 'It's well for
some.' She tossed a wad of notes on the table.

Gabrielle frowned. 'What's that?'

Safa plucked one of the chocolates
from the box and popped it in her mouth. 'Your share. The couple upstairs
didn't want to play games. Turns out there's been a misunderstanding. A pity,
the woman looked all right.' She explained the situation. 'The man gave me
fifty pounds to get lost until midnight. So I'm giving my back a rest and
taking the afternoon off to do some shopping.'

Gabrielle sat up. 'You think the
couple are kosher?'

'Should we care?'

Gabrielle made a face, then
shrugged. 'It doesn't sound right.

Still, it's money, I suppose.' She
tucked the wad of notes into her cardigan and looked at Safa. The greedy bitch
had probably been given more, but she let it pass for now. She would check with
the couple before they left. The telephone rang on the desk and she said, 'Be a
dear and answer it, cherie.'

Safa picked up the receiver.
'Madam Pirou's salon.' She listened. 'One moment.' She covered the mouthpiece.
'Someone's looking for one of the officers who came in earlier Captain Green.
Says it's urgent.'

'Who is it?'

'His office at army headquarters.'

'Tell them you'll fetch the
captain,' Gabrielle sighed.

Safa spoke into the receiver, then
laid it down. 'After that, I'm off' She went out, and Gabrielle sat there,
thinking about the couple upstairs. She had a feeling there was something odd
about them. A certain nervousness that suggested all was not what it seemed. A
few minutes later she heard footsteps outside and there was a knock on the
door. A man came in, red-faced, tucking in his shirt.

'Ah, capitaine. An urgent phone
call for you. Headquarters, I believe.'

'How the bally hell did they know
I was here?'

Gabrielle smiled. 'Like God, the
army works in mysterious ways. I'll leave you in private.'

She was in the hallway minutes
later, rearranging a vase of flowers, when the officer came out of her room,
looking irritated.

'Problems, capitaine? 'I'll say.
There's a search on, and I'm wanted back at barracks.

Seems a couple of enemy
infiltrators are on the loose. They wounded three of our men outside the Ramleh
station. Would you credit it? Just when a man's enjoying himself. Bloody
thoughtless lot, these Germans.'

For a second the information
didn't register, then Gabrielle frowned. 'Did you say Germans?'

'A man and a woman, and a
dangerous pair by the sounds of it.’

Haider was lying on the bed,
smoking a cigarette and studying the Baedeker, when Rachel came out of the
bathroom. Her hair was wet and she had a towel wrapped around her middle. 'At
least the water's hot and there's real soap. Don't you want to bathe?'

Haider took in her figure, her
long legs and delicate neck, the gentle rise of her breasts beneath the towel.

'What's the matter?' Rachel asked.

He looked at her face. 'Nothing.'

He tossed aside the guidebook, got
off the bed, crushed his cigarette and went past her into the bathroom. He ran
the bath while he shaved, then soaked in the hot tub, and came out ten minutes
later wearing a towel. He took another cigarette from the pack, tapped it
moodily, and leaned against the bathroom door. Rachel was sitting on the bed,
still drying her hair, and she noticed him staring at her. 'Why are you looking
at me like that?'

He lit his cigarette and inhaled
slowly. 'There's something different about you. Something I sensed the first time
we met after four years. I've been trying to figure out what it is. Now I
know.'

She stopped towelling her hair,
her face taut. 'What?'

'There's a hardness about you I
don't remember. You're like a different woman.'

She turned away, unable to meet
his stare, finished drying her hair and put down the wet towel.

Haider said, 'But then again, I
suppose four years in a camp can either break you or strengthen you-' He let
the words trail away. 'I saw the look on your face when you saw Harry again.

Of the two of us, it was him you
really loved, wasn't it?'

This time Rachel stared back. 'You
saw shock. Nothing more. And how I felt about Harry is immaterial.'

Haider sighed, came away from the
door and peered through the curtain. All the windows across the street were
closed and shuttered, but below in the alleyway the cafe was still busy. He let
the curtain fall. 'I suppose in some ways you're right. Human life is the raw
material of war. And whether the two of us live or die really doesn't matter.
But it does to me.'

