The Key to Rebecca (1980)

She thought: What do you make of that?

No pass, no invitation to his place, no nightcap, not even a good-night kiss-what game was he playing, hard-to-get?

She puzzled over the whole thing as the taxi took her home. Perhaps it was Wolff's technique to try to intrigue a woman. Perhaps he was just eccentric. Whatever the reason, she was very grateful. She sat back and relaxed. She was not obliged to choose between fighting him off and going to bed with him. Thank God.

The taxi drew up outside her building. Suddenly, from nowhere, three cars roared up. One stopped right in front of the taxi, one close behind, and one alongside. Men materialized out of the shadows. All four doors of the taxi were flung open, and four guns pointed in. Elene screamed. Then a head was poked into the car, and Elene recognized Vandam

"Gone?" Vandam said.

Elene realized what was happening. "I thought you were going to shoot me," she said.

"Where did you leave him?"

"Sharia Abbas."

"How long ago?"

"Five or ten minutes. May I get out of the car?"

He gave her a hand, and she stepped on to the pavement. He said: "I'm sorry we scared you."

"This is called slamming the stable door after the horse has bolted."

"Quite." He looked utterly defeated.

She felt a surge of affection for him. She touched his arm. "You've no idea how happy I am to see your face," she said.

He gave her an odd look, as if he was not sure whether to believe her.

She said: "Why don't you send your men home and come and talk inside?" He hesitated. "All right." He turned to one of his men, a captain. "Jakes, I want you to interrogate the taxi driver, see what you can get out of him. Let the men go. I'll see you at GHQ in an hour or so."

"Very good, sir."

Elene led the way inside. It was so good to enter her own apartment, slump on the sofa, and kick off her shoes. The trial was over, Wolff had gone, and Vandam was here. She said: "Help yourself to a drink." "No, thanks."

"What went wrong, anyway?"

Vandam sat down opposite her and took out his cigarettes. "We expected him to walk into the trap all unawares-but he was suspicious, or at least cautious, and we missed him. What happened then?"

She rested her head against the back of the sofa, closed her eyes, and told him in a few words about the picnic. She left out her thoughts about going to bed with Wolff, and she did not tell Vandam that Wolff had hardly touched her all evening. She spoke abruptly: she wanted to forget, not remember. When she had told him the story she said: "Make me a drink, even if you won't have one."

He went to the cupboard. Elene could see that he was angry. She looked at the bandage on his face. She had seen it in the restaurant, and again a few minutes ago when she arrived, but now she had time to wonder what it was. She said: "What happened to your face?"

"We almost caught Wolff last night."

"Oh, no." So he had failed twice in twenty-four hours: no wonder he looked defeated. She wanted to console him, to put her arms around him, to lay his head in her lap and stroke his hair; the longing was like an ache. She decided impulsively, the way she always decided things--that she would take him to her bed tonight.

He gave her a drink. He had made one for himself after all. As he stooped to hand her the glass she reached up, touched his chin with her fingertips and turned his head so that she could look at his cheek. He let her look, just for a second, then moved his head away.

She had not seen him as tense as this before. He crossed the room and sat opposite her, holding himself upright on the edge of the chair. He was full of a suppressed emotion, something like rage, but when she looked into his eyes she saw not anger but pain.

He said: "How did Wolff strike you?"

She was not sure what he was getting at. "Charming. Intelligent.

Dangerous."

"His appearance?"

"Clean hands, a silk shirt, a mustache that doesn't suit him. What are you fishing for?"

He shook his head irritably. "Nothing. Everything." He lit another cigarette.

She could not reach him in this mood. She wanted him to come and sit beside her, and tell her she was beautiful and brave and she had done well; but she knew it was no use asking. All the same she said: "How did I do?"

"I don't know," he said. "What did you do?"

"You know what I did."

"Yes. I'm most grateful."

He smiled, and she knew the smile was insincere. What was the matter with him? There was something familiar in his anger, something she would understand as soon as she put her. finger on it. It was not just that he felt he had failed. It was his attitude to her, the way he spoke to her, the way he &at across from her and especially the way he looked at her. His expression was one of ... it was almost one of disgust.

"He said he would see you again?" Vandam asked.

"Yes."

"I hope he does." He put his chin in his hands. His face was strained with tension. Wisps of smoke rose from his cigarette. "Christ, I hope he does."

"He also said: 'We must do this again,' or something like that," Elene told him.

"I see. 'We must do this again,' eh?"

"Something like that."

"What do you think he had in mind, exactly"

She shrugged. "Another picnic, another date-damn it William, what has got into you?"

"I'm just curious," he said. His face wore a twisted grin, one she had never seen on him before. "Id like to know what the two of you did, other than eat and drink, in the back of that big taxi, and on the riverbank; you know, all that time together, in the dark, a man and a woman-"

"Shut up." She closed her eyes. Now she understood; now she knew. Without opening her eyes she said: "I'm going to bed. You can see yourself out." A few seconds later the front door slammed.

She went to the window and looked down to the street. She saw him leave the building, and get on his motorcycle. He kicked the engine into life and roared off down the road at a breakneck speed and took the corner at the end as if he were in a race. Elene was very tired, and a little sad that she would be spending the night alone after 0, but she was not unhappy, for she had understood his anger, she knew the cause of it, and that gave her hope. As he disappeared from sight she smiled faintly and said softly: "William Vandam, I do believe you're jealous."

Chapter 16.

By the time Major Smith made his third lunchtime visit to the houseboat, Wolff and Sonja had gotten into a slick routine. Wolff hid in the cupboard when the major approached. Sonja met him in the living room with a drink in her hand ready for him. She made him sit down there, ensuring that his briefcase was put down before they went into the bedroom. After a minute or two she began kissing him. By this time she could do what she liked with him, for he was paralyzed by lust. She contrived to get his, shorts off, then soon afterward took him into the bedroom.

It was clear to Wolff that nothing like this had ever happened to the major before: he was Sonja's slave as long as she allowed him to make love to her. Wolff was grateful: things would not have been quite so easy with a more strong-minded man.

As soon as Wolff heard the bed creak he came out of the cupboard. He took the key out of the shorts pocket and opened the case. His notebook and pencil were beside him, ready.

Smith's second visit had been disappointing, leading Wolff to wonder whether perhaps it was only occasionally that Smith saw battle plans. However, this time he struck gold again.

General Sir Claude Auchinleck, the C in C Middle East, had taken over direct control of the Eighth Army from General Neil Ritchie. As a sign of Allied panic, that alone would be welcome news to Rommel. It might also help Wolff, for it meant that battles were now being planned in Cairo rather than in the desert, in which case Smith was more likely to get copies.

The Allies bad retreated to a new defense line at Mersa Matruh, and the most important paper in Smith's briefcase was a summary of the new dispositions.

The new line began at the coastal village of Matruh and stretched south into the desert as far as an escarpment called Sidi Hamza. Tenth Corps was at Matruh; then there was a heavy minefield fifteen miles long; then a lighter minefield for ten miles; then the escarpment; then, south of the escarpment, the 13 Corps.

With half an ear on the noises from the bedroom, Wolff considered the position. The picture was fairly clear: the Allied line was strong at either end and weak in the middle.

Rommel's likeliest move, according to Allied thinking, was a dash around the southern end of the line, a classic Rommel outflanking maneuver, made more feasible by his capture of an estimated 500 tons of fuel at Tobruk. Such an advance would be repelled by the 13 Corps, which consisted of the strong 1st Armored Division and the 2 New Zealand Division, the latter-the summary noted helpfully freshly arrived from Syria. However, armed with Wolff's information, Rommel could instead hit the soft center of the line and pour his forces through the gap like a stream bursting a dam at its weakest point.

Wolff smiled to himself. He felt he was playing a major role in the struggle for German domination of North Africa: he found it enormously satisfying.

In the bedroom, a cork popped.

Smith always surprised Wolff by the rapidity of his lovemaking. The cork popping was the sign that it was all over, and Wolff had a few minutes in which to tidy up before Smith came in search of his shorts. He put the papers back in the case, locked it and put the key back in the shorts pocket. He no longer got back into the cupboard afterward--once had been enough. He put his shoes in his trousers pockets and tiptoed, soundlessly in his socks, up the ladder, across the deck, and down the gangplank to the towpath. Then he put his shoes on and went to lunch.

Kemel shook hands politely and said: "I hope your injury is healing rapidly, Major."

"Sit down," Vandam said. "The bandage is more damn nuisance than the wound.

What have you got"

Kemel sat down and crossed his legs, adjusting the crease of his black cotton trousers. "I thought I would bring the surveillance report myself, although I'm afraid there's nothing of interest in it."

Vandam took the proffered envelope and opened it. It contained a single typewritten sheet. He began to read.

Sonja had come home-presumably from the Cha-Cha Club-at eleven o'clock the previous night. She had been alone. She had surfaced at around ten the following morning, and had been seen on deck in a robe. The postman had come at one. Sonja had gone out at four and returned at six carrying a bag bearing the name of one of the more expensive dress shops in Cairo. At that hour the watcher had been relieved by the night man.

Yesterday Vandam had received by messenger a similar report from Kemel covering the first twelve hours of the surveillance. For two days, therefore, Sonja's behavior had been routine and wholly innocent, and neither Wolff nor anyone else had visited her on the houseboat. Vandam was bitterly disappointed.

Kemel said: "The men I am using are completely reliable, and they are reporting directly to me."

Vandam grunted, then roused himself to be courteous. "Yes, I'm sure," he said. "Thank you for coming in."

Kemel stood up. "No trouble," he said. "Good-bye." He went out. Vandam sat brooding. He read Kemel's report again, as if there might have been clues between the lines. If Sonja was connected with Wolff-and Vandam still believed she was, somehow--clearly the association was not a close one. If she was meeting anyone, the meetings must be taking place away from the houseboat.

Vandam went to the door and called: "Jakes!"

"Sir!"

Vandam sat down again and Jakes came in. Vandam said: "From now on I want you to spend your evenings at the Cha-Cha Club. Watch Sonja, and observe whom she sits with after the show. Also, bribe a waiter to tell you whether anyone goes to her dressing room."

"Very good, sir."

Vandam nodded dismissal, and added with a smile: "Permission to enjoy yourself is granted."

The smile was a mistake: it hurt. At least he was no longer trying to live on glucose dissolved in warm water: Gaafar was giving him mashed potatoes and gravy, which he could eat from a spoon and swallow without chewing. He was existing on that and gin. Dr. Abuthnot had also told him he drank too much and smoked too much, and he had promised to cut down-after the war. Privately he thought: After I've caught Wolff. If Sonja was not going to lead him to Wolff, only Elene could. Vandam was ashamed of his outburst at Elene's apartment. He had been angry at his own failure, and the thought of her with Wolff had maddened him. His behavior could be described only as a fit of bad temper. Elene was a lovely girl who was risking her neck to help him, and courtesy was the least he owed her.

Wolff had said he would see Elene again. Vandam hoped he would contact her soon. He still felt irrationally angry at the thought of the two of them together; but now that the houseboat angle had turned out to be a dead end, Elene was his only hope. He sat at his desk, waiting for the phone to ring, dreading the very thing he wanted most.

Elene went shopping in the late afternoon. Her apartment had come to seem claustrophobic after she had spent most of the day pacing around, unable to concentrate on anything, alternately miserable and happy; so she put on a cheerful striped dress and went out into the sunshine.

She liked the fruit-and-vegetable market. It was a lively place, especially at this end of the day when the tradesmen were trying to get rid of the last of their produce. She stopped to buy tomatoes. The man who served her picked up one with a slight bruise, and threw it away dramatically before filling a paper bag with undamaged specimens. Elene laughed, for she knew that the bruised tomato would be retrieved, as soon as she was out of sight, and put back on the display so that the whole pantomime could be performed again for the next customer. She haggled briefly over the price, but the vendor could tell that her heart was not in it, and she ended up paying almost what he had asked originally.

She bought eggs, too, having decided to make an omelet for supper. It was good, to be carrying a basket of food, more food than she could eat at one meal: it made her feel safe. She could remember days when there had been no supper.

She left the market and went window shopping for dresses. She bought most of her clothes on impulse: she had firm ideas about what she liked, and if she planned a trip to buy something special, she could never find it. She wanted one day to have her own dressmaker.

She thought: I wonder if William Vandam could afford that for his wife?

When she thought of Vandam she was happy, until she thought of Wolff. She knew she could escape, if she wished, simply by refusing to see Wolff, refusing to make a date with him, refusing to answer his message. She was under no obligation to act as the bait in a trap for a knife murderer. She kept returning to this idea, worrying at it like a loose tooth: I don't have to.

