Glenn Meade (38 page)

Weaver's heart skipped as he told
the driver to pull in.

'What's the address?'

The operator told him, glanced at
Myers, and tried to suppress a smile. 'It's a high-class knocking shop on the
Corniche, sir, popular with some of the senior brass. The Provost's dispatched
two dozen men. They should be there within minutes. But it's only a couple of
streets away - we might get there sooner.'

Weaver said anxiously, 'Pass on
the word - no one's to do anything rash until I arrive. I want the couple
alive.' As the radio operator spoke into the mike,
Weavqr
shouted at the driver, 'Let's move it, soldier. Put your foot down.'

The poodle yapped at Haider's feet
and he said to Rachel, 'Put the dog outside for now, and find a towel and some
bed-sheets. Then turn off all the lights on the ground floor.'

Rachel picked up the protesting
animal and carried him out into the hall. Haider looked back at Madam Pirou.
The woman seemed paralysed with fear, but was obviously relieved she hadn't
been shot.

'What did you tell the military
police?'

She told him, and Haider said,
'Who else is in the building?'

'No one. Everyone's gone. I - I
thought there might be trouble.'

'Very thoughtful of you. Do you
have a car, by any chance?'

The woman didn't answer. Haider
levelled the gun and said gently, 'Madame, it's really against my nature to
threaten a lady, but believe me, I mean business.'

'I - I have a Citroen.'

'Where?'

'In a garage at the back.'

'Does the garage open on to the
street at the rear?'

'Y - Yes.'

'Where are the keys for both?'

'In the bottom drawer of my desk.'
« Haider searched and found them. 'I presume there's fuel in the tank?'

Gabrielle nodded, still trembling.
Her military connections ensured that she always had a plentiful supply.
Suddenly they both heard loud knocking. It sounded as if it was coming from the
front door down the hall.

'Who's that?' barked Haider.

The Frenchwoman looked terribly
frightened. 'Probably a customer.'

'Or your phone call got a quicker
response than you expected.' Haider yanked the telephone wire from the wall
socket as Rachel came back with a towel and sheets. 'There's someone at the
front door.'

'I heard.' He put down his gun,
twisted the bed-sheets and used them to tie the madame to one of the chairs,
then secured the towel around her mouth. 'Unlike some of your customers, I
can't say it's been a pleasure, madame. I hope you won't be too uncomfortable
for too long.'

Gabrielle Pirou squealed behind
the gag. The knocking down the hall became louder. Haider picked up the
revolver and nodded to Rachel. 'Let's go.'

Weaver pounded on the front door
for the third time.

He looked up at the four-storey
building. No lights were on the place was in complete darkness. He had his
pistol out and his driver, a corporal, stood beside him, a Sten gun in his
hands, Myers and the radio operator waiting on the pavement, weapons at the
ready. People strolling on the promenade across the Corniche looked over, and a
few curious passers-by began to stop and stare. Weaver said to the corporal,
'Tell them to move on.'

The corporal did as he was told,
and Weaver went back down the front steps and said to Myers, 'You're sure this
is the address?'

Yes, sir. It's well known by
reputation. Run by a Frenchwoman named Madam Pirou. You want me to try and see
if there’s a back way in? I think there's a side street further along that
leads to the rear.’

Weaver looked back at the
building. If anyone was inside, they would have heard him knocking by now, but
no lights had come on, and it made him deeply suspicious.

'No, I'll do it myself. You stay
here and cover the front. If anyone comes out, caution them before you start
any shooting.

When the rest of the men arrive,
tell them the same. I want the couple alive, if possible.'

Weaver saw the entrance to a
darkened alleyway further down the street. 'Is that the way to the rear?'

'I think so, sir.' Myers nodded.

Weaver cocked his pistol and raced
towards the alley.

Haider stepped out into the rear
courtyard, Rachel behind him.

He saw the outhouse he had noticed
earlier from the upstairs window, and realized it was the garage. There was an
entrance door off to one side, and he found it unlocked.