'Why?'

'Because I'm still in love with
you. I always have been.'

Rachel didn't answer. She wrapped
her arms around herself, as if to ward off a chill, and went to sit on the bed.

Haider looked over. 'Can I tell
you something? When my wife died, the only thing that kept me alive in this
insane world was my son. But there were often times when I thought of you.

Wondered what had become of you -
were you alive or dead?

Maybe the truth of it was I hoped
that someday we'd meet again, and I'd have the courage to tell you how I felt.'
He crushed out his cigarette, suddenly looked grim. 'As for my son, I doubt
I'll ever see Pauli again. For all I know he might already be dead.'

There was grief in his voice, and
suddenly all the bravado was gone, and he turned away, looking totally broken.
Rachel stood, came over, put a hand on his shoulder. 'You can't give up now,
Jack. You simply can't.'

'You don't understand. There's no
way out of this. And there's no sense in pretending otherwise.'

'No. Together we'll find a way.'

'I wouldn't rate our chances, not
after what's happened.'

She put both her hands on his
shoulders. 'Look at me, Jack.

We'll make it. You have to believe
that.'

He took a deep breath and composed
himself. 'You're right.

I'm sorry.'

'You still care about Harry, don't
you? Despite the fact that you're on opposing sides. When you pointed your gun
at him outside the station, did it cross your mind for a moment that you might
have to shoot him?'

'Of course. Except I knew I
couldn't have done it.' Haider shivered. 'But it worries me, the thought that
it might come to us both having to face each other with fingers on the trigger.
Do any of us know how we'll react if the situation's desperate enough? But
there's one thing I do know. If it came to having to kill Harry to survive, I'd
have to think twice. Killing your best friend, a man who's been like a brother,
that's not the kind of thing you want to face, ever.'

Rachel hesitated, looked into his
face. 'What you said, about our first meeting. A thunderclap. Did you really
mean it?'

'Every word. But I told you, Harry
loved you too. And I cared about him too much to upset our friendship by being
the first to make a pass and tell you how I felt. It's why we both spoke to you
on the veranda that night, and asked you if you loved either of us. It was
almost a matter of us both wanting to be fair to each other, by letting you
make the decision. But then you left and it was over. Except nothing's changed
for me - I still feel the same. You know what they say. You can smash the vase,
but the scent of the flowers never quite goes away.' He looked into her eyes.
'And what about you? Did you love either of us back then? Tell me the truth.'

Rachel hesitated, didn't reply.
She was on the verge of tears, ^her face a mask of confusion, and then she
brushed a finger against his lips. 'Even just for a little while I want to be
happy in a world that's gone crazy. Kiss me, Jack.'

He looked at her. A single tear
rolled down her cheek. His eyes blazed, full of raw, intense passion, and he
kissed her fiercely on the mouth. She responded, and he pulled away the towel,
exploring her body, his lips brushing her neck, her earlobes, her shoulders,
his hands moving on to her breasts, down over her thighs and between her legs.
She cried with the pleasure, caressing him in return, her fingers moving over
his flat, muscular belly, gripping and stroking his hardness.

And then he could bear it no
longer. He picked her up and carried her over to the bed. They lay there,
touched and kissed with a forceful tenderness that was almost overwhelming,
until finally, sensing he was ready, Rachel moved, rolling on top of him,
spreading her thighs, guiding him into her.

'So far, we've caught a couple of
deserters, a wanted Arab criminal, and two Germans.'

The main road from Alex to
Cairo
was a riot of angry
drivers, honking their horns. Cars and trucks had backed up in both directions,
and Weaver stood watching as the troops halted all traffic. Nothing could be
discounted. Even incoming vehicles were being checked, just in case Haider and
Rachel had had accomplices who had managed to evade the desert searches and
therefore might still be trying to reach Alex.

Weaver had arrived at the old
checkpost site five minutes ago. It had been used to control all traffic into
the city when the Africa Corps had been on the offensive. Drivers were being
told to step out of their vehicles, which were being searched thoroughly and
their occupants' papers scrutinized. An arc-light blazed behind the barriers,
illuminating the scene. Weaver frowned at Myers, standing beside him.

