Glenn Meade (57 page)

'You really think this thing can
make it across rough desert?'

Haider asked doubtfully.

We'll have to try.'

'With the head start that Deacon's
got, let's hope it's not a wasted trip.'

Weaver hit the ignition, and it
started first time. 'You still haven't told me how you got yourself into this
mess.'

'Unless you want a dead President,
just drive like hell, Harry.

Time enough to explain on the
way.'

Suddenly, up ahead, they saw
troops pile out of the villa and climb back into the Jeep and truck, engines
roaring to life. 'It looks like Sanson got the message. Let's see if we can
beat him to it.' Weaver yanked the steering wheel round, hit the accelerator,
the wheels kicked up dust, and they sped towards the desert track that led to
Nazlat as Saman.

Deacon led the way through the
passageway, holding up one of the storm lamps they had left in the tomb recess.

When they came to the end and saw
the boulder, he put down the lamp, looked back at Rachel Stern. 'You'd better
change into that uniform. Meanwhile, I'll see how the land lies.'

He climbed up on to the rock,
struggled up through the shaft, and five minutes later came back down again and
slid from the boulder. 'There're a couple of sentries about a hundred meters
away, but they're on the move, so they'll pass soon enough and then it should
be safe for you to go up.' There was a fanatical glint in his eyes, his voice
almost hoarse with excitement.

'Well, the moment of truth's
arrived. Are you ready to do your duty, Fraulein Stern?'

She had already changed into Helen
Kane's uniform, and looked back at him grimly, her face strained, marble-white.
'Is that what you call it?'

'What else?' Deacon clapped a hand
firmly on her shoulder, his expression uncompromising. 'From this moment on,
the future of the Reich depends on your success. Don't let the Fiihrer down.
And if you make it back, I can promise you a night to remember in
Berlin
- champagne and
roses all the way.

Good luck.'

Deacon looked as if he were about
to stretch out his arm and give her the Nazi salute, but she pushed his hand
from her shoulder, before tucking the silenced Luger inside her tunic.

'Forget the Nazi sentiment,
Deacon. It's not why I'm doing this.'

Deacon raised an eyebrow, grinned.
'Motives don't interest me, Liebchen, so long as you do what needs to be done.
And let's just hope that traitor Haider told me the truth about the location of
Roosevelt
's room. Now, you'd better move.'

He gave her a hand on to the
boulder, and she climbed up, before disappearing through the shaft.

Moments later, Deacon stepped well
back into the passageway, dimmed the lamp to a faint glow, and the light in the
tunnel faded to a ghostly semi-darkness. He lit a cigar from the tiny flame to
steady his nerves, blew out a puff of smoke. 'You poor bitch,' he whispered
softly to himself. 'Whatever your chances of pulling this off, I'll bet you
haven't a hope of making it back alive.'

'Move me over to the window, son.
I'd like to see them again.'

'Yes, sir.'

Griffith
wheeled
Roosevelt
to the bedroom's French
windows and pulled back the hinged mosquito screen. A large covered patio with
terracotta tiles lay outside, scattered with earthenware flowerpots, some cane
tables and chairs. In the gardens one floor below, armed sentries paced the
darkened lawns. Several hundred yards away the massive shapes of the pyramids
loomed, almost obliterating the night sky. It was a truly awesome scene, and
Roosevelt
marveled at the view from his private room.

'Quite a sight, isn't it, Jim?'

The President nearly always called
his personal bodyguards by their first names, a familiarity that charmed them.
Duty aside, Griffith knew with certainty there wasn't a guy on the roster who
wouldn't lay down his life for the man, including himself and Howie Anderson,
"whom he'd left back in the lounge, flicking through some magazines to pass
the time, now that the ambassador and general had gone. 'Yes, sir. It sure is.'

'You know, all this excitement
isn't good for an old man.

One of the
Seven
Wonders of the World
right on my doorstep, and a team of German
commandos hell-bent on trying to kill me. I guess you might say it's been an
interesting trip.'

