World War II Thriller Collection (40 page)

He must have another key with the other radio, Elene thought.

Wolff watched the flames to make sure the paper was entirely burned. He looked at the book, as if contemplating burning that too, then he opened a porthole and dropped it into the river.

He took a small suitcase from a cupboard and began to pack a few things into it.

“Where are you going?” Elene said.

“You'll find out—you're coming.”

“Oh, no.” What would he do with her? He had caught her deceiving him—had he dreamed up some appropriate punishment? She felt very weary and afraid. Nothing she had done had turned out well. At one time she had been afraid merely that she would have to have sex with him. How much more there was to fear now. She thought of trying again to run away—she had almost made it last time—but she no longer had the spirit.

Wolff continued packing his case. Elene saw some of her own clothes on the floor, and remembered that she had not dressed properly. There were her panties, her stockings and her brassiere. She decided to put them on. She stood up and pulled her dress over her head. She bent down to pick up her underwear. As she stood up Wolff embraced her. He pressed a rough kiss against her lips, not seeming to care that she was completely unresponsive. He reached between her legs and thrust a finger inside her. He withdrew his finger from her vagina and shoved it into her anus. She tensed. He pushed his finger in farther, and she gasped with pain.

He looked into her eyes. “Do you know, I think I'd take you with me even if I didn't have a use for you.”

She closed her eyes, humiliated. He turned from her abruptly and returned to his packing.

She put on her clothes.

When he was ready, he took a last look around and said: “Let's go.”

Elene followed him up onto the deck, wondering what he planned to do about Sonja.

As if he knew what she was thinking, he said: “I hate to disturb Sonja's beauty sleep.” He grinned. “Get moving.”

They walked along the towpath. Why was he leaving Sonja behind? Elene wondered. She could not figure it out, but she knew it was callous. Wolff was a completely unscrupulous man, she decided; and the thought made her shudder, for she was in his power.

She wondered whether she could kill him.

He carried his case in his left hand and gripped her arm with his right. They turned onto the footpath, walked to the street, and went to his car. He unlocked the door on the driver's side and made her climb in over the gear stick to the passenger side. He got in beside her and started the car.

It was a miracle the car was still in one piece after being left on the road all night: normally anything detachable would have been stolen, including wheels. He gets all the luck there is, Elene thought.

They drove away. Elene wondered where they were going. Wherever it was, Wolff's second radio was there, along with another copy of
Rebecca
and another key to the code. When we get there, I'll have to try again, she thought wearily. It was all up to her now. Wolff had left the houseboat, so there was nothing Vandam could do even after somebody untied him. Elene, on her own, had to try to stop Wolff from contacting Rommel, and if possible steal the key to the code. The idea was ridiculous, shooting for the moon. All she really wanted was to get away from this evil, dangerous man, to go home, to forget about spies and codes and war, to feel safe again.

She thought of her father, walking to Jerusalem, and she knew she had to try.

Wolff stopped the car. Elene realized where they were. She said: “This is Vandam's house!”

“Yes.”

She gazed at Wolff, trying to read the expression on his face. She said: “But Vandam isn't there.”

“No.” Wolff smiled bleakly. “But Billy is.”

ANWAR EL-SADAT WAS DELIGHTED WITH THE RADIO.

“It's a Hallicrafter-Skychallenger,” he told Kernel. “American.” He plugged it in to test it, and pronounced it very powerful.

Kemel explained that he had to broadcast at midnight on the preset wavelength, and that the call sign was Sphinx. He said that Wolff had refused to give him the code, and that they would have to take the risk of broadcasting in clear.

They hid the radio in the oven in the kitchen of the little house.

Kemel left Sadat's home and drove from Kubri al-Qubbah back to Zamalek. On the way he considered how he was to cover up his role in the events of the night.