'What Germans?'

The captain half smiled. 'Before
the surrender, some of Rommel's chaps ditched their uniforms and made it
through our lines. There are still a few of them around, sir. They either had
Arab girlfriends they didn't want to leave behind, or else didn’t like the
thought of risking their lives by staying in uniform. We're pretty certain
there's still a few skulking about whom we haven't rounded up yet.'

'Who are the two you caught?'

'One's barely out of his teens.
Been hiding out in a Coptic church since he deserted eight months ago. The
second chap was an army cook, a Wehrmacht sergeant.' Myers gave another smile.
'Turns out he was working in an Arab restaurant, a favorite haunt of our senior
staff. The bastard could have poisoned the lot of them if he cared to. There'll
be murder to pay over that one.'

'You're absolutely sure they're
deserters, not enemy agents?'

'Certain. I questioned them
myself, sir. Their stories checked out.'

Weaver looked out at the darkened
road. The traffic was backed up for almost a quarter of a mile, headlights on
as darkness settled in, horns blaring irritably as the traffic inched forward
at a snail's pace towards the barriers. Army motorcycle riders drove up and
down the two lanes, making sure no one tried to make a run for it. Ahead, fires
flickered in the hillside villages around the city, while behind him the desert
road to
Cairo
grew darker by the minute. More horns blared and angry shouts filled the dusk.

'They're getting bloody
impatient,' Myers commented.

'Tough.' Weaver strode towards the
barriers. 'Let's see how the men are doing.'

The road was in chaos as Hassan
sat in the Packard. It had taken him over two hours to reach the outskirts of
Alex, driving as fast as he dared. Now the traffic ahead was bumper to bumper,
and he'd joined the queue a hundred yards back.

The army "was searching every
vehicle. He knew it meant they hadn't found the Germans yet, or at least not
all of them.

The truck ahead of him, laden with
a cargo of melons, inched forward. He slipped into gear and moved up in the
line. There was an arc-light blazing at the checkpoint barrier, and suddenly he
jolted with shock.

He noticed two officers, one
British, one American, striding towards the barrier. The American who led the
way was the intelligence officer he had encountered at the flat.

Weaver.

Hassan swore, and slammed his fist
on the steering wheel.

The American was unlikely to
forget the face of someone who had tried to kill him - they had seen each other
close up. He rubbed his jaw. The bruising hadn't completely gone away, more
proof if Weaver needed it, so there was a chance he might be recognized,
despite his disguise. Hassan thought frantically.

He knew the risk was too great,
and he made the decision instantly. He had to get away. He started to swing the
Packard out of the line, ready to turn round and head back towards
Cairo
. Suddenly an armed
military policeman on a motorcycle roared past, and screeched to a halt.

'
Oi
!
You! Where do you think you're going, mate?'

Hassan shrugged. 'The road's too
slow and I have an important business appointment. I must go another route.'

'Not bloody likely. There's a
search in progress. You stay in line, understand?'

'Yes, sir. Of course, sir.'

The military policeman glared
back, then roared off. Hassan sat there, trying not to panic, but his heart was
racing. If he tried to flee, he risked being shot before he had moved a hundred
yards. He had no option but to stay in the queue. But if Weaver recognized him,
he was finished.

He sweated in the clammy heat of
the car, and five endless minutes later he was only one vehicle away from the
head of the queue. The truck in front moved forward to be searched, then one of
the soldiers beckoned Hassan to take its place.

He was next.

He saw Weaver still at the
barrier, his hands on his hips as he watched the soldiers swarm over the truck.
But just as Hassan was about to move ahead, the American looked up, past the
truck, and stared at the Packard.

Hassan shifted back into the
shadows and swore to himself, unsure if he had been recognized. There was no
way out. He reached into the glove compartment and removed the ivory handled
knife. Tarik was dead and the American had a debt to pay. He felt the anger
well inside him. He made up his mind to kill Weaver and take his chances trying
to escape, if it came to it.