Griffith
smiled. 'I guess you're right, sir.
But let's be grateful the general's pretty much wrapped up those Germans. Are
you ready to go back to bed, Mr President?'

Roosevelt
had looked restless since he'd been woken, the heat in the room unbearable.
There was a ceiling fan overhead, but it made little difference. 'While I'm up,
I've a mind to have a look at some paperwork. Bring me my briefcase, will you,
Jim?'

'Whatever you say, Mr President.'

Griffith
pulled the wheelchair back from the
window, put the mosquito screen back in place, then fetched the briefcase. He
knew from experience that whenever
Roosevelt
woke in the middle of the night, it could be hours before the man went back to
sleep. 'Will there be anything else, sir?'

'I guess that'll be all.'

'Yes, sir.'
Griffith
moved towards the bedroom door to
let himself out, out of habit made one final check, glanced back.

'You're sure you'll be OK, Mr
President?'

'Just fine.'
Roosevelt
nodded at the metal bell he always kept by his bedside. 'But if I need anything
I'll ring.' Suddenly a thoughtful look appeared on his face as he made to open
the briefcase. He sighed, adjusted the glasses on his nose, and his expression
sagged, hinting at some private torment. 'You know, it all seems such a waste.
A terrible, futile waste.'

'Sir?'

'Those casualties - Germans
included. It pains me deeply, the loss of more fine young lives, and all in
vain.'

'I guess that's the price of war,
Mr President.'

'And what a high price it is,
son.'

Weaver kept his foot hard on the
accelerator, the
Humber
's engine straining,
kicking up a formidable plume of dust as they sped along the desert track, the
suspension taking an almighty hammering. 'Another five minutes and we should
make Nazlat as Saman.'

'You mean assuming this crate
doesn't blow a tyre or a gasket.'

Weaver tried to concentrate on the
track ahead, the blue painted headlights barely illuminating the way. 'From
what you told me, your friend Schellenberg sounds like a conniving bastard.'

'It's just a game to him, Harry.
People's lives don't figure at all'

'What happened to your father and
son - I'm really sorry, Jack.'

Haider barely nodded in reply, his
face grim with remorse, before he peered back through the rear window. It was
impossible to see through the dust cloud behind them, as the
Humber
bumped and skidded along at over fifty miles an hour.

He opened the passenger door, made
to step out. 'Try not to hit any bumps. I don't want you to lose me.'

'What?'

'I need to see if we've got
company.' He kept a foot on the running board, held on to the open door and
leaned out as far as he could. Back through the dust haze, he could make out a
pair of blue headlights in the near distance. He pulled himself back into the
cab, shut the door.

'We've got company. Your friend
Sanson, no doubt, and he's hot on our heels, about a mile back, I'd say.'

'You'd better hold on. This is
where it starts to get interesting.'

Weaver pushed his foot hard to the
floor, giving it everything. The wheels skidded, gripped, and the
Humber
's engine snarled like an enraged animal.

'I think I see them.'

Sanson had on a pair of sand
goggles as he stood upright in the passenger seat, gripping the Jeep's dust
shield as they bumped over the rock-strewn ground. The desert was a ghostly
silver grey under the quarter-moon, but about a mile ahead he could distinguish
a ferocious plume of dust.

'I'd say it's definitely a
vehicle, sir,' the major said from the back, squinting through his sand
goggles.

'Too bloody right it is,' Sanson
answered. 'And you can bet it's Weaver and Haider.'

'I just hope Lieutenant Kane gets
the message through to the hotel in time.'

Sanson sat down in the Jeep, his
face covered in sweat. He'd sent Helen Kane and the rest of the men back
towards
Cairo
in the truck to search for a telephone. 'If she doesn't, I've got a feeling we
can whistle goodbye to a victory parade through the streets of
Berlin
.' He slapped the
driver on the shoulder. 'Get that foot down hard, man!'

She lay in the hollow in the
ground, aware of the intense pounding in her chest, her palms wet with
perspiration. She saw the two sentries pass fifty meters away, and when they
had gone, she dusted her uniform and stood, moved out from the bushes, and
started to walk towards the hotel building.