The place was in pitch darkness
and smelled of oil. He fumbled along the walls and flicked on a light switch. A
black pre-war Citroen, its chrome and bodywork brightly polished, stood
gleaming under the light, and there was a pair of wooden exit doors that led
outside, a small Judas-gate set in one of them.

'See if they're open.' Haider
yanked the driver's door of the Citroen and jumped inside.

Rachel rattled the garage doors.
'They're locked.'

He tossed her the keys and she
found the right one and turned the lock. 'Don't open them out yet - I'll do it
when I'm ready,' Haider told her. 'Now give me back the keys.'

She threw them across. He inserted
one of the keys in the ignition, pressed the starter switch, and the engine
spluttered and died. 'Say a prayer.' He tried again, twice, and it started the
third time. 'The gods are with us after all. Climb in.'

Rachel slid into the passenger
seat, then Haider went over to the Judas-gate, opened it a crack, and looked
out. A cobbled back street lay outside, lit by the wash of lights from a couple
of buildings and the cafe opposite. A few Arabs and off-duty soldiers passed by
in the street. He was just about to open the garage doors when he suddenly
heard a commotion further along the alley. A man was moving at a jogging pace
along the wall, coming towards the garage, carrying a pistol.

Passers-by were stepping out of
the man's way, and he recognized Harry Weaver at once. Haider moved smartly back
inside and shut the Judas-gate.

'It seems I spoke too soon.'

'What's the matter?' Rachel asked.

'We've got company - Harry, to be
precise, and he's coming this way. The madame's phone call must have brought
him running.'

'You… you're not serious?'

'Believe me, it's him. Get in the
passenger seat and kill the engine. Stay in the car and don't make a sound.'

Rachel did as she was told,
leaning across the dashboard and turning off the ignition. The garage became
deathly silent.

Haider killed the light, then
fumbled his way back to the Citroen. A little later they heard the creak of a
gate being opened somewhere outside, then silence. After a while, Rachel seemed
unable to bear the tension, and she whispered, 'Where's he gone?'

'At a guess, in the back way to
look for us.'

'Shouldn't we get out of here
before it's too late?'

Haider made to move out of the
car. 'There's been a slight change of plan. Stay here and don't make a sound.'

'But that's crazy. Harry will-'

'Just do as I say.' Haider cocked
the revolver, stepped out of the seat, and disappeared into the darkness.

Weaver had counted off the rear
entrances as he moved along the back wall, pistol in hand, hardly paying
attention to the shocked passers-by in the street who stared at him. He came to
an arched iron gate that opened into a small flagstoned courtyard, a couple of
fig trees beyond. He saw a pair of double wooden doors further along the wall
but he ignored them and tried the gate.

It creaked open and he stepped
into the courtyard. Across the flagstones was a door into the rear of the main
building. He moved towards it, tried the handle. The door opened, and he found
himself in an unlit hallway. On one side was a darkened kitchen, with more
rooms further along.

He was aware of an unbearable
tension coiled inside him as he felt his way along the hall, pistol at the
ready. He heard a noise and halted. It sounded like a dog yapping, and came
from a room up the hall. He moved towards the door, halted outside.

The yapping erupted again. He
readied himself, put a hand on the doorknob, turned it slowly, and burst into
the room, ready to fire.

A poodle nipped at his feet. He
almost shot the animal, before he saw the woman tied to a chair and gagged with
a towel. He laid down his pistol, loosened the gag, and the woman sucked in
air, white from trauma.

'Merci! Thank God you came!'

Weaver untied her and she scooped
up the poodle and embraced it. 'The Bosch bastards - they put petit Donny and
me through hell!'

The woman emitted a string of
French expletives before Weaver interrupted. 'Madam Pirou?'

'
Oui
’

'Where's the couple?'

Weaver stepped out into the
courtyard. He saw the garage across the patio and moved towards it carefully.
He hesitated before he turned the door handle. The interior was in darkness,
but he could see the dim outline of a car. Haider and Rachel hadn't taken it
after all. He moved inside. The garage appeared empty, and there was a strong
smell of oil and must, but as he fumbled for a light switch he felt the cold
tip of a gun barrel on the back of his neck.