If he could smash through the
barrier and flee towards the outskirts of Alex he stood a chance - the Packard
was faster and more powerful than any army vehicle that would pursue him.

The soldier beckoned him again.
'Come on, mate. Move it, move it!'

Hassan shifted into gear, and
inched the car forward.

Weaver was growing tired, and
impatient. He watched as a corporal examined the identity papers of an Egyptian
truck driver, while one of his men climbed in to inspect the cabin. Another
looked under the chassis with an electric torch, and two more climbed on the
back to search through the cargo of melons.

Haider and Rachel had to be
somewhere in the city, but more than likely they were trying to get out. With
so many checkpoints and searches, Weaver reasoned, they couldn't have escaped.
His gut instinct told him they had to be out there, somewhere in the long queue
of traffic, trying to flee, and probably in disguise with false papers, which
was why he wanted to be present to identify them.

And then what? Weaver didn't want
to think about that.

But at least he might have a
chance of convincing Haider to surrender peacefully, before anyone else got
hurt. He sighed with frustration and looked back at the traffic waiting to
enter the city.

I A big, dark American Packard was
next in the queue. A private beckoned for the driver to move up in line and
take the truck's place, but he hesitated. Weaver strained to see the driver,
but he moved back into the shadows.

The private waved again. 'Come on,
mate. Move it, move it!' The Packard finally crept forward, the driver's face
still hidden.

Weaver approached the car, faintly
suspicious.

Suddenly an engine roared.

Weaver spun round and saw a Jeep
speeding towards the barrier, from the direction of the city. It drove on the
rim of the road, tilted at an angle, the outside wheels running on sand.

Someone was trying to make a break
for it.

He wrenched out his pistol, was
about to aim when he recognized Sanson in the passenger seat. The Jeep
screeched to a halt in a cloud of dust.

'Christ! I almost shot you.'

'Get in,' Sanson said urgently. He
called Myers over. 'Follow us, and bring a radio operator.'

'What's up?' Weaver demanded.

'We've hit pay-dirt, that's what.
The police got an anonymous tip-off. There's a suspicious couple in a brothel
near the seafront. I've got two squads on their way to surround the place -
there's no way they can escape. If we put our skates on, we can be there in ten
minutes.'

Weaver jumped into the back of the
Jeep. It swung round, and roared away.

Hassan let out a sigh of relief as
Weaver sped off. He was certain the American had spotted him, but he'd been
saved by the arrival of the British officer. He looked familiar, and Hassan
remembered where he'd seen him. One of the men who had burst into the flat to
rescue Weaver.

If both of them were involved in
the hunt, how much did they know? That worried Hassan even more. Something else
struck him: the way they had driven off in such a terrible hurry.

Perhaps they had found the
Germans? Hassan licked the hollows m his gums, remembered Tarik, and a powerful
desire for revenge for what the American had done raged inside him.

Out of the car, sir, and let's be
having your papers,' a sergeant ordered.

Hassan climbed out. The sergeant
examined his papers carefully, as a couple of soldiers quickly checked inside
the car and opened the boot.

'Your business in Alex, sir?'

'I'm visiting my father. He's very
ill.' If he'd been wearing a djellaba instead of a suit, and driving a donkey
cart instead of the Packard, Hassan knew the sergeant wouldn't have shown him
such courtesy.

'The car's clean, Sarge, but I
found this.'

A corporal handed over the knife.
'A pretty dangerous weapon,' the sergeant remarked, and raised his eyes,
waiting for an explanation.

Hassan shrugged, confident he was
safe. 'I'm a businessman.

I'm sure you know how it is,
Sergeant. In
Egypt
,
a man like myself must protect himself from hoodlums and thieves.'

The sergeant didn't seem to doubt
it for a minute. He handed Hassan back his knife.

'May I enquire why all this
searching?'

'No, sir, you may not. Move on,
please.'

Hassan got back into the car and
started the engine. On the long stretch of desert road up ahead, he saw the
tail-lights of Weaver's Jeep, and the second one behind it, racing towards the
city. Deacon had told him to find the policeman. But a thought suddenly sparked
in Hassan's head.

He had a better idea.