She had barely gone twenty paces
when she saw another two GI sentries on patrol, their MI carbines slung over
their shoulders. She started to reach for the Luger, but the men snapped off salutes
as they went past. For a second she almost forgot she was wearing the
lieutenant's uniform, and there was a moment of blind panic before she returned
the salute.

One of the sentries noticed the
reaction, stopped and came back. 'Is everything all right, Lieutenant?'

'I - I just needed some air,
Corporal. It's pretty hot inside the hotel. But thank you.'

The corporal studied her
suspiciously. When she looked down she saw a heavy patch of dust on her
uniform. She brushed it away. The corporal frowned, as if seeking an
explanation.

'I was feeling a little faint and
had to sit down, I'm afraid. But I'm fine now.’

The corporal noticed the green
Intelligence Corps flash on her uniform sleeve, the moment of suspicion seemed
to pass, and he saluted again. 'You need any help, Lieutenant, or you want us
to find you a doc, you let us know.'

'That's very kind of you,
Corporal. But I'll be OK.'

The truck rattled along the narrow
road, slowed as it came towards a private villa with high walls, and Helen Kane
shouted, 'Stop!'

The driver kept the engine
running. She clambered out of the cab, and a sergeant armed with a Sten gun
joined her. They approached a padlocked wrought-iron gate, a stone lily pond
and some jacaranda and palm trees visible beyond in the gardens.

The villa's shutters were closed,
the place in darkness, looking totally deserted, but there was a bell-pull by
the gate, and she tugged at it frantically, heard a hollow ring somewhere
inside.

'It looks like there's no one at
home, Lieutenant.'

'There's to be,' Helen Kane
answered. It was the second property they had tried in the last ten minutes,
but she knew most of the big villas on the
Giza
side of the Nile were secluded weekend retreats for
Cairo
's wealthy, vacant during the week
except for servants. At the first one they had tried, they had managed to rouse
the elderly caretaker from his bed, but the confused man told them the villa
hadn't got a telephone.

She tugged desperately at the bell
again, and rattled the locked gates. The sergeant was busy scanning the garden,
then peered away, down the road. 'There isn't a telephone pole in sight,
Lieutenant. I reckon they haven't got a line.'

'But we simply have to find one.'
Helen looked frantically along the darkened road, made a decision instantly and
moved back towards the truck. 'There's a police station a couple of miles
further on, towards the
English
Bridge
. We'll have to try
there.'

Weaver drove into Nazlat as-Saman
like a thunderbolt, the Humber bumping like mad through the rutted streets, the
darkened village deserted, except for a couple of mangy dogs who darted for
cover when they heard the roar of the engine.

He sped up past the Sphinx towards
the pyramids, and a hundred yards up the hill saw the red-and-white police
barrier strung across the road.

He slammed on the brakes and
Haider jumped out. 'I'll move it.'

As he raised the pole, he saw the
policeman tied up in the sentry hut, unconscious, a gag around his mouth. He
felt the man's pulse, then ran back to the car and climbed in as Weaver
accelerated away. 'Well?'

'They've been. The guard's out
cold.' Haider pointed up the hill towards the tomb ruins, sweat on his face.
'Keep going, straight on up until I tell you to stop.'

Sanson roared in through the
village two minutes behind them.

It was deathly quiet, no sign of
Weaver's car. 'Carry on up the hill,' he ordered the driver frantically, and
pointed up towards the road leading past the Sphinx.

When they reached the sentry box
and the raised barrier, he told the driver to slow as they drove past. He saw
the policeman, gagged and tied, then scanned among the shadows of the crumbling
ruins and pyramids, looming at them out of the darkness, his frustration
boiling. 'Where the hell are they?'

'Shouldn't we be looking for this
tunnel, sir?' the major asked.

'There isn't time, not now - the
woman's got too much of a head start. And if our message hasn't got through
we're already in trouble.' Sanson drew his revolver, his eyes wild as he
slapped the driver on the shoulder. 'Drive straight to the hotel - as fast as
you bloody can. I want Rachel Stern dead as soon as she's spotted.'