She suddenly lost interest in dresses, and headed for home. She wished she could make omelet for two, but omelet for one was something to be thankful for. There was a certain unforgettable pain in the stomach which came when, having gone to bed with no supper, you woke up in the morning to no breakfast. The ten-year-old Elene had wondered, secretly, how long people took to starve to death. She was sure Vandam's childhood had not suffered such worries.

When she turned into the entrance to her apartment block, a voice said:

"Abigail."

She froze with shock. It was the voice of a ghost. She did not dare to look. The voice came again.

"Abigail."

She made herself turn around. A figure came out of the shadows: an old Jew, shabbily dressed, with a matted beard, veined feet in rubber-tire sandals.

Elene said: "Father."

He stood in front of her, as if afraid to touch her, just looking. He said: "So beautiful still, and not poor . . ."

Impulsively, she stepped forward, kissed his cheek, then stepped back again. She did not know what to say.

He said: "Your grandfather, my father, has died."

She took his arm and led him up the stairs. It was all unreal, irrational, like a dream.

Inside the apartment she said: "You should eat," and took him into the kitchen. She put a pan on to heat and began to beat the eggs. With her back to her father she said: "How did you find me?"

"I've always known where you were," he said. "Your friend Esme writes to her father, who sometimes I see."

Esme was an acquaintance, rather than a friend, but Elene ran into her every two or three months. She had never let on that she was writing home. Elene said: "I didn't want you to ask me to come back."

"And what would I have said to you? 'Come home, it is your duty to starve with your family.' No. But I knew where you were."

She sliced tomatoes into the omelet. "You would have said it was better to starve than to live immorally."

"Yes, I would have said that. And would I have been wrong" She turned to took at him. The glaucoma which had taken the sight of his left eye years ago was now spreading to the right. He was fifty-five, she calculated: he looked seventy. "Yes, you would have been wrong," she said. "It is always better to live."

"Perhaps it is."

Her surprise must have shown on her face, for he explained: "I'm not as certain of these things as I used to be. I'm getting old."

Elene halved the omelet and slid it on to two plates. She put bread on the table. Her father washed his hands, then blessed the bread. "Blessed art thou O Lord our God, King of the Universe . . ." Elene was surprised that the prayer did not drive her into a fury. In the blackest moments of her lonely life she had cursed and raged at her father and his religion for what it had driven her to. She had tried to cultivate an attitude of indifference, perhaps mild contempt; but she had not quite succeeded. Now, watching him pray, she thought: And what do I do, when this man whom I bate turns up on the doorstep? I kiss his cheek, and I bring him inside, and I give him supper.

They began to eat. Her father had been very hungry, and wolfed his food. Elene wondered why be had come. Was it just to tell her of the death of her grandfather? No. That was part of it, perhaps but there would be more.

She asked about her sisters. After the death of their mother all four of them, in their different ways, had broken with their father. Two had gone to America, one had married the son of her father's greatest enemy, and the youngest, Naomi, had chosen the surest escape, and died. It dawned on Elene that her father was destroyed.

He asked her what she was doing. She decided to tell him the truth. 'The British are trying to catch a man, a German, they think is a spy. It's my job to befriend him ... I'm the bait in a snare. But . . . I think I may not help them anymore."

He had stopped eating. "Are you afraid?"

She nodded. "He's very dangerous. He killed a soldier with a knife. Last night ... I was to meet him in a restaurant and the British were to arrest him there, but something went wrong and I spent the whole evening with him, I was so frightened, and when it was over, the Englishman . . ." She stopped, and took a deep breath. "Anyway, I may not help them anymore."

Her father went on eating. "Do you love this Englishman?"

"He isn't Jewish," she said defiantly.

"I've given up judging everyone," he said.

Elene could not take it all in. Was there nothing of the old man left?

They finished their meal, and Elene got up to make him a glass of tea. He said: "The Germans are coming. It will be very bad for Jews. I'm getting out."

She frowned. "Where will you go?"

"Jerusalem."

"How will you get there? The trains are full, there's a quota for Jews-" "I am going to walk."

She stared at him not believing he could be serious, not believing he would joke about such a thing. "Walk?"

He smiled. "It's been done before."

She saw that he meant it, and she was angry with him. "As I recall, Moses never made it.,'

"Perhaps I will be able to hitch a ride."

"It's crazy!"

"Haven't I always been a little crazy?"

"Yes!" she shouted. Suddenly her anger collapsed. "Yes, you've always been a little crazy, and I should know better than to try to change your mind."

"I will pray to God to preserve you. You will have a chance here-you're young and beautiful, and maybe they won't know you're Jewish. But me, a useless old man muttering Hebrew prayers . . . me they would send to a camp where I would surely die. It is always better to live. You said that."

She tried to persuade him to stay with her, for one night at least, but he would not. She gave him a sweater, and a scarf, and all the cash she had in the house, and told him that if he waited a day she could get more money from the bank, and buy him a good coat; but he was in a hurry. She cried, and dried her eyes, and cried again. When he left she looked out of her window and saw him walking along the street, an old man going up out of Egypt and into the wilderness, following in the footsteps of the Children of Israel. There was something of the old man left: his orthodoxy had mellowed, but he still had a will of iron. He disappeared into the crowd, and she left the window. When she thought of his courage, she knew she could not run out on Vandam.

"She's an intriguing girl," Wolff said. "I can't quite figure her out." He was sitting on the bed, watching Sonja get dressed. "She's a little jumpy. When I told her we were going on a picnic she acted quite scared, said she hardly knew me, as if she needed a chaperone."

"With you, she did," Sonja said.

"And yet she can be very earthy and direct."

"Just bring her home to me. I'll figure her out."

"It bothers me." Wolff frowned. He was thinking aloud. "Somebody tried to jump into the taxi with us."

"A beggar."

"No, be was a European."

"A European beggar." Sonja stopped brushing her hair to look at Wolff in the mirror. "This town is full of crazy people, you know that. Listen, if you have second thoughts, just picture her writhing on that bed with you and me on either side of her."

Wolff grinned. It was an appealing picture, but not an irresistible one:

it was Sonja's fantasy, not his. His instinct told him to lay low now, and not to make dates with anyone. But Sonja was going to insist-and he still needed her.

Sonja said: "And when am I going to contact Kemel? He must know by now that you're living here."

Wolff sighed. Another date; another claim on him; another danger; also, another person whose protection he needed. "Call him tonight from the club. I'm not in a rush for this meeting, but we've got to keep him sweet."

"Okay." She was ready, and her taxi was waiting. "Make a date with Elene." She went out.

She was not in his power the way she had once been, Wolff realized. The walls you build to protect you also close you in. Could he afford to defy her? If there had been a clear and immediate danger, yes. But all he had was a vague nervousness, an intuitive inclination to keep his head down. And Sonja might be crazy enough to betray him if she really got angry.

He was obliged to choose the lesser danger.

He got up from the bed, found a paper and a pen and sat down to write a note to Elene.

Chapter 17.

The message came the day after Elene's father left for Jerusalem. A small boy came to the door with an envelope. Elene tipped him and read the letter. It was short. "My dear Elene let us meet at the Oasis Restaurant at eight o'clock next Thursday. I eagerly look forward to it. Fondly, Alex Wolff." Unlike his speech, his writing had a stiffness which seemed German-but perhaps it was her imagination. Thursday that was the day after tomorrow. She did not know whether to be elated or scared. Her first thought was to telephone Vandam; then she hesitated.

She had become intensely curious about Vandam She knew so little about him. What did he do when he was not catching spies? Did he listen to music, collect stamps, shoot duck? Was he interested in poetry or architecture or antique rugs? What was his home like? With whom did he live? What color were his pajamas?

She wanted to patch up their quarrel, and she wanted to a" where he lived. She had an excuse to contact him now, but instead of telephoning she would go to his home.

She decided to change her dress, then she decided to take a bath first then she decided to wash her hair as well. Sitting in the bath she thought about which dress to wear. She recalled the occasions she had seen Vandam, and tried to remember which clothes she had worn. He had never seen the pale pink one with puffed shoulders and buttons all down the front: that was very pretty.

She put on a little perfume, then the silk underwear Johnnie had given her, which always made her feel so feminine. Her short hair was dry already, and she sat in front of the mirror to comb it. The dark, fine locks gleamed after washing. I look ravishing, she thought, and she smiled at herself seductively. She left the apartment, taking Wolff's note with her. Vandam would be interested to see his handwriting. He was interested in every little detail where Wolff was concerned, perhaps because they had never met face to face, except in the dark or at a distance. The handwriting was very neat, easily legible, almost like an artist's lettering: Vandam would draw some conclusion from that.

She headed for Garden City. It was seven o'clock, and Vandam worked until late, so she had time to spare. The sun was still strong, and she enjoyed the heat on her arms and legs as she walked. A bunch of soldiers whistled at her, and in her sunny mood she smiled at them, so they followed her for a few blocks before they got diverted into a bar.

She felt gay and reckless. What a good idea it was to go to his house-so much better than sitting alone at home. She had been alone too much. For her men, she had existed only when they had time to visit her; and she had made their attitudes her own, so that when they were not there she felt she had nothing to do, no role to play, no one to be. Now she had broken with all that. By doing this, by going to see him uninvited, she felt she was being herself instead of a person in someone else's dream. It made her almost giddy.

She found the house easily. It was a small French-colonial villa, all pillars and high windows, its white stone reflecting the evening sun with painful brilliance. She walked up the short drive, rang the bell and waited in the shadow of the portico.

An elderly, bald Egyptian came to the door. "Good evening, Madam," he said, speaking like an English butler.

Elene said: "I'd like to see Major Vandam My name is Elene Fontana."

The major has not yet returned home, Madam." The servant hesitated.

"Perhaps I could wait," Elene said.

"Of course, Madam." He stepped aside to admit her.

She crossed the threshold. She looked around with nervous eagerness. She was in a cool tiled hall with a high ceiling. Before she could take it all in the servant said: "This way, Madam." He led her into a drawing room. "My name is Gaafar. Please call me if there is anything you require."

"Thank you, Gaafar."

The servant went out. Elene was thrilled to be in Vandam's house and left alone to look around. The drawing room had a large marble fireplace and a lot of very English furniture: somehow she thought he had not furnished it himself. Every~ thing was clean and tidy and not very lived-in. What did this say about his character? Perhaps nothing.

The door opened and a young boy walked in. He was very good-looking, with curly brown hair and smooth, preadolescent skin. He seemed about ten years old. He looked vaguely familiar.

He said: "Hello, I'm Billy Vandam"

Elene stared at him in horror. A son-Vandam had a son; She knew now why he seemed familiar: he resembled his father. Why had it never occurred to her that Vandam might be married? A man like that--charming, kind, handsome, clever-was unlikely to have reached his late thirties without getting hooked. What a fool she had been to think that she might have been the first to desire him! She felt so stupid that she blushed.

She shook Billy's hand. "How do you do," she said. "I'm Elene Fontana."

"We never know what time Dad's coming home," Billy said. "I hope you won't have to wait too long."

She had not yet recovered her composure. "Don't worry, I don't mind, it doesn't matter a bit ... 19 "Would you like a drink, or anything?"

He was very polite, like his father, with a formality that was somehow disarming. Elene said: "No, thank you."

"Well, I've got to have my supper. Sorry to leave you alone."

"No, no ... to

"If you need anything, just call Gaafar."

"Thank you."

The boy went out, and Elene sat down heavily. She was disoriented, as if in her own home she had found a door to a room she had not known was there.

She noticed a photograph on the marble mantelpiece, and got up to look at it. It was a picture of a beautiful woman in her early twenties, a cool, aristocratic looking woman with a faintly supercilious smile. Elene admired the dress she was wearing, something silky and flowing, hanging in elegant folds from her slender figure. The woman's hair and makeup were perfect. The eyes were startlingly familiar, clear and perceptive and light in color: Elene realized that Billy had eyes like that. This, then, was Billy's mother-Vandam's wife. She was, of course, exactly the kind of woman who would be his wife, a classic English beauty with a superior air. Elene felt she had been a fool. Women like that were queuing up to marry men like Vandam As if he would have bypassed all of them only to fall for an Egyptian courtesan. She rehearsed the things that divided her from him: he was respectable and she was disreputable; he was British and she was Egyptian; he was Christian-presumably-and she was Jewish; he was well bred and she came out of the slums of Alexandria; he was almost forty and she was twenty three. The list was long.

Tucked into the back of the photograph frame was a page torn from a magazine. The paper was old and yellowing. The page bore the same photograph. Elene saw that it had come from a magazine called The Tatler. She had heard of it: it was much read by the wives of colonels in Cairo, for it reported all the trivial events of London society-parties, balls, charity lunches, gallery openings and the activities of English royalty. The picture of Mrs. Vandam took up most of this page, and a paragraph of type beneath the picture reported that Angela, daughter of Sir Peter and Lady Beresford, was engaged to be married to Lieutenant William Vandam, son of Mr. and Mrs. John Vandam of Gately, Dorset. Elene refolded the cutting and put it back.