His story would have to tally with that of the sergeant whom Vandam had sent for help, so he would have to admit that he had received the phone call. Perhaps he would say that, before alerting the British, he had gone to the houseboat himself to investigate, in case “Major Vandam” was an impostor. What then? He had searched the towpath and the bushes for Vandam, and then he, too, had been knocked on the head. The snag was that he would not have stayed unconscious all these hours. So he would have to say that he had been tied up. Yes, he would say he had been tied up and had just managed to free himself. Then he and Vandam would board the houseboat—and find it empty.

It would serve.

He parked his car and went cautiously down to the towpath. Looking into the shrubbery, he figured out roughly where he had left Vandam. He went into the bushes thirty or forty yards away from that spot. He lay down on the ground and rolled over, to make his clothes dirty, then he rubbed some of the sandy soil on his face and ran his fingers through his hair. Then, rubbing his wrists to make them look sore, he went in search of Vandam.

He found him exactly where he had left him. The bonds were still tight and the gag still in place. Vandam looked at Kemel with wide, staring eyes.

Kemel said: “My God, they got you, too!”

He-bent down, removed the gag, and began to untie Vandam. “The sergeant contacted me,” he explained. “I came down here looking for you, and the next thing I knew, I woke up bound and gagged with a headache. That was hours ago. I just got free.”

Vandam said nothing.

Kemel threw the rope aside. Vandam stood up stiffly. Kemel said: “How do you feel?”

“I'm all right.”

“Let's board the houseboat and see what we can find,” Kemel said. He turned around.

 

As soon as Kemel turned his back, Vandam stepped forward and hit him as hard as he possibly could with an edge-of-the-hand blow to the back of the neck. It might have killed Kemel, but Vandam did not care. Vandam had been bound and gagged, and he had been unable to see the towpath; but he had been able to hear: “I'm Kernel. You must be Wolff.” That was how he knew that Kemel had betrayed him. Kemel had not thought of that possibility, obviously. Since overhearing those words, Vandam had been seething, and all his pent-up anger had gone into the blow.

Kemel lay on the ground, stunned. Vandam rolled him over, searched him and found the gun. He used the rope that had bound his own hands to tie Kernel's hands behind his back. Then he slapped Kemel's face until he came around.

“Get up,” Vandam said.

Kemel looked blank, then fear came into his eyes. “What are you doing?”

Vandam kicked him. “Kicking you,” he said. “Get up.”

Kemel struggled to his feet.

“Turn around.”

Kemel turned around. Vandam took hold of Kemel's collar with his left hand, keeping the gun in his right.

“Move.”

They walked to the houseboat. Vandam pushed Kemel ahead, up the gangplank and across the deck.

“Open the hatch.”

Kemel put the toe of his shoe into the handle of the hatch and lifted it open.

“Go down.”

Awkwardly, with his hands tied, Kemel descended the ladder. Vandam bent down to look inside. There was nobody there. He went quickly down the ladder. Pushing Kemel to one side, he pulled back the curtain, covering the space behind with the gun.

He saw Sonja in bed, sleeping.

“Get in there,” he told Kernel.

Kemel went through and stood beside the head of the bed.

“Wake her.”

Kemel touched Sonja with his foot. She turned over, rolling away from him, without opening her eyes. Vandam realized vaguely that she was naked. He reached over and tweaked her nose. She opened her eyes and sat up immediately, looking cross. She recognized Kemel, then she saw Vandam with the gun.

She said: “What's going on?”

Then she and Vandam said simultaneously: “Where's Wolff?”

Vandam was quite sure she was not dissembling. It was clear now that Kemel had warned Wolff, and Wolff had fled without waking Sonja. Presumably he had taken Elene with him—although Vandam could not imagine why.

Vandam put the gun to Sonja's chest, just below her left breast. He spoke to Kernel. “I'm going to ask you a question. If you give the wrong answer, she dies. Understand?”

Kemel nodded tensely.

Vandam said: “Did Wolff send a radio message at midnight last night?”

“No!” Sonja screamed. “No, he didn't, he didn't!”

“What
did
happen here?” Vandam asked, dreading the answer.

“We went to bed.”

“Who did?”

“Wolff, Elene and me.”

“Together?”

“Yes.”