'Not a word, Harry,' a voice
whispered. 'Don't try to move. I'd really hate to have to kill you. Now, put
the safety catch °n, then drop your pistol on the ground.'

Weaver did as he was told and the
pistol clattered to the floor. A second later a bulb blazed on and the garage
was flooded with light. Weaver stared ahead. Sitting in the Citroen's passenger
seat was Rachel. She looked around and her eyes met his.

Before Weaver could speak, Haider
stepped out from behind, a revolver in his hand, and picked up the Colt pistol.

'We meet again, old friend, again
hardly in pleasant circumstances.'

'What the hell's going on?'

'If you don't mind, we'll save the
reunion speeches for later.

For now, move to the front of the
car.'

Weaver obeyed. Haider said, 'Are
any of your men outside?'

When Weaver hesitated, Haider
said, 'Don't lie to me, Harry, or people are liable to get killed. Us
included.'

'They're at the front. I came
round the back way.'

'Alone?'

'Yes.'

'Get in the driver's seat.'

'You'll never get away,' Weaver
told him. 'The area's surrounded.'

'Maybe, but I happen to have an
ace up my sleeve.'

'And what's that?'

Haider smiled. 'I'll tell you
later, Harry. Now get in the car and do exactly as you're told. Drive out on to
the street, hang a left, and head east out of the city. Keep going until I tell
you to stop.'

'You're crazy, Jack. You won't get
a hundred yards. The entire city's crawling with troops and police, looking for
you.'

'A fact I'm well aware of. Get in
the car.'

Weaver slid in beside Rachel. He
looked across at her face, felt overcome with emotion. 'Rachel-'

'Hello, Harry.'

Before Weaver could speak further,
Haider climbed into the back seat and prodded the revolver in his ribs. 'See if
the street's clear,' he ordered Rachel. 'If you spot uniforms or anything
suspicious, let me know.'

Rachel did as Haider instructed.
She walked to the doors and peered out through the Judas-gate, then came back.
'It all looks quiet, apart from a few pedestrians. I didn't see any soldiers.'

'Then let's be grateful for small
mercies - it sounds like maybe we're a little ahead of Harry's posse. Open out
the doors, then get back in here.'

She pushed out the double doors,
then she came back and sat in the passenger seat. Haider said, 'Start the car,
Harry.'

'Jack, for God's sake be sensible
- we can't get far.'

Haider pushed the gun harder into
his ribs. 'I'd appreciate it if you'd do as you're told. I don't want to do
something I'll be sorry for. And don't turn on the headlights until I tell you
to.'

Weaver started the ignition and
the engine throbbed into life first time.

'Drive on out,' Haider ordered.
'If anyone tries to stop us or gets in our way, put your foot down hard. And
remember, don't even attempt to stop the car unless I tell you.'

Weaver revved the engine. He
waited until a couple of Arab pedestrians in the alley had moved out of the
way, then shifted into gear and released the clutch. The Citroen jerked
forward, and he swung left out of the garage.

Hassan pulled up on the seafront
and killed the engine. He knew he couldn't keep following Weaver for much
longer without being spotted. He had seen the American knock on the door of the
house on the Corniche, then disappear down an alleyway while his men waited
outside. He was still looking for the Germans in the red-light district, that
much was obvious.

Hassan sat there in frustration.
If they were inside the building, he hadn't a hope of alerting them first, not
with armed troops on the street. But it looked as if Weaver was going to cover
the back way, alone. He slipped the knife into his pocket and got out of the
car.

He crossed the road and turned
down one of the alleyways that brought him to the rear of the seafront
buildings, but saw no sign of the American. As he walked along, trying to count
off the houses, a pair of garage doors suddenly swung open further down the
alley. A black Citroen drove out, its headlights extinguished. Weaver sat in
the driver's seat, a woman in front beside him, another man wearing civilian clothes
in the back.

The car swung left and drove away,
picking up speed. For a moment, Hassan stood there in complete bewilderment,
then he raced back to the Packard.

As he came out on to the seafront
again he saw an army truck screech to a halt on the promenade, followed by
several Jeeps.