The family picture was complete. Attractive British officer, cool, self-assured English wife, intelligent charming son, beautiful home, money, class and happiness. Everything else was a dream.

She wandered around the room, wondering if it held any more shocks in store. The room had been furnished by Mrs. Vandam, of course, in perfect, bloodless taste. The decorous print of the curtains toned with the restrained hue of the upholstery and the elegant striped wallpaper. Elene wondered what their bedroom would be like. It too would be coolly tasteful, she guessed. Perhaps the main color would be bluegreen, the shade they called eau de NO although it was not a bit like the muddy water of the Nile. Would they have twin beds? She hoped so. She would never know. Against one wall was a small upright piano. She wondered who played. Perhaps Mrs. Vandam sat here sometimes, in the evenings, filling the air with Chopin while Vandam sat in the armchair, over there, watching her fondly. Perhaps Vandam accompanied himself as he sang romantic ballads to her in a strong tenor. Perhaps Billy had a tutor, and fingered hesitant scales every afternoon when he came home from school. She looked through the pile of sheet music in the seat of the piano stool. She had been right about the Chopin: they had all the waltzes here in a book.

She picked up a novel from the top of the piano and opened it. She read the first line: "Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again." The opening sentences intrigued her, and she wondered whether Vandam was reading the book. Perhaps she could borrow it: it would be good to have something of his. On the other hand, she had the feeling he was not a great reader of fiction. She did not want to borrow it from his wife.

Billy came in. Elene put the book down suddenly, feeling irrationally guilty, as if she had been prying. Billy saw the gesture. "That one's no good," he said. "It's about some silly girl who's afraid of her husband's housekeeper. There's no action."

Elene sat down, and Billy sat opposite her. Obviously he was going to entertain her. He was a miniature of his father, except for those clear gray eyes. She said: "You've read it, then?"

"Rebecca? Yes. But I didn't like it much. I always finish them, though."

"What do you like to read?"

"I like tecs best."

"Tees?"

"Detectives. I've read all of Agatha Christie's and Dorothy Sayers'. But I like the American ones most of all S.S. Van Dine and Raymond Chandler."

"Really?" Elene smiled. "I like detective stories too-I read them all the time."

"Oh! Who's your favorite tec?"

Elene considered. "Maigret."

"I've never heard of him. What's the author's name?"

"Georges Simenon. He writes in French, but now some of the books have been translated into English. They're set in Paris, mostly. They're very.. . complex."

"Would you lend me one? It's so hard to get new books, I've read all the ones in this house, and in the school library. And I swap with my friends but they like, you know, stories about children having adventures in the school holidays."

"All right," Elene said. "Let's swap. What have you got to lend me? I don't think I've read any American ones."

"I'll lend you a Chandler. The American ones are much more true to life, you know. I've gone off those stories about English country houses and people who probably couldn't murder a fly."

It was odd, Elene thought, that a boy for whom the English country house might be part of everyday life should find stories about American private eyes more "true to life." She hesitated, then asked: "Does your mother read detective stories?"

Billy said briskly: "My mother died last year in Crete."

"Oh!" Elene put her band to her mouth; she felt the blood drain from her face. So Vandam was not married!

A moment later she felt ashamed that that had been her first thought, and sympathy for the child her second. She said: "Billy, how awful for you. I'm so sorry." Real death had suddenly intruded into their lighthearted talk of murder stories, and she felt embarrassed.

"It's all right," Billy said. "It's the war, you see."

And now he was like his father again. For a while, talking about books, he had been full of boyish enthusiasm, but now the mask was on, and it was a smaller version of the mask used by his father: courtesy, formality, the attitude of the considerate host. It's the war, you see: he had heard someone else say that, and had adopted it as his own defense. She wondered whether his preference for "true-to-life" murders, as opposed to implausible country-house killings, dated from the death of his mother. Now he was looking around him, searching for something, inspiration perhaps. In a moment be would offer her cigarettes, whiskey, tea. It was hard enough to know what to say to a bereaved adult: with Billy she felt helpless. She decided to talk of something else.

She said awkwardly: "I suppose, with your father working at GHQ, you get more news of the war than the rest of us."

"I suppose I do, but usually I don't really understand it. When he comes home in a bad mood I know we've lost another battle." He started to bite a fingernail. then stuffed his hands into his shorts pockets. "I wish I was older."

"You want to fight?"

He looked at her fiercely, as if he thought she was mocking him. "I'm not one of those kids who thinks it's all jolly good fun, like the cowboy films."

She murmured: "I'm sure you're not."

"It's just that I'm afraid the Germans will win."

Elene thought: Oh, Billy, if you were ten years older I'd fall in love with you, too. "It might not be so bad," she said. "They're not monsters."

He gave her a skeptical look: she should have known better than to soft-soap him. He said: "They'd only do to us what we've been doing to the Egyptians for fifty years."

It was another of his father's lines, she was sure.

Billy said: "But then it would all have been for nothing." He bit his nail again, and this time he did not stop himself. Elene wondered what would have been for nothing: the death of his mother? His own personal struggle to be brave? The two-year seesaw of the desert war? European civilization?

"Well, it hasn't happened yet," she said feebly.

Billy looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. "I'm supposed to go to bed at nine." Suddenly he was a child again.

"I suppose you'd better go, then."

"Yes." He stood up.

"May I come and say good night to you, in a few minutes?"

"If you like." He went out.

What kind of life did they lead in this house? Elene wondered. The man, the boy and the old servant lived here together, each with his own concerns. Was there laughter, and kindness, and affection? Did they have time to play games and sing songs and go on picnics? By comparison with her own childhood Billy's was enormously privileged; nevertheless she feared this might be a terribly adult household for a boy to grow up in. His young-old wisdom was charming, but he seemed like a child who did not have much fun. She experienced a rush of compassion for him, a motherless child in an alien country besieged by foreign armies. She left the drawing room and went upstairs. There seemed to be three or four bedrooms on the second floor, with a narrow staircase leading up to a third floor where, presumably Gaafar slept. One of the bedroom doors was open, and she went in.

It did not look much like a small boy's bedroom. Elene did not know a lot about small boys-she had had four sisters but she was expecting to see model airplanes, jigsaw puzzles, a train set, sports gear and perhaps an old, neglected teddy bear. She would not have been surprised to see clothes on the floor, a construction set on the bed and a pair of dirty football boots on the polished surface of a desk. But the place might almost have been the bedroom of an adult. The clothes were folded neatly on a chair, the top of the chest of drawers was clear, schoolbooks were stacked tidily on the desk and the only toy in evidence was a cardboard model of a tank. Billy was in bed, his striped pajama top buttoned to the neck, a book on the blanket beside him.

"I like your room," Elene said deceitfully.

Billy said: "It's fine."

"What are you reading?"

"The Greek Coffin Mystery."

She sat on the edge of the bed. "Well, don't stay awake too late."

"I've to put out the light at nine-thirty."

She leaned forward suddenly and kissed his cheek.

At that moment the door opened and Vandam walked in.

It was the familiarity of the scene that was so shocking: the boy in bed with his book, the light from the bedside lamp falling just so, the woman leaning forward to kiss the boy good night. Vandam stood and stared, feeling like one who knows he is in a dream but still cannot wake up. Elene stood up and said: "Hello, William."

"Hello, Elene."

"Good night, Billy."

"Good night, Miss Fontana."

She went past Vandam and left the room. Vandam sat on the edge of the bed, in the dip in the covers which she had vacated. He said: "Been entertaining our guest?"

"Yes."

"Good man."

"I like her-she reads detective stories. We're going to swap books."

"That's grand. Have you done your prep?"

"Yes-French vocab."

"Want me to test you?"

"It's all right, Gaafar tested me. I say, she's ever so pretty, Isn't she."

"Yes. She's working on something for me-it's a bit hush-hush, so. . ."

"My lips are sealed."

Vandam smiled. "That's the stuff."

Billy lowered his voice. "Is she, you know, a secret agent?"

Vandam put a finger to his lips. "Walls have ears."

The boy looked suspicious. "You're having me on."

Vandam shook his head silently.

Billy said: "Gosh!"

Vandam stood up. "Lights out at nine-thirty."

"Right-ho. Good night."

"Good night, Billy." Vandam went out. As he closed the door it occurred to him that Elene's good-night kiss had probably done Billy a lot more good than his father's man-to-man chat.

He found Elene in the drawing room, shaking martinis. He felt he should have resented more than he did the way she had made herself at home in his house, but he was too tired to strike attitudes. He sank gratefully into a chair and accepted a drink.

Elene said: "Busy day?"

Vandam's whole section had been working on the new wireless security procedures that were being introduced following the capture of the German listening unit at the Hill of Jesus, but Vandam was not going to tell Elene that. Also, he felt she was playacting the role of housewife, and she had no right to do that. He said: "What made you come here?" "I've got a date with Wolff."

"Wonderful!" Vandam immediately forgot all lesser concerns. "When?" "Thursday." She handed him a sheet of paper.

He studied the message. It was a peremptory summons written in a clear, stylish script. "How did this come?"

"A boy brought it to my door."

"Did you question the boy? Where he was given the message and by whom, and so on?"

She was crestfallen. "I never thought to do that."

"Never mind." Wolff would have taken precautions, anyway; the boy would have known nothing of value.

"What will we do?" Elene asked.

"The same as last time, only better." Vandam tried to sound more confident than he felt. It should have been simple, The man makes a date with a girl, so you go to the meeting place and arrest the man when be turns up. But Wolff was unpredictable. He would not get away with the taxi trick again:

Vandam would have the restaurant surrounded, twenty or thirty men and several cars, roadblocks in readiness and so on. But be might try a different trick. Vandam could not imagine what-and that was the problem. As if she were reading his mind Elene said: "I don't want to spend another evening with him."

"He frightens me."

Vandam felt guilty-remember Istanbul-and suppressed his sympathy "But last time he did you said no to him."

"He didn't try to seduce me, so I didn't have to say no. But he will and I'm afraid he won't take no for an answer."

"We've learned our lesson," Vandam said with false assurance. "There'll be no mistakes this time." Secretly he was surprised by her simple determination not to go to bed with Wolff. He had assumed that such things did not matter much, one way or the other, to her. He had misjudged her, then. Seeing her in this new light somehow made him very cheerful. He decided he must be honest with her. "I should rephrase that," he said.

"I'll do everything in my power to make sure that there are no mistakes this time."

Gaafar came in and said: "Dinner is served, sir." Vandam smiled: Gaafar was doing his English-butler act in honor of the feminine company.

Vandam said to Elene: "Have you eaten?"

"No."

"What have we got, Gaafar?"

"For you, sir, clear soup, scrambled eggs and yoghurt. But I took the liberty of grilling a chop for Miss Fontana."

Elene said to Vandam: "Do you always eat like that?"

"No, it's because of my cheek, I can't chew." He stood up.

As they went into the dining room Elene said: "Does it still hurt?"

"Only when I laugh. It's true-I can't stretch the muscles on that side.

I've got into the habit of smiling with one side of my face."

They sat down, and Gaafar served the soup.

Elene said: "I like your son very much."

"So do I" Vandam said.

"He's old beyond his years."

"Do you think that's a bad thing?"

She shrugged. "Who knows?"

"He's been through a couple of things that ought to be reserved for adults."

"Yes." Elene hesitated. "When did your wife die?"

"May the twenty-eighth, nineteen-forty-one, in the evening."

"Billy told me it happened in Crete."

"Yes. She worked on cryptanalysis for the Air Force. She Was on a temporary posting to Crete at the time the Germans invaded the island. May twenty-eighth was the day the British realized they had lost the battle and decided to get out. Apparently she was hit by a stray shell and killed instantly. Of course, we were trying to get live people away then, not bodies, so . . . There's no grave, you see. No memorial. Nothing left."

Elene said quietly: "Do you still love her?"

"I think I'll always be in love with her. I believe it's like that with people you really love. If they go away, or die, it makes no difference. If ever I were to marry again, I would still love Angela."

"Were you very happy?"

"We . . ." He hesitated, unwilling to answer, then he realized that the hesitation was an answer in itself. "Ours wasn't an idyllic marriage. It was I who was devoted ... Angela was fond of me."

"Do you think you will marry again?"

"Well. The English in Cairo keep thrusting replicas of Angela at me." He shrugged. He did not know the answer to the question. Elene seemed to understand, for she fell silent and began to cat her dessert. Afterward Gaafar brought them coffee in the drawing room. It was at this time of day that Vandam usually began to hit the bottle seriously, but tonight he did not want to drink. He sent Gaafar to bed, and they drank their coffee. Vandam smoked a cigarette.