So that was it. And Vandam had thought she was safe, because there was another woman around! That explained Wolff's continuing interest in Elene: they had wanted her for their threesome. Vandam was sick with disgust, not because of what they had done, but because he had caused Elene to be forced to be part of it.

He put the thought out of his mind. Was Sonja telling the truth—had Wolff failed to radio Rommel last night? Vandam could not think of a way to check. He could only hope it was true.

“Get dressed,” he told Sonja.

She got off the bed and hurriedly put on a dress. Keeping both of them covered with the gun, Vandam went to the prow of the boat and looked through the little doorway. He saw a tiny bathroom with two small portholes.

“Get in there, both of you.”

Kemel and Sonja went into the bathroom. Vandam closed the door on them and began to search the houseboat. He opened all the cupboards and drawers, throwing their contents on the floor. He stripped the bed. With a sharp knife from the kitchen he slashed the mattress and the upholstery of the couch. He went through all the papers in the escritoire. He found a large glass ashtray full of charred paper and poked through it, but all of the paper was completely burned up. He emptied the icebox. He went up on deck and cleaned out the lockers. He checked all around the outside of the hull, looking for a rope dangling into the water.

After half an hour he was sure that the houseboat contained no radio, no copy of
Rebecca
and no code key.

He got the two prisoners out of the bathroom. In one of the deck lockers he had found a length of rope. He tied Sonja's hands, then roped Sonja and Kemel together.

He marched them off the boat, along the towpath and up to the street. They walked to the bridge, where he hailed a taxi. He put Sonja and Kemel in the back then, keeping the gun pointed at them, he got in the front beside the wide-eyed, frightened Arab driver.

“GHQ,” he told the driver.

The two prisoners would have to be interrogated, but really there were only two questions to be asked:

Where was Wolff?

And where was Elene?

 

Sitting in the car, Wolff took hold of Elene's wrist. She tried to pull away but his grip was too strong. He drew out his knife and ran its blade lightly across the back of her hand. The knife was very sharp. Elene stared at her hand in horror. At first there was just a line like a pencil mark. Then blood welled up in the cut, and there was a sharp pain. She gasped.

Wolff said: “You're to stay very close to me and say nothing.”

Suddenly Elene hated him. She looked into his eyes. “Otherwise you'll cut me?” she said with all the scorn she could muster.

“No,” he said. “Otherwise I'll cut Billy.”

He released her wrist and got out of the car. Elene sat still, feeling helpless. What could she do against this strong, ruthless man? She took a little handkerchief from her bag and wrapped it around her bleeding hand.

Impatiently, Wolff came around to her side of the car and pulled open the door. He took hold of her upper area and made her get out of the car. Then, still holding her, he crossed the road to Vandam's house.

They walked up the short drive and rang the bell. Elene remembered the last time she had stood in this portico waiting for the door to open. It seemed years ago, but it was only days. Since then she had learned that Vandam had been married, and that his wife had died; and she had made love to Vandam; and he had failed to send her flowers—how could she have made such a fuss about that?—and they had found Wolff; and—

The door opened. Elene recognized Gaafar. The servant remembered her, too, and said: “Good morning, Miss Fontana.”

“Hello, Gaafar.”

Wolff said: “Good morning, Gaafar. I'm Captain Alexander. The major asked me to come round. Let us in, would you?”

“Of course, sir.” Gaafar stood aside. Wolff, still gripping Elene's arm, stepped into the house. Gaafar closed the door. Elene remembered this tiled hall. Gaafar said: “I hope the major is all right . . .”

“Yes, he's fine,” Wolff said. “But he can't get home this morning, so he asked me to come round, tell you that he's well, and drive Billy to school.”

Elene was aghast. It was awful—Wolff was going to kidnap Billy. She should have guessed that as soon as Wolff mentioned the boy's name—but it was unthinkable, she must not let it happen! What could she do? She wanted to shout No, Gaafar, he's lying, take Billy and get away, run, run! But Wolff had the knife, and Gaafar was old, and Wolff would get Billy anyway.