He slowed to a walking pace,
anxious not to draw attention to himself. Soldiers were appearing from
everywhere now, and a section of the Corniche was being sealed off. Outside the
house where Weaver had knocked, troops took up positions.

It took Hassan less than two
anxious minutes to walk back to the Packard, but he knew by then he was far too
late. He had lost whatever chance he had of following Weaver. He couldn't risk
driving off at speed, and he hadn't a hope of finding the Citroen in the maze
of back streets. He cursed as he slid into the car.

The road ahead was completely
blocked with soldiers. A handful were being led towards the back streets by an
officer.

The fools didn't know what had
happened. Two of the Germans had obviously escaped and taken Weaver with them
as hostage. Hassan sat there, trying to reason things out.

The Germans might try to make for
Rashid. It was probably their only hope of escape. He grinned wickedly and
started the engine, an interesting thought coming to him. If he took one of the
minor roads that cut on to the coast, he might even get there before them. And
if he was right, and Rashid was where the Germans were headed, then he had a
chance of settling his score with the American.

Weaver drove through the twisting
back streets, until Haider said, 'Turn on the headlights.'

They were dimmed with blue paint
because of the blackout regulations, and when Weaver flicked on the beams, they
hardly made a difference.

Haider leaned forward, looked left
and right. 'Head towards the sea. Keep your speed down, unless I tell you
otherwise.'

'How about telling me what's going
on?' h 'We'll leave the talk until later. Just concentrate on driving.'

Weaver swung left and eventually
came to a junction with the Corniche. Across the street, the
Mediterranean
shimmered in the moonlight. Suddenly an open army truck sped past along the
seafront, dozens of armed troops standing in the back, followed by several
Jeeps.

'Wait! Keep your foot off the
pedal,' Haider ordered.

The vehicles pulled up outside
Madam Pirou's, men climbing down and taking up positions on the street.

'It looks like we got out just in
time.' Haider checked left and right. 'OK, the road's clear. Pull out and turn
right.'

When Weaver hesitated, Haider
pushed the pistol into his ribs. 'You heard me, Harry. Do it.'

Weaver turned right, along the
Corniche. 'Where am I supposed to be going?'

'Just continue east out of the
city. That's all you need to know for now.'

They drove on in silence along the
seafront, the tension in the car unbearable. Weaver glanced across at Rachel.
She looked at him.

'Keep your eyes on the road,'
Haider intervened.

'You'll never make it out of Alex
alive. Surrender, Jack, it's your only chance.'

'We have an ace, remember.'

'And what's that?'

'You, Harry. You're going to get
us out of this mess.'

Up ahead, they all saw a barrier
strung across the road, several MPs and Egyptian policemen with rifles and
machineguns manning the blockade. A military truck was parked on the footpath,
a radio operator sitting on the back running board.

Haider tensed. 'I guess this is
the acid test. When we get close, explain who you are and show your ID. Tell
them you're making a checkpoint inspection. If anyone asks any questions, .
we're with you, and you're in a hurry. Think you can manage that?'

'And if I don't?'

'There'll be shooting, and we're
all in trouble. But somehow I don't think you want that.'

Weaver flicked a glance at Rachel.
She looked frightened, and touched his hand. 'Please, Harry. Just do as he
says.'

Moments later they were at the
checkpoint and Weaver eased the Citroen to a halt. A sergeant came forward and
flashed a torch in their faces. Weaver rolled down the window and the sergeant
saluted.

'Sorry, sir, but we'll have to check
your vehicle and papers.'

He looked in at the passengers.
'Yours too, sir, madam.'

Weaver handed across his ID.
'Lieutenant-Colonel Weaver, military intelligence. I'm overseeing this
operation. Have you anything to report?'

The sergeant quickly examined
Weaver's ID under the torch light, handed it back, and snapped to attention.
'Sorry, sir.

Nothing.'

'Are you stopping every vehicle
and pedestrian?'

'Yes, sir, civilian and military,
exactly as we were ordered.'

Weaver jerked a thumb at Rachel
and Haider. 'These people are with me, there's no need to check their
documents. We're in a hurry.'