He felt the desire for music. He had loved music, at one time, although; lately it bad gone out of his life. Now, with the mild night air coming in through the open windows and the smoke curling up from his cigarette, he wanted to hear clear, delightful notes, and sweet harmonies, and subtle rhythms. He went to the piano and looked at the music. Elene watched him in silence. He began to play "Fur Elise." The first few notes sounded, with Beethoven's characteristic, devastating simplicity; then the hesitation; then the rolling tune. The ability to play came back to him instantly, almost as if he had never stopped. His hands knew what to do in a way he always felt was miraculous.

When the song was over he went back to Elene, sat next to her, and kissed her cheek. Her face was wet with tears. She said: "William, I love you with all my heart."

They whisper.

She says, "I like your ears."

He says, "Nobody has ever licked them before."

She giggles. "Do you like it?"

"Yes, yes." He sighs. "Can I. . . ?"

"Undo the buttons-here-that's right-aah."

"I'll put out the light."

"No, I want to see you-"

"There's a moon." Click. "There, see? The moonlight is enough."

"Come back here quickly-"

"I'm here."

"Kiss me again, William."

They do not speak for a while. Then: "Can I take this thing off?" he says. "Let me help . . . there." "Oh I Oh, they're so pretty." "I'm so glad you like them. . . would you do that harder suck a little ... aah, God-" And a little later she says: "Let me feel your chest. Damn buttons-I've ripped your shirt-" "The hell with that." "Ah, I knew it would be like this ... Look." "Our skins in the moonlight-you're so pale and I'm nearly black, look-" "Yes." "Touch me. Stroke me. Squeeze, and pinch, and explore, I want to feel your hands all over me-" "Yes-" "-everywhere, your hands, there, yes, especially there, oh, you know, you know exactly where, oh!" "You're so soft inside." "This is a dream." "No, it's real." "I never want to wake up." "So soft. . ." "And you're so hard . . . Can I kiss it?" "Yes, please ... Ah ... Jesus it feels good-Jesus" "William?"

"Yes?" "Now, William?" "Oh, yes" ". . - Take them off." Silk." "Yes. Be quick." "Yes.,' "I've wanted this for so long-" She gasps, and he makes a sound like a sob, and then there is only their breathing for many minutes, until finally he begins to shout aloud, and she smothers his cries with her kisses and then she, too, feels it, and she turns her face into the cushion and opens her mouth and screams into the cushion, and he not being used to this thinks something is wrong and says:

"It's all right, it's all right, it's all right-" and finally she goes limp, and lies with her eyes closed for a while, perspiring, until her breathing returns to normal, then she looks up at him and says:

"So that's how it's supposed to be!"

And he laughs, and she looks quizzically at him, so he explains:

"That's exactly what I was thinking."

Then they both laugh, and he says:

"I've done a lot of things after . . . you know, afterwards, but I don't think I've ever laughed."

"I'm so glad," she says. "Oh, William, I'm so glad."

Chapter 18.

Rommel could smell the sea. At Tobruk the heat and the dust and the flies were as bad as they had been in the desert, but it was all made bearable by that occasional whiff of salty dampness in the faint breeze. Von Mellenthin came into the command vehicle with his intelligence report. "Good evening, Field Marshal."

Rommel smiled. He had been promoted after the victory at Tobruk, and he had not yet gotten used to the new title. "Anything new?"

"A signal from the spy in Cairo. He says the Mersa Matruh Line is weak in the middle."

Rommel took the report and began to glance over it. He smiled when he read that the Allies anticipated he would try a dash around the southern end of the line: it seemed they were beginning to understand his thinking. He said: "So the minefield gets thinner at this point . . . but there the line is defended by two columns. What is a column?"

"It's a new term they're using. According to one of our prisoners of war, a column is a brigade group that has been twice overrun by Panzers." "A weak force, then."

"Yes."

Rommel tapped the report with his forefinger. "If this is correct, we can burst through the Mersa Matruh Line as soon as we get there."

"I'll be doing my best to check the spy's report over the next day or two, of course," said von Mellenthin. "But he was right last time." The door to the vehicle flew open and Kesselring came in.

Rommel was startled. "Field Marshal!" he said. "I thought you were in Sicily."

"I was," Kesselring said. He stamped the dust off his handmade boots. "I've just flown here to see you. Damn it, Rommel, this has got to stop. Your orders are quite clear: you were to advance to Tobruk and no farther." Rommel sat back in his canvas chair. He had hoped to keep Kesselring out of this argument. "The circumstances have changed," he said.

"But your original orders have been confirmed by the Italian Supreme Command," said Kesselring. "And what was your reaction? You declined the 'advice' and invited Bastico to lunch with you in Cairo!"

Nothing infuriated Rommel more than orders from Italians. "The Italians have done nothing in this war," he said angrily.

"That is irrelevant. Your air and sea support is now needed for the attack on Malta. After we have taken Malta your communications will be secure for the advance to Egypt."

"You people have learned nothing!" Rommel said. He made an effort to lower his voice. "While we are digging in the enemy, too, will be digging in. I did not get this far by playing the old game of advance, consolidate, then advance again. When they attack, I dodge; when they defend a position I go around that position; and when they retreat I chase them. They are running now, and now is the time to take Egypt."

Kesselring remained calm. "I have a copy of your cable to Mussolini." He took a piece of paper from his pocket and read: "The state and moral of the troops, the present supply position owing to captured dumps and the present weakness of the enemy permit our pursuing him into the depths of the Egyptian area." He folded the sheet of paper and turned to von Mellenthin.

"How many German tanks and men do we have?"

Rommel suppressed the urge to tell von Mellenthin not to answer: he knew this was a weak point.

"Sixty tanks, Field Marshal, and two thousand five hundred men."

"And the Italians?"

"Six thousand men and fourteen tanks."

Kesselring turned back to Rommel. "And you're going to take Egypt with a total of seventy-four tanks? Von Mellenthin, what is our estimate of the enemy's strength?"

"The Allied forces are approximately three times as numerous as ours, but-" "There you are."

Von Mellenthin went on: "-but we are very well supplied with food, clothing, trucks and armored cars, and fuel; and the men are in tremendous spirits."

Rommel said: "Von Mellenthin, go to the communications truck and see what has arrived."

Von Mellenthin frowned, but Rommel did not explain, so he went out.

Rommel said: "The Allies are regrouping at Mersa Matruh. They expect us to move around the southern end of their line. Instead we will hit the middle' where they are weakest-"

"How do you know all this?" Kesselring interrupted.

"Our intelligence assessment-"

"On what is the assessment based?"

"Primarily on a spy report-"

"My God!" For the first time Kesselring raised his voice. "You've no tanks, but you have your spy!"

"He was right last time."

Von Mellenthin came back in.

Kesselring said: "All this makes no difference. I am here to confirm the Fuehrer's orders: you are to advance no farther."

Rommel smiled. "I have sent a personal envoy to the Fuehrer."

"You. . ."

"I am a Field Marshall now, I have direct access to Hitler."

"Of course."

"I think von Mellenthin may have the Fuehrer's reply."

"Yes," said von Mellenthin. He read from a sheet of paper. "It is only once in a lifetime that the Goddess of Victory smiles. Onward to Cairo. Adolf Hitler."

There was a silence.

Kesselring walked out.

Chapter 19.

When Vandam got to his office he learned that, the previous evening, Rommel had advanced to within sixty miles of Alexandria.

Rommel seemed unstoppable. The Mersa Matruh line had broken in half like a matchstick. In the south, the 13 Corps had retreated in a panic, and in the north the fortress of Mersa Matruh had capitulated. The Allies had fallen back once again-but this would be the last time. The new line of defense stretched across a thirty-mile gap between the sea and the impassable Qattara Depression, and if that line fell there would be no more defenses, Egypt would be Rommel's.

The news was not enough to dampen Vandam's elation. R was more than twenty-four hours since he had awakened at dawn, on the sofa in his drawing room, with Elene in his arms. Since then he had been suffused with a kind of adolescent glee. He kept remembering little details: how small and brown her nipples were, the taste of her skin, her sharp fingernails digging into his thighs. In the office he had been behaving a little out of character, he knew. He had given back a letter to his typist, saying: "There are seven errors in this, you'd better do it again," and smiled at her sunnily. She had nearly fallen off her chair. He thought of Elene, and he thought: "Why not? Why the hell not?" and there was no reply.

He was visited early by an officer from the Special Liaison Unit. Anybody with his ear to the ground in GHQ now knew that the SLUs had a very special, ultra-secret source of intelligence. Opinions differed as to how good the intelligence was, and evaluation was always difficult because they would never tell you the source. Brown, who held the rank of captain but was quite plainly not a military man, leaned on the edge of the table and spoke around the stem of his pipe. "Are you being evacuated, Vandam?" These chaps lived in a world of their own, and there was no point in telling them that a captain had to call a major '.sir." Vandam said.

"What? Evacuated? Why?"

"Our lot's off to Jerusalem. So's everyone who knows too much. Keep people out of enemy hands, you know."

"The brass is getting nervous, then." It was logical, really: Rommel could cover sixty miles in a day.

"There'll be riots at the station, you'll see-half Cairo's trying to get out and the other half is preening itself ready for the liberation. Hal" "You won't tell too many people that you're going.

"No, no, no. Now, then, I've got a little snippet for you. We all know Rommel's got a spy in Cairo."

"How did you know?" Vandam said.

"Stuff comes through from London, old boy. Anyhow, the chap has beer, identified as, and I quote, 'the hero of the Rashid Ali affair. Mean anything to you?"

Vandam was thunderstruck. "It does!" he said.

"Well, that's it." Brown got off the table.

"Just a minute," Vandam said. "Is that all?"

"I'm afraid so."

"What is this, a decrypt or an agent report?"

"Suffice it to say that the source is reliable."

"You always say that."

"Yes Well, I may not see you for a while. Good luck."

"Thanks," Vandam muttered distractedly.

"Toodle-oo!" Brown went out, puffing smoke.

The hero of the Rashid Ali affair. It was incredible that Wolff should have been the man who outwitted Vandam in Istanbul. Yet it made sense:

Vandam recalled the odd feeling he had had about Wolff's style, as if it were familiar. The girl whom Vandam had sent to pick up the mystery man had had her throat cut.

And now Vandam was sending Elene in against the same man.

A corporal came in with an order. Vandam read it with mounting disbelief.

All departments were to extract from their files those papers which might be dangerous in enemy hands, and burn them. Just about anything in the files of an intelligence section might be dangerous in enemy hands. We might as well bum the whole damn lot, Vandam thought. And how would departments operate afterward? Clearly the brass thought the departments would not be operating at an for very much longer. Of course it was a precaution, but it was a very drastic one: they would not destroy the accumulated results of years of work unless they thought there was a very strong chance indeed of the Germans taking Egypt. It's going to pieces, he thought; it's falling apart.

It was unthinkable. Vandam had given three years of his life to the defense of Egypt. Thousands of men had died in the desert. After all that, was it possible that we could lose? Actually give up, and turn and run away? It did not bear contemplating.

He called Jakes in and watched him read the order. Jake& just nodded, as if he had been expecting it. Vandam said: "Bit drastic, isn't it?"

"It's rather like what's been happening in the desert, sir," Jakes replied.

"We establish huge supply dumps at enormous cost, then as we retreat we blow them up to keep them out of enemy hands."

Vandam nodded. "All right, you'd better get on with it. Try and play it down a bit, for the sake of morale-you know, brass getting the wind up unnecessarily, that sort of thing.,'

"Yes, sir. Well have the bonfire in the yard at the back, shall we?"

"Yes. Find an old dustbin and poke holes in its bottom. Make sure the stuff burns up properly."

"What about your own files?"

"I'll go through them now."

"Very good, sir." Jakes went out.

Vandam opened his file drawer and began to sort through his papers.

Countless times over the last three years he had thought: I don't need to remember that, I can always look it up. There were names and addresses, security reports on individuals, details of codes, systems of communication of orders, case notes and a little file of jottings about Alex Wolff. Jakes brought in a big cardboard box with "Lipton's Tea" printed on its side, and Vandam began to dump papers into it, thinking: This is what it is like to be the losers.

The box was half full when Vandam's corporal opened the door and said:

"Major Smith to see you, sir."

"Send him in." Vandam did not know a Major Smith. The major was a small, thin man in his forties with bulbous blue eyes and an air of being rather pleased with himself. He shook hands and said:

"Sandy Smith, S.I.S."

Vandam said: "What can I do for the Secret Intelligence Service?"

"I'm sort of the liaison man between S.I.S. and the General Staff," Smith explained. "You made an inquiry about a book called Rebecca .

"Yes.,'

"The answer got routed through us." Smith produced a piece of paper with a flourish.

Vandam read the message. The S.I.S. Head of Station in Portugal bad followed up the query about Rebecca by sending one of his men to visit all the English -language bookshops in the country. In the holiday area of Estoril he had found a bookseller who recalled selling his entire stock--six copies of Rebecca to one woman. On further investigation the woman had turned out to be the wife of the German military attache in Lisbon.

Vandam said: "This confirms something I suspected. Thank you for taking the trouble to bring it over."

"No trouble," Smith said. "I'm over here every morning anyway Glad to be able to help." He went out.

Vandam reflected on the news while he went on with his work. There was only one plausible explanation of the fact that the book had found its way from Estoril to the Sahara. Undoubtedly it was the basis of a code and, unless there were two successful German spies in Cairo, it was Alex Wolff who was using that code the information would be useful, sooner or later. It was a pity the key to the code had not been captured along with the book and the decrypt. That thought reminded him of the importance of burning his secret papers, and he determined to be more ruthless about what he destroyed.

At the end he considered his files on pay and promotion of subordinates, and decided to burn those too since they might help enemy interrogation teams fix their priorities. The cardboard box was full. He hefted it on to his shoulder and went outside.

Jakes had the fire going in a rusty steel water tank propped up on bricks. A corporal was feeding papers to the flames. Vandam dumped his box and watched the blaze for a while. It reminded him of Guy Fawkes Night in England, fireworks and baked potatoes and the burning effigy of a seventeenth century traitor. Charred scraps of paper floated up on a pillar of hot air. Vandam turned away.

He wanted to think, so be decided to walk. He left GHQ and headed downtown. His cheek was hurting. He thought he should welcome the pain, for it was supposed to be a sign of healing. He was growing a beard to cover the wound so that be would look a little less unsightly when the dressing came off - Every day he enjoyed not having to shave in the morning. He thought of Elene, and remembered her with her back arched and perspiration glistening on her naked breasts. He had been shocked by what had happened after he bad kissed her-shocked, but thrilled. It had been a night of firsts for him: first time he had made love anywhere other than on a bed, first time he had seen a woman have a climax like a man's, first time sex had been a mutual indulgence rather than the imposition of his will on a more or less reluctant woman. It was, of course, a disaster that he and Elene had fallen so joyfully in love. His parents, his friends and the Army would be aghast at the idea of his marrying a wog. His mother would also feel bound to explain why the Jews were wrong to reject Jesus. Vandam decided not to worry over all that. He and Elene might be dead within a few days. We'll bask in the sunshine while it lasts, he thought, and to bell with the future.

His thoughts kept returning to the girl whose throat had been cut, apparently by Wolff, in Istanbul. He was terrified that something might go wrong on Thursday and Elene might find herself alone with Wolff again.

Looking around him, he realized that there was a festive feeling in the air. He passed a hairdresser's salon and noticed that it was packed out, with women standing waiting. The dress shops seemed to be doing good business. A woman came out of a grocer's with a basket full of canned food, and Vandam saw that there was a queue stretching out of the shop and along the pavement. A sign in the window of the next shop said, in hasty scribble: "Sorry, no makeup." Vandam realized that the Egyptians were preparing to be liberated, and looking forward to it.

He could not escape a sense of impending doom. Even the sky seemed dark. He looked up: the sky was dark. There seemed to be a gray swirling mist, dotted with particles, over the city. He realized that it was smoke mixed with charred paper. All across Cairo the British were burning their files, and the sooty smoke had blotted out the sun.

Vandam was suddenly furious with himself and the rest of the Allied armies for preparing so equably for defeat. Where was the spirit of the Battle of Britain? What had happened to that famous mixture of obstinacy, ingenuity and courage which was supposed to characterize the nation? What, Vandam asked himself, are you planning to do about it? He turned around and walked back toward Garden City, where GHQ was billeted in commandeered villas. He visualized the map of the El Alamein Line, where the Allies would make their last stand, This was one line Rommel could not circumvent, for at its southern end was the vast impassable Qattara Depression. So Rommel would have to break the line. Where would he try to break through? If he came through the northern end, he would then have to choose between dashing straight for Alexandria and wheeling around and attacking the Allied forces from behind. If he came through the southern end he must either dash for Cairo or, again, wheel around and destroy the remains of the Allied forces.

Immediately behind the line was the Alam Haifa ridge, which Vandam knew was heavily fortified. Clearly it would be better for the Allies if Rommel wheeled around after breaking through the line, for then he might well spend his strength attacking Alam Haifa.

There was one more factor. The southern approach to Alam Haifa was through treacherous soft sand. It was unlikely that Rommel knew about the quicksand, for he bad never penetrated this far east before, and only the Allies had good maps of the desert.

So, Vandam thought, my duty is to prevent Alex Wolff telling Rommel that Alam Halfa is well defended and cannot be attacked from the south. It was a depressingly negative plan.

Vandam had come, without consciously intending it, to the Villa les Oliviers, Wolff's house. He sat in the little park opposite it, under the olive trees, and stared at the building as if it might tell him where Wolff was. He thought idly: If only Wolff would make a mistake, and encourage Rommel to attack Alam. Halfa from the south.

Then it bit him.

Suppose I do capture Wolff. Suppose I also get his radio. Suppose I even find the key to his code.

Then I could impersonate Wolff, get on the radio to Rommel, and tell him to attack Alam Halfa from the south.

The idea blossomed rapidly in his mind, and he began to feel elated. By now Rommel was convinced, quite rightly, that Wolff's information was good. Suppose he got a message from Wolff saying the El Alamein Line was weak at the southern end, that the southern approach to Alarn Halfa was hard going, and that Alam Halfa itself was weakly defended.

The temptation would be too much for Rommel to resist.

He would break through the line at the southern end and then swing northward, expecting to take Alam Halfa without much trouble. Then he would hit the quicksand. While he was struggling through it, our artillery would decimate his forces. When he reached Alam Halfa he would find it heavily defended. At that point we would bring in more forces from the front line and squeeze the enemy like a nutcracker.

If the ambush worked well, it might not only save Egypt but annihilate the Afrika Korps.

He thought: I've got to put this idea up to the brass.

It would not be easy. His standing was not very high just now-in fact his professional reputation was in ruins on account of Alex Wolff. But surely they would see the merit of the idea.

He got up from the bench and headed for his office. Suddenly the future looked different. Perhaps the jackboot would not ring out on the tiled floors of the mosques. Perhaps the treasures of the Egyptian Museum would not be shipped to

Berlin. Perhaps Billy would not have to join the Hitler Youth. Perhaps Elene would not be sent to Dachau. We could all be saved, he thought. If I catch Wolff.

PART THREE

ALAM HALFA

Chapter 20.

One of these days, Vandam thought, I'm going to punch Bogge on the nose. Today Lieutenant Colonel Bogge was at his worst: indecisive, sarcastic and touchy. He had a nervous cough which he used when he was afraid to speak, and he was coughing a lot now. He was also fidgeting: tidying piles of papers on his desk, crossing and uncrossing his legs and polishing his wretched cricket ball.

Vandam sat still and quiet, waiting for him to tie himself up in knots.

"Now look here, Vandam, strategy is for Auchinleck. Your job is personnel security-and you're not doing very well."

"Nor is Auchinleck," Vandam said.

Bogge pretended not to hear. He picked up Vandam's memo. Vandam had written out his deception plan and formally submitted it to Bogge, with a copy to the brigadier. "For one thing, this is full of holes," Bogge said. Vandam said nothing.

"Full of holes." Bogge coughed. "For one thing, it involves letting old Rommel through the line, doesn't it?"

Vandam said: "Perhaps the plan could be made contingent on his getting through."

"Yes. Now, you see? This is the kind of thing I mean. If you put up a plan that's full of holes like that, given that your reputation is at a pretty damn low point around here at the moment, well, you'll be laughed out of Cairo. Now." He coughed. "You want to encourage Rommel to attack the line at its weakest point-giving him a better chance of getting through! You see?"

"Yes. Some parts of the line are weaker than others, and since Rommel has air reconnaissance there's a chance he'll know which parts."

"And you want to turn a chance into a certainty."

"For the sake of the subsequent ambush, yes."

"Now, it seems to me that we want old Rommel to attack the strongest part of the line, so that he won't get through at all."

"But if we repel him, he'll just regroup and hit us again. Whereas if we trap him we could finish him off finally."

"No, no, no. Risky. Risky. This is our last line of defense, laddie."

Bogge laughed. "After his, there's nothing but one little canal between him and Cairo. You don't seem to realize-"

"I realize very well, sir. Let me put it this way. One: if Rommel gets through the line he must be diverted to Alam. Halfa by the false prospect of an easy victory. Two: it is preferable that he attack Alam Halfa from the south, because of the quicksand. Three: either we must wait and see which end of the line he attacks, and take the risk that he will go north; or we must encourage him to go south, and take the risk that we will thereby increase his chances of breaking through the line in the first place."

"Well," said Bogge, "now that we've rephrased it, the plan is beginning to make a bit more sense. Now look here: you're going to have to leave it with me for a while. When I've got a moment I'll go through the thing with a fine-toothed comb, and see if I can knock it into shape. Then perhaps we'll put it up to the brass."

I see, Vandam thought: the object of the exercise is to make it Bogge's plan. Well, what the hell? If Bogge can be bothered to play politics at this stage, good luck to him. Its winning that matters, not getting the credit.

Vandam said: "Very good, sir. If I might just emphasize the time factor . . . If the plan is to be put into operation, it must be done quickly."

"I think I'm the best judge of its urgency, Major, don't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"And, after all, everything depends on catching the damn spy, something at which you have not so far been entirely successful, am I right?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'll be taking charge of tonight's operation myself, to ensure that there are no further foul-ups. Let me have your proposals this afternoon, and we'll go over them together-" There was a, knock at the door and the brigadier walked in. Vandam and Bogge stood up.

Bogge said: "Good morning, sir."

"At ease, gentlemen," the brigadier said. "I've been looking for you, Vandam"

Bogge said: "We were just working on an idea we had for a deception plan--P "Yes, I saw the memo."

"Ah, Vandam sent you a copy," Bogge said. Vandam did not look at Bogge, but he knew the lieutenant colonel was furious with him.

"Yes. indeed," said the brigadier. He turned to Vandam "You're supposed to be catching spies, Major, not advising generals on strategy, Perhaps if you spent less time telling us how to win the war you might be a better security officer."

Vandam's heart sank.

Bogge said: "I was just saying--~'

The brigadier interrupted him. "However, since you have done this, and since it's such a splendid plan, I want you to come with me and sell it to Auchinleck. You can spare him, Bogge, can't you?"

"Of course, sir," Bogge said through clenched teeth.

"All right, Vandam The conference will be starting any minute, Let's go."

Vandam followed the brigadier out and shut the door very softly on Bogge.

On the day that Wolff was to see Elene again, Major Smith came to the houseboat at lunchtime.

The information he brought with him was the most valuable yet.

Wolff and Sonja went through their now-familiar routine. Wolff felt like an actor in a French farce, who has to hide in the same stage wardrobe night after night. Sonja and Smith, following the script, began on the couch and moved into the bedroom. When Wolff emerged from the cupboard the curtains were closed, and there on the floor were Smith's briefcase, his shoes and his shorts with the key ring poking out of the pocket.

Wolff opened the briefcase and began to read.

Once again Smith had come to the houseboat straight from the morning conference at GHQ at which Auchinleck and his staff discussed Allied strategy and decided what to do.

After a few minutes' reading Wolff realized that what he held in his hand was a complete rundown of the Allies' last ditch defense on the El Alamein Line.

The line consisted of artillery on the ridges, tanks on the level ground and minefields all along. The Alam Halfa ridge, five miles behind the center of the line, was also heavily fortified. Wolff noted that the southern end of the line was weaker, both in troops and mines. Smith's briefcase also contained an enemy-position paper. Allied Intelligence thought Rommel would probably try to break through the line at the southern end, but noted that the northern end was possible. Beneath this, written in pencil in what was presumably Smith's handwriting, was a note which Wolff found more exciting than all the rest of the stuff put together. It read: "Major Vandam proposes deception plan. Encourage Rommel to break through at southern end, lure him toward Alam Halfa, catch him in quicksand, then nutcracker. Plan accepted by Auk."

"Auk" was Auchinleck, no doubt. What a discovery this was! Not only did Wolff hold in his hand the details of the Allied defense line-he also knew what they expected Rommel to do, and he knew their deception plan. And the deception plan was Vandam's!

This would be remembered as the greatest espionage coup of the century. Wolff himself would be responsible for assuring Rommel's victory in North Africa.