The sergeant looked in at the
passengers. For a second or two he hesitated, as if unsure about something,
then Weaver said, 'Get a move on with the barrier, Sergeant. I've got more
checkpoint inspections to make and I haven't got all night.'

'I'm sorry, sir, but I have orders
to examine every passenger's documents-'

'Of course you have. Those were my
orders. Now do as I say.'

'Yes, sir. Very good, sir.' The
sergeant saluted and ordered II his men to move the barrier. Weaver drove
through. When he looked in the rear-view mirror he saw the sergeant stare after
the Citroen, scratching his jaw, before he strode over to the radio I'll
sitting at the back of the truck.

Haider let out a breath. 'You did
well, Harry. Let's just hope III our luck holds.'

'What now?' Weaver asked grimly.

'Take the next turning for
Rashid.'

The seafront bristled with troops,
and Sanson climbed briskly out of his Jeep and went over to a corporal with a
Sten gun hanging from his shoulder. 'Sanson, Intelligence. What's happening?'

'We only just got here ourselves,
sir. We tried knocking on the door but got no reply.'

Sanson looked up at the building.
The lights were out and it appeared deserted. 'You're certain this is the
place?'

'Positive, sir.'

'Where's Lieutenant-Colonel
Weaver?'

'He went looking for a back way
in.'

'When?'

'About five minutes ago.'

Sanson called over an officer and
flashed his ID. Tin taking charge. Get a couple of dozen men round the back -1
want the alleyways sealed off.'

'I believe Captain Myers and some
men went round the back a few minutes ago, sir, looking for Lieutenant-Colonel
Weaver.'

'Have they got a radio?'

'No, sir.'

'Then send some more men after
them and find out what the bloody hell's going on. Make certain both ends of
the street are blocked off, front and back - no one gets in or out. And find
Lieutenant-Colonel Weaver.'

'Yes, sir.'

The officer was about to turn away
when light showed through the glass above the hall door, and the corporal said
to Sanson, 'Something's happening, sir.'

I 'Tell the men to take positions.
No one's to shoot unless I give the order. Pass it on.'

The officer barked the order and
soldiers raced for cover, readied their weapons. Sanson bounded up the steps to
the front entrance, drawing his pistol, a couple of men behind him. They
positioned themselves on either side of the door. A moment later came the
rattle of bolts.

'Is that you, Weaver?' Sanson
called out. 'Are you in there?'

The door began to open very slowly
and an elderly woman appeared. Her face was a mask of smudged lipstick and
rouge, and her mouth dropped when she saw the array of weapons pointed at her.

'Oh my God! Please don't shoot she
screamed.

'Put your bloody hands in the air,
where I can see them, and don't try anything,' Sanson roared.

Behind the woman, a man's voice
said, 'Don't shoot, for Christ's sake!'

Myers appeared, a couple of
infantrymen behind him.

Sanson frowned as he lowered his
gun, then he exploded.

'What the fuck is going on?
Where's Weaver?'

'We got in the back way, sir. It
seems he's disappeared.'

Sanson stormed into the garage and
out through the double doors. The back street was crowded with soldiers,
sealing off the area. He came back into the garage. 'You're absolutely certain
Lieutenant-Colonel Weaver came this way?'

Gabrielle Pirou nodded. 'When he
heard the couple took my car keys, he went after them.'

Sanson kicked one of the doors
furiously, his face livid.

'What's the licence number of your
car?'

She told him, and a fuming Sanson
said to an NCO near by, 'Get on the radio and alert every patrol and
checkpoint. Give them the licence number and tell them to be on the lookout for
a black Citroen with three passengers. The car's got to be stopped no matter
what.'

Myers stumbled in through the
garage doors, out of breath, and saluted. 'I questioned the people in the cafe
across the street like you said, sir.'

'Well? Spit it out, man!'

'The owner claims he saw someone
drive out in Madam Pirou's Citroen no more than a few minutes ago. He thinks
there were three people inside, a woman and two men. A uniformed officer was
behind the wheel. From the description I got, it sounds like Lieutenant-Colonel
Weaver.'