They should make me King of Egypt for this, he thought, and he smiled. He looked up and saw Smith standing between the curtains, staring down at him.

Smith roared: "Who the devil are you?"

Wolff realized angrily that he had not been paying attention to the noises from the bedroom. Something had gone wrong, the script had not been followed, there had been no champagne-cork warning. He had been totally absorbed in the strategic appreciation. The endless names of divisions and brigades, the numbers of men and tanks, the quantities of fuel and supplies, the ridges and depressions and quick sands had monopolized his attention to the exclusion of local sounds. He was suddenly terribly afraid that he might be thwarted in his moment of triumph.

Smith said: "That's my bloody briefcase!"

He took a step forward.

Wolff reached out, caught Smith's foot, and heaved sideways. The major toppled over and hit the floor with a heavy thud.

Sonja screamed.

Wolff and Smith both scrambled to their feet.

Smith was a small, thin man, ten years older than Wolff and in poor shape. He stepped backward, fear showing in his face. He bumped into a shelf, glanced sideways, saw a cutglass fruit bowl on the shelf, picked it up and hurled it at Wolff.

It missed, fell into the kitchen sink, and shattered loudly.

The noise, Wolff thought: if he makes any more noise people will come to investigate. He moved toward Smith.

Smith, with his back to the wall, yelled: "Help!"

Wolff hit him once, on the point of the jaw, and he collapsed, sliding down the wall to sit, unconscious, on the floor.

Sonja came out and stared at him.

Wolff rubbed his knuckles. "It's the first time I've ever done that," he said.

'"What?"

"Hit somebody on the chin and knocked him out. I thought only boxers could do that."

"Never mind that, what are we going to do about him?"

"I don't know." Wolff considered the possibilities. To kill Smith would be dangerous, for the death of an officer-and the disappearance of his briefcase-would now cause a terrific rumpus throughout the city. There would be the problem of what to do with the body. And Smith would bring home no more secrets.

Smith groaned and stirred.

Wolff wondered whether it might be possible to let him go. After all, if Smith were to reveal what had been going on in the houseboat he would implicate himself. Not only would it ruin his career, be would probably be thrown in jail. He did not look like the kind of man to sacrifice himself for a higher cause.

Let him go free? No, the chance was too much to take. To know that there was a British officer in the city who possessed all of Wolff's secrets . . . Impossible.

Smith had his eyes open. "You . . ." he said. "You're Slavenburg . . ." He looked at Sonja, then back at Wolff. "It was you who introduced ... in the Cha-Cha . . . this was all planned..."

"Shut up," Wolf said mildly. Kill him or let him go: what other options were there? Only one: to keep him here, bound and gagged, until Rommel reached Cairo.

"You're damned spies," Smith said. His face was white.

Sonja said nastily: "And you thought I was crazy for your miserable body."

"Yes." Smith was recovering. "I should have known better than to trust a wog bitch."

Sonja stepped forward and kicked his face with her bare foot.

"Stop itl" Wolff said. "We've got to think what to do with him. Have we got any rope to tie him with?"

Sonja thought for a moment. "Up on deck, in that locker at the forward end."

Wolff took from the kitchen drawer the heavy steel he used for sharpening the carving knife. He gave the steel to Sonja. "If he moves, hit him with that," he said. He did not think Smith would move.

He was about to go up the ladder to the deck when he heard footsteps on the gangplank.

Sonja said: "Postman!"

Wolff knelt in front of Smith and drew his knife. "Open your mouth." Smith began to say something, and Wolff slid the knife between Smith's teeth.

Wolff said: "Now, if you move or speak, IT cut out your tongue."

Smith sat dead still, staring at Wolff with a horrified look.

Wolff realized that Sonja was stark naked. "Put something on, quickly!" She pulled a sheet off the bed and wrapped it around her as she went to the foot of the ladder. The hatch was opening. Wolff knew that he and Smith could be seen from the hatch. Sonja let the sheet slide down a little as she reached up to take the letter from the postman's outstretched hand.

"Good morning!" the postman said. His eyes were riveted on Sonja's half-exposed breasts.

She went farther up the ladder toward him, so that he had to back away, and lot the sheet slip even more. "Thank you," she simpered. She reached for the hatch and pulled it shut.

Wolff breathed again.

The postman's footsteps crossed the deck and descended the gangplank.

Wolff said to Sonja: "Give me that sheet."

She unwrapped herself and stood naked again.

Wolff withdrew the knife from Smith's mouth and used it to cut off a foot or two of the sheet. He crumpled the cotton into a ball and stuffed it into Smith's mouth. Smith did not resist. Wolff slid the knife into its underarm sheath. He stood up. Smith closed his eyes. He seemed limp, defeated.

Sonja picked up the sharpening steel and stood ready to hit Smith while Wolff went up the ladder and on to the deck. The locker Sonja had mentioned was in the riser of a step in the prow. Wolff opened it. Inside was a coil of slender rope it had perhaps been used to tie up the vessel in the days before she became a houseboat. Wolff took the rope out. It was strong, but not too thick: ideal for tying someone's hands and feet. He heard Sonja's voice, from below, raised in a shout. There was a clatter of feet on the ladder.

Wolff dropped the rope and whirled around.

Smith, wearing only his underpants, came up through the hatch at a run. He had not been as defeated as he looked-and Sonja must have missed him with the steel.

Wolff dashed across the deck to the gangplank to head him off. Smith turned, ran to the other side of the boat, and jumped into the water.

Wolff said: "Shit!"

He looked all around quickly. There was no one on the decks of the other houseboats-it was the hour of the siesta. The towpath was deserted except for the "beggar"-Kemel would have to deal with him-and one man in the distance walking away on the river there were a couple of feluccas, at least P quarter of a mile away, and a slow-moving steam barge beyond them.

Wolff ran to the edge. Smith surfaced, gasping for air. He wiped his eyes and looked around to get his bearings. He was clumsy in the water, splashing a lot. He began to swim, inexpertly. away from the houseboat. Wolff stepped back several paces and took a running jump into the river.

He landed, feet first, on Smith's bead.

For several seconds all was confusion. Wolff went underwater in a tangle of arms and legs-his and Smith's-and struggled to reach the surface and push Smith down at the same time. When he could hold his breath no longer he wriggled away from Smith and came up.

He sucked air and wiped his eyes. Smith's head bobbed up in front of him, coughing and spluttering. Wolff reached forward with both hands, grabbed Smith's bead, and pulled it toward himself and down. Smith wriggled like a fish. Wolff got him around the neck and pushed down. Wolff himself Went under the water, then came up again a moment later. Smith was still under, still struggling.

Wolff thought: How long does it take a man to drown?

Smith gave a convulsive jerk and freed himself. His bead came up and he heaved a great lungful of air. Wolff tried to punch him. The blow landed, but it had no force. Smith was coughing and retching between shuddering gasps. Wolff himself had taken in water. Wolff reached for Smith again. This time he got behind the major and crooked one arm around the man's throat while he used the other to push down on the top of his head. He thought: Christ, I hope no one is watching.

Smith went under. He was facedown in the water now, with Wolff's knees in his back, and his head held in a firm grip. He continued to thrash around under water, turning, jerking, flailing his arms, kicking his legs and trying to twist his body.

Wolff tightened his grip and held him under.

Drown, you bastard, drown.

He felt Smith's jaws open and knew the man was at last breathing water. The convulsions grew more frantic. Wolff felt he was going to have to let go. Smith's struggle pulled Wolff under. Wolff squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath. It seemed Smith was weakening. By now his lungs must be half full of water, Wolff thought. After a few seconds Wolff himself began to need air.

Smith's movements became feeble. Holding the major less tightly, Wolff kicked himself upward and found air. For a minute he just breathed. Smith became a dead weight. Wolff used his legs to swim toward the houseboat, pulling Smith with him. Smith's head came up out of the water, but there was no sign of life.

Wolff reached the side of the boat Sonja was up on deck, wearing a robe, staring over the side.

Wolff said: "Did anybody see?"

"I don't think so. Is he dead?"

"Yes."

Wolff thought: What the bell do I do now?

He held Smith against the side of the boat. If I let him go, he'll just float, he thought. The body will be found near here and there will be a house-to-house search. But I can't carry a body half across Cairo to get rid of it.

Suddenly Smith jerked and spewed water.

"Jesus Christ, he's alive!" Wolff said.

He pushed Smith under again. This was no good, it took too long. He let Smith go, pulled out his knife, and lunged. Smith was underwater, moving feebly. Wolff could not direct the knife. He slashed wildly. The water hampered him. Smith thrashed about. The foaming water turned pink. At last Wolff was able to grab Smith by the hair and hold his head still while he cut his throat.

Now he was dead.

Wolff let Smith go while he sheathed the knife again. The river water turned muddy red all around him. I'm swimming in blood, he thought, and he was suddenly filled with disgust.

The body was drifting away. Wolff pulled it back. He realized, too late, that a drowned major might simply have fallen in the river, but a major with his throat cut had unquestionably been murdered. Now he had to hide the body.

He looked up. "Sonja!"

"I feel ill."

"Never mind that. We have to make the body sink to the bottom."

"Oh, God, the water's all bloody."

"Listen to me!" He wanted to yell at her, to make her snap out of it, but he had to keep his voice low. "Get ... get that rope. Go on!" She disappeared from view for a moment, and returned with the rope. She was helpless, Wolff decided: he would have to tell her exactly what to do.

"Now-get Smith's briefcase and put something heavy in it.

"Something heavy ... but what?"

"Jesus Christ ... What have we got that's heavy? What's heavy? Urn ... books, books are heavy, no, that might not be enough . . . I know, bottles. Full bottles--champagne bottles. Fill his briefcase with full bottles of champagne."

"Why?"

"My God, stop dithering, do what I tell you!"

She went away again. Through the porthole he could see her coming down the ladder and into the living room. She was moving very slowly, like a sleepwalker.

Hurry, you fat bitch, hurry!

She looked around her dazedly. Still moving in slow motion, she picked up the briefcase from the floor. She took it to the kitchen area and opened the icebox. She looked in, as if she were deciding what to have for dinner.

Come on.

She took out a champagne bottle. She stood with the bottle in one hand and the briefcase in the other, and she frowned, as if she could not remember what she was supposed to be doing with them. At last her expression cleared and she put the bottle in the case, laying it flat. She took another bottle out.

Wolff thought: Lay them head to toe, idiot, so you get more in. She put the second bottle in, looked at it, then took it out and turned it the other way.

Brilliant, Wolff thought.

She managed to get four bottles in. She closed the icebox and looked around for something else to add to the weight. She picked up the sharpening steel and a glass paperweight. She put those into the briefcase and fastened it. Then she came up on deck.

"What now?" she said.

"Tie the end of the rope around the handle of the briefcase. "

She was coming out of her daze. Her fingers moved more quickly.

"Tie it very tight," Wolff said.

"Okay."

"Is there anyone around?"

She glanced to left and right. "No."

"Hurry.

She finished the knot.

"Throw me the rope," Wolff said.

She threw down the other end of the rope and he caught it. He was tiring with the effort of keeping himself afloat and holding on to the corpse at the same time. He had to let Smith go for a moment because he needed both hands for the rope, which meant he had to tread water furiously to stay up. He threaded the rope under the dead man's armpits and pulled it through. He wound it around the torso twice, then tied a knot. Several times during the operation he found himself sinking, and once he took a revolting mouthful of bloody Water.

At last the job was done.

"Test your knot," he told Sonja.

"It's tight."

"Throw the briefcase into the water-throw it as far out as you can." She heaved the briefcase over the side. It splashed a couple of yards away from the houseboat-it bad been too heavy for her to throw far-and went down. Slowly the rope followed the case. The length of rope between Smith and the case became taut, then the body went under. Wolff watched the surface. The knots were holding. He kicked his legs, underwater where the body had gone down: they did not contact anything. The body had sunk deep.

Wolff muttered: "Liebe Gott, what a shambles."

He climbed on deck. Looking back down, he saw that the pink tinge was rapidly disappearing from the water.

A voice said: "Good morning!"

Wolff and Sonja whirled around to face the towpath.

"Good morning!" Sonja replied. She muttered to Wolff in an undertone: "A neighbor."

The neighbor was a half-caste woman of middle age, carrying a shopping basket. She said: "I heard a lot of splashing-is there anything wrong?"

"Urn ... no," Sonja said. "My little dog fell in the water, and Mr. Robinson here had to rescue him."

"How gallant!" the woman said. "I didn't know you had a dog. "He's a puppy, a gift" "What kind?"

Wolff wanted to scream: Go away, you stupid old woman "A poodle," Sonja replied.

"I'd love to see him."

"Tomorrow, perhaps-he's been locked up as a punishment now."

"Poor thing."

Wolff said: "I'd better change my wet clothes."

Sonja said to the neighbor: "Until tomorrow."

"Lovely to meet you, Mr. Robinson," the neighbor said.

Wolff and Sonja went below.

Sonja slumped on the couch and closed her eyes. Wolff stripped off his wet clothes.

Sonja said: "It's the worst thing that's ever happened to me.

"You'll survive," Wolff said.

"At least it was an Englishman."

"Yes. You should be jumping for joy."

"I will when my stomach settles."

Wolff went into the bathroom and turned on the taps of the tub. When he came back Sonja said: "Was it worth it?"

"Yes." Wolff pointed to the military papers which were still on the floor, where he had dropped them when Smith surprised him. "That stuff is red-hot-the best he's ever brought us. With that, Rommel can win the war."

"When will you send it?"

"Tonight, at midnight."

"Tonight you're going to bring Elene here."

He stared at her. "How can you think of that when we've just killed a man and sunk his body?"

She stared at him defiantly. "I don't know, I just know it makes me feel very sexy."

"My God."

"You will bring her home tonight. You owe it to me."

Wolff hesitated. "I'd have to make the broadcast while she's here."

"I'll keep her busy while you're on the radio."

"I don't know-"

"Damn it, Alex, you owe me!"

"All right."

"Thank you."

Wolff went into the bathroom. Sonja was unbelievable, he thought. She took depravity to new heights of sophistication. He got into the hot water.

She called from the bedroom: "But now Smith won't be bringing you any more secrets."

"I don't think we'll need them, after the next battle," Wolff replied.

"He's served his purpose."

He picked up the soap and began to wash off the blood.

Chapter 21.

Vandam knocked at the door of Elene's flat an hour before she was due to meet Alex Wolff.

She came to the door wearing a black cocktail dress and high-heeled black shoes with silk stockings. Around her neck was a slender gold chain. Her face was made up, and her hair gleamed. She had been expecting Vandam He smiled at her, seeing someone familiar yet at the same time astonishingly beautiful. "Hello."

"Come in." She led him into the living room. "Sit down."

He had wanted to kiss her, but she had not given him the chance. He sat on the couch. "I wanted to tell you the details for tonight."

"Okay." She sat on a chair opposite him. "Do you want a drink?"

"Sure."

"Help yourself."

He stared at her. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing. Give yourself a drink, then brief me."

Vandam frowned. "What is this?"

"Nothing. We've got work to do, so let's do it."

He stood up, went across to her, and knelt in front of her chair. "Elene.

What are you doing?"

She glared at him. She seemed close to tears. She said loudly: "Where have you been for the last two days?"

He looked away from her, thinking. "I've been at work."

"And where do you think I've been?"

"Here, I suppose."

"Exactly!"

He did not understand what that meant. It crossed his mind that he had fallen in love with a woman he hardly knew. He said:

"I've been working, and you've been here, and so you're mad at me?"

She shouted: "Yes!"

Vandam said: "Calm down. I don't understand why you're so cross, and I want you to explain it to me."

"NO!"

"Then I don't know what to say." Vandam sat on the floor with his back to her and lit a cigarette. He truly did not know what had upset her, but there was an element of willfulness in his attitude: he was ready to be humble. to apologize for whatever he had done, and to make amends-but he was not willing to play guessing games.

They sat in silence for a minute, not looking at one another. Elene sniffed. Vandam could not see her, but he knew the kind of sniff that came from weeping. She said: "You could have sent me a note, or even a bunch of bloody flowers!"

"A note? What for? You knew we were to meet tonight."

"Oh, my God."

"Flowers? What do you want with flowers? We don't need to play that game anymore."

"Oh, really?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"Listen. We made love the night before last, in case you've forgotten"

"Don't be silly-"

"You brought me home and kissed me good-bye. Then nothing." He drew on his cigarette. "In case you have forgotten, a certain Erwin Rommel is knocking at the gates with a bunch of Nazis in tow, and I'm one of the people who's trying to keep him out."

"Five minutes, that's all it would have taken to send me a note."

"what for?"

"Well, exactly, what for? I'm a loose woman, am T not? I give myself to a man the way I take a drink of water. An hour later I've forgotten-is that what you think? Because that's how it seems to me Damn you, William Vandam, you make me feel cheap"

It made no more sense than it had at the start, but now he could hear the pain in her voice. He turned to face her. "You're the most wonderful thing that's happened to me for a long time, perhaps ever. Please forgive me for being a fool." He took her hand in his own.

She looked toward the window, biting her lip, fighting back tears. "Yes, you are," she said. She looked down at him and touched his hair. "You bloody, bloody fool," she whispered, stroking his head. Her eyes spilled tears.

"I've such a lot to learn about you," he said.

"And I about you."

He looked away, thinking aloud. "People resent my equanimity-always have.

Those who work for me don't, they like it. They know that when they feel like panicking, when they feel they can't cope, they can come to me and tell me about the dilemma; and if I can't see a way through it, I'll tell them what is the best thing to do, the lesser evil; and because I say it in a calm voice, because I see that it's a dilemma and I don't panic, they go away reassured and do what they have to do. All I do is clarify the problem and refuse to be frightened by it; but that's just what they need. However ... exactly the same attitude often infuriates other people-my superiors, my friends, Angela, you ... I've never understood why.,,

"Because sometimes you should panic, fool," she said softly. "Sometimes you should show that you are frightened, or obsessed, or crazy for something. It's human, and it's a sign that you care. When you're so calm all the time we think it's because you don't give a damn."

Vandam said: "Well, people should know better. Lovers should know better, and so should friends, and bosses if they're any good." He said this honestly, but in the back of his mind he realized that there was indeed an element of ruthlessness, of cold-heartedness, in his famous equanimity.

"And if they don't know better" She had stopped crying now.

"I should be different? No." He wanted to be honest with her now. He could have told her a lie to make her happy: Yes, you're right, I'll try to be different. But what was the point? If he could not be himself with her, it was all worthless, he would be manipulating her the way all men had manipulated her, the way he manipulated people he did not love. So he told her the truth. "You see, this is the way I win. I mean, win everything ... the game of life-so to speak." He gave a wry grin. "I am detached. I look at everything from a distance. I do care, but I refuse to do pointless things, symbolic gestures, empty fits of rage. Either we love each other or we don't, and all the flowers in the world won't make any difference. But the work I did today could affect whether we live or die. I did think of you, all day; but each time I thought of you, I turned my mind to more urgent things. I work efficiently, I set priorities and I don't worry about you when I know you're okay. Can you imagine yourself getting used to that?"

She gave him a watery smile. "I'll try."

And all the time, in the back of his mind, he was thinking: For how long?

Do I want this woman forever? What if I don't?

He pushed the thought down. Right now it was low priority. "What I want to say, after all that, is: Forget about tonight, don't go, we'll manage without you. But I can't. We need vou, and it's terribly important." "That's okay, I understand."

"But first of all, may I kiss you hello?"

"Yes, please."

Kneeling beside the arm of her chair, he took her face in his big hand, and kissed her lips. Her mouth was soft and yielding, and slightly moist. He savored the feel and the taste of her. Never bad he felt like this, as though he could go on kissing, just so, all night and never get tired. Eventually she drew back, took a deep breath, and said: "My, my, I do believe you mean it."

"You may be sure of that."

She laughed. "When you said that, you were the old Major Vandam for a moment-the one I used to know before I knew you."

"And your my, my,' in that provocative voice was the old Elene."

"Brief me, Major."

"I'll have to get out of kissing distance."

"Sit over there and cross your legs. Anyway, what were you doing today?"

Vandam crossed the room to the drinks cupboard and found the gin. "A major in Intelligence has disappeared along with a briefcase full of secrets."

"Wolff?"

"Could be. It turns out that this major has been disappearing at lunchtime, a couple of times a week, and nobody knows where he's been going. I've a hunch that he might have been meeting Wolff." "So why would he disappear?"

Vandam shrugged. "Something went wrong."

"What was in his briefcase today?"

Vandam wondered how much to tell her. "A rundown of our defenses which was so complete that we think it could alter the result of the next battle." Smith had also been in possession of Vandam's proposed deception plan, but Vandam did not tell Elene this: he trusted her all the way, but he also had security instincts. He finished: "So, we'd better catch Wolff tonight."

"But it might be too late already!"

"No. We found the decrypt of one of Wolffs signals, a while back. It was timed at midnight. Spies have a set time for reporting, generally the same time every day. At other times their masters won't be listening-at least, not on the right wavelength--so even if they do signal nobody picks it up. Therefore, I think Wolff will send this information tonight at midnight-unless I catch him first." He hesitated, then changed his mind about security and decided she ought to know the full importance of what she was doing. "There's something else. He's using a code based on a novel called Rebecca. I've got a copy of the novel. If I can get the key to the code-" "What's that?"

"Just a piece of paper telling him how to use the book to encode signals."

"Go on."

"If I can get the key to the Rebecca code, I can impersonate Wolff over the radio and send false information to Rommel. It could turn the tables completely-it could save Egypt. But I must have the key." "All right. What's tonight's plan?"

"It's the same as before, only more so. I'll be in the restaurant with Jakes, and we'll both have pistols." Her eyes, widened. "You've got a gun?"

"I haven't got it now. Jakes is bringing it to the restaurant. Anyway, there will be two other men in the restaurant, and six more outside on the pavement, trying to look inconspicuous. There will also be civilian cars ready to block all exits from the street at the sound of a whistle. No matter what Wolff does tonight, if he wants to see you he's going to be caught."

There was a knock at the apartment door.

Vandam said: "What's that?"

"The door-"

"Yes, I know, are you expecting someone? Or something?"

"No, of course not, it's almost time for me to leave."

Vandam frowned. Alarm bells were sounding. "I don't like this. Don't answer."

"All right," Elene said. Then she changed her mind. "I have to answer.

It might be my father. Or news of him."

"Okay, answer it."

Elene went out of the living room. Vandam sat listening. The knock came again, then she opened the door.

Vandam heard her say: "Alex!"

Vandam whispered: "Christ!"

He heard Wolff's voice. "You're all ready. How delightful." It was a deep, confident voice, the drawled English spoken with only the faintest trace of an unidentifiable accent.

Elene said: "Of course."

"I know. May I come in?"

Vandam leaped over the back of the sofa and lay on the floor behind it.

"Elene said: "Of course

Wolff's voice came closer. "My dear, you look exquisite tonight."

Vandam thought: Smooth bastard.

The front door slammed shut.

Wolff said: "This way?"

"Urn ... Yes . . ."

Vandam heard the two of them enter the room. Wolff said: "What a lovely apartment. Mikis Aristopoulos, must pay you well."

"Oh, I don't work there regularly. He's a distant relation, it's family, I help out."

"Uncle. He must be your uncle."

"Oh . . . great-uncle, second cousin, something. He calls me his niece for simplicity."

"Well. These are for you."

"Oh, flowers. Thank you."

Vandam thought: Fuck that.

Wolff said: "May I sit down?"

"Of course."

Vandam felt the sofa shift as Wolff lowered his weight onto it. Wolff was a big man. Vandam remembered grappling with him in the alley. He also remembered the knife, and his hand went to the wound on his cheek. He thought: What can I do?

He could jump Wolff now. The spy was here, practically in his hands! They were about the same weight, and evenly matched-except for the knife. Wolff had had the knife that night when he had been dining with Sonja, so presumably he took it everywhere with him, and had it now. If they fought, and Wolff had the advantage of the knife, Wolff would win. It had happened before, in the alley. Vandam touched his cheek again.

He thought: Why didn't I bring the gun here?

If they fought, and Wolff won, what would happen then? Seeing Vandam in Elene's apartment, Wolff would know she had been trying to trap him. What would he do to her? In Istanbul, in a similar situation, he had slit the girl's throat.

Vandam blinked to shut out the awful image.

Wolff said: "I see you were having a drink before I arrived. May I join you?"

"Of course," Elene said again. "What would you like?"

"What's that?" Wolff sniffed. "Oh, a little gin would be very nice." Vandam thought: That was my drink. Thank God Elene didn't have a drink as well-two glasses would have given the game away. He heard ice clink. "Cheers!" Wolff said.

"Cheers."

"You don't seem to like it"

"The ice has melted."

Vandam knew why she had made a face when she sipped his drink: it had been straight gin. She was coping so well with the situation, he thought. What did she think he, Vandam, was planning to do? She must have guessed by now where he was hiding. She would be trying desperately not to look in this direction. Poor Elene! Once again she had got more than she bargained for. Vandam hoped she would be passive, take the line of least resistance and trust him.

Did Wolff still plan to go to the Oasis Restaurant? Perhaps he did. If only I could be sure of that, Vandam thought, I could leave it all to Jakes. Wolff said: "You seem nervous, Elene. Did I confuse your plans by coming here? If you want to go and finish getting ready, or something-not that you look a whit less than perfect right now-just leave me here with the gin bottle."

"No, no ... Well, we did say we'd meet at the restaurant..

"And here I am, altering everything at the last minute again. To be truthful, I'm bored with restaurants, and yet they are, so to speak, the conventional meeting place; so I arrange to have dinner with people, then when the time comes I can't face it, and I think of something else to do." So they're not going to the Oasis, Vandam thought. Damn.

Elene said: "What do you want to do?"

"May I surprise you again?"

Vandam thought: Make him tell you

Elene said: "All right."

Vandam groaned inwardly. If Wolff would reveal where they were going, Vandam could contact Jakes and have the whole ambush moved to the new venue. Elene was not thinking the right way. It was understandable: she sounded terrified.

Wolff said: "Shall we go?"

'All right."

The sofa creaked as Wolff got up. Vandam thought: I could go for him now Too risky.

He heard them leave the room. He stayed where he was for a moment. He heard Wolff, in the hallway, say: "After you." Then the front door was slammed shut.

Vandam stood up. He would have to follow them, and take the first available opportunity of calling GHQ and contacting Jakes. Elene did not have a telephone, not many people did in Cairo. Even if she had there was no time now. lie went to the front door and listened. He heard nothing. He opened it a fraction: they had gone. He went out, closed the door and hurried along the corridor and down the stairs. As be stepped out of the building he saw them on the other side of the road, Wolff was holding open a car door for Elene to get in. It was not a taxi: Wolff must have rented, borrowed or stolen a car for the evening. Wolff closed the door on Elene and walked around to the driver's side. Elene looked out of the window and caught Vandam's eye. She stared at him. He looked away from her, afraid to make any kind of gesture in case Wolff should see it.

Vandam walked to his motorcycle, climbed on and started the engine.

Wolff's car pulled away, and Vandam followed.

The city traffic was still heavy. Vandam was able to keep five or six cars between himself and Wolff without risking losing Wolff. It was dusk, but few cars had their lights on.

Vandam wondered where Wolff was going. They were sure to stop somewhere, unless the man intended to drive around all night. If only they would stop someplace where there was a telephone.

They headed out of the city, toward Giza. Darkness fell and Wolff illuminated the lights of the car. Vandam left his motorcycle lights off, so that Wolff would not be able to see that he was being followed. It was a nightmare ride. Even in daylight, in the city, riding a motorcycle was a little hair-raising: the roads were strewn with bumps, potholes and treacherous patches of oil, and Vandam found he had to watch the surface as much as the traffic. The desert road was worse, and yet he now had to drive without lights and keep an eye on the car ahead. Three or four times he almost came off the bike.

He was cold. Not anticipating this ride, he had worn only a short-sleeved uniform shirt, and at speed the wind cut through it. How far was Wolff planning to go?

The pyramids loomed ahead.

Vandam thought: No phone there.

Wolffs car slowed down. They were going to picnic by the pyramids. Vandam cut the motorcycle engine and coasted to a halt. Before Wolff had a chance to get out of the car, Vandam wheeled his bike off the road on to the sand. The desert was not level, except when seen from a distance, and he found a rocky hump behind which to lay down the motorcycle. He lay in the sand beside the hump and watched the car. Nothing happened.

The car stayed still, its engine off, its interior dark. What where they doing in there? Vandam was seized by jealousy. He told himself not to be stupid-they were eating, that was all. Elene had told him about the last picnic: the smoked salmon, the cold chicken, the champagne. You could not kiss a girl with a mouthful of fish. Still, their fingers would touch as he handed her the wine . .

Shut up.

He decided to risk a cigarette. He moved behind the hump to light it, then cupped it in his hand, army fashion, to hide the glow as he returned to his vantage point.

Five cigarettes later the car doors opened.

The cloud had cleared and the moon was out the whole landscape was dark blue and silver, the complex shadow work of the pyramids rising out of shining sand. Two dark figures got out of the car and walked toward the nearest of the ancient tombs. Vandam, could see that Elene walked with her arms folded across her chest, as if she were cold, or perhaps because she did not want to hold Wolff's hand. Wolff put an arm lightly across her shoulders, and she made no move to resist him.

They stopped at the base of the monument and talked. Wolff pointed upward, and Elene seemed to shake her head: Vandam guessed she did not want to climb. They walked around the base and disappeared behind the pyramid.

Vandam waited for them to emerge on the other side. They seemed to take a very long time. What were they doing behind there? The urge to go and see was almost irresistible.

He could get to the car now. He toyed with the idea of sabotaging it, rushing back to the city, and returning with his team. But Wolff would not be here when Vandam got back; it would be impossible to search the desert at night; by the morning Wolff might be miles away.

It was almost unbearable to watch and wait and do nothing, but Vandam knew it was the best course.

At last Wolff and Elene came back into view. He still bad his arm around her. They returned to the car, and stood beside the door. Wolff put his hands on Elene's shoulders, said something, and leaned forward to kiss her.

Vandam stood up.

Elene gave Wolff her cheek, then turned away, slipping out of his grasp, and got into the car.

Vandam lay down on the sand again.

The desert silence was broken by the roar of Wolff's car. Vandam watched it turn in a wide circle and take the road. The headlights came on, and Vandam ducked his head involuntarily, although he was well concealed. The car passed him, heading toward Cairo.

Vandam jumped up, wheeled his cycle on to the road and kicked the starter. The engine would not turn over. Vandam Cursed: he was terrified he might have gotten sand in the carburetor. He tried again, and this time it fired. He got on and followed the car.

The moonlight made it easier for him to spot the holes and bumps in the road surface, but it also made him more visible. He stayed well behind Wolffs car, knowing there was nowhere to go but Cairo. He wondered what Wolff planned next. Would he take Elene home? If so, where would he go afterward? He might lead Vandam to his base.

Vandam thought: I wish I had that gun.

Would Wolf take Elene to his home? The man had to be staying somewhere, had to have a bed in a room in a building in the city. Vandam was sure Wolff was planning to seduce Elene. Wolff had been rather patient and gentlemanly with her, but Vandam knew that. in reality he was a man who liked to get his way quickly. Seduction might be the least of the dangers Elene faced. Vandam thought: What wouldn't I give for a phone. They reached the outskirts of the city, and Vandam was obliged to pull up closer to the car, but fortunately there was plenty of traffic about. He contemplated stopping and giving a message to a policeman, or an officer, but Wolff was driving fast, and anyway, what would the message say? Vandam still did not know where Wolff was going.

He began to suspect the answer when they crossed the bridge to Zamalek. This was where the dancer, Sonia, had her houseboat. It was surely not possible that Wolff was living there, Vandam thought, for the place had been under surveillance for days. But perhaps he was reluctant to take Elene to his real home, and so was borrowing the houseboat. Wolff parked in a street and got out. Vandam stood his motorcycle against a wall and hurriedly chained the wheel to prevent theft-he might need the bike again tonight.

He followed Wolff and Elene from the street to the towpath. From behind a bush he watched as they walked a short distance along the path. He wondered what Elene was thinking. Had she expected to be rescued before this? Would she trust that Vandam was still watching her? Would she now lose hope? They stopped beside one of the boats-Vandam noted carefully which one-and Wolff helped Elene on to the gangplank. Vandam thought: Has it not occurred to Wolff that the houseboat might be under surveillance? Obviously not. Wolff followed Elene on to the deck, then opened a hatch. The two of them disappeared below.

Vandam thought: What now? This was surely his best chance to fetch help. Wolff must be intending to spend some time on the boat. But supposing that did not happen? Suppose, while Vandam was dashing to a phone, something went wrong-Elene insisted on being taken home, Wolff changed his plans, or they decided to go to a nightclub?

I could still lose the bastard, Vandam thought.

There must be a policeman around here somewhere.

"Hey!" he said in a stage whisper. "Is anybody there? Police? This is Major Vandam Hey, where are--" A dark figure materialized from behind a tree. An Arab voice said: "Yes?"

"Hello. I'm Major Vandam Are you the police officer watching the houseboat?"

"Yes, sir."

"Okay, listen. The man we're chasing is on the boat now. Do you have a gun?"

"No, sir."

"Damn." Vandam considered whether he and the Arab could raid the boat on their own, and decided they could not: The Arab could not be trusted to fight enthusiastically, and in that confined space Wolff's knife could wreak havoc. "Right, I want you to go to the nearest telephone, ring GHQ, and get a message through to Captain Jakes or Colonel Bogge, absolutely top priority: they are to come here in force and raid the houseboat immediately. Is that clear?"

"Captain Jakes or Colonel Bogge, GHQ, they are to raid the houseboat immediately. Yes, sir."

"All right. Be quick!"

The Arab left at a trot.

Vandam found a position in which he was concealed from view but could still watch the houseboat and the towpath. A few minutes later the figure of a woman came along the path. Vandam thought she looked familiar. She boarded the houseboat, and Vandam realized she was Sonja. He was relieved: at least Wolff could not molest Elene while there was another woman on the boat.

He settled down to wait.

Chapter 22.

The Arab was worried. "Go to the nearest telephone," the Englishman had said. Well, there were telephones in some of the nearby houses. But houses with phones were occupied by, Europeans, who would not take kindly to an Egyptian-even a police officer-banging on their doors at eleven o'clock at night and demanding to use the phone. They would almost certainly refuse, with oaths and curses: it would be a humiliating experience. He was not in uniform, not even wearing his usual plainclothes outfit of white shirt and black trousers, but was dressed like a fellah. They would not even believe he was a policeman.

There were no public phones on Zamalek that he knew of. That left him only one option: to phone from the station house. He headed that way, still trotting.

He was also worried about calling GHQ. It was an unwritten rule for Egyptian officials in Cairo that no one ever voluntarily contacted the British. It always meant trouble. The switchboard at GHQ would refuse to put through the call, or they would leave the message until morning-then deny they had ever received it--or they would tell him to call back later. And if anything went wrong there would be hell to pay. How, anyway, did he know that the man on the towpath had been genuine? He did not know Major Vandam from Adam, and anyone could put on the uniform shirt of a major. Suppose it was a hoax? There was a certain type of young English officer who just loved to play practical jokes on well-meaning Egyptians.

He had a standard response to situations like this: pass the buck. Anyway, he had been instructed to report to his superior officer and no one else on this case. He would go to the station house and from there, he decided, he would call Superintendent Kernel at home.

Kemel would know what to do.

Elene stepped off the ladder and looked nervously around the interior of the houseboat. She had expected the decor to be sparse and nautical. In fact it was luxurious, if a little overripe. 77here were thick rugs, low divans, a couple of elegant occasional tables, and rich velvet floor-to-ceiling curtains which divided this area from the other half of the boat, which was presumably the bedroom. Opposite the curtains, where the boat narrowed to what had been its stern, was a tiny kitchen with small but modern fittings.

"Is this yours?" she asked Wolff.

"It belongs to a friend," he said. "Do sit down."

Elene felt trapped. Where the hell was William Vandam? Several times during the evening she had thought there was a motorcycle behind the car, but she had been unable to look carefully for fear of alerting Wolff. Every second, she had been expecting soldiers to surround the car, arrest Wolff and set her free; and as the seconds turned into hours she had be-gun to wonder if it was all a dream, if William Vandam existed at all. Now Wolff was going to the icebox, taking out a bottle of champagne, finding two glasses, unwrapping the silver foil from the top of the bottle, unwinding the wire fastening, pulling the cork with a loud pop and pouring the champagne into the glasses and where the hell was William?

She was terrified of Wolff. She had had many liaisons with men, some of them casual, but she had always trusted the man, always known he would be kind, or if not kind, at least considerate. It was her body she was frightened for: if she let Wolff play with her body, what kind of games would be invent? Her skin was sensitive, she was soft inside, so easy to hurt, so vulnerable lying on her back with her legs apart . . . To be like that with someone who loved her, someone who would be as gentle with her body as she herself, would be a joy-but with Wolff, who wanted only to use her body . . . she shuddered.

"Are you cold?" Wolff said as he handed her a glass.

"No, I wasn't shivering..."

He raised his glass. "Your health."

Her mouth was dry. She sipped the cold wine, then took a gulp. It made her feel a little better.

He sat beside her on the couch and twisted around to look at her. "What a super evening," he said. "I enjoy your company so much. You're an enchantress."

Here it comes, she thought.

He put his hand on her knee.

She froze.

"You're enigmatic," he said. "Desirable, rather aloof, very beautiful, sometimes naive and sometimes so knowing will you tell me something?"

"I expect so." She did not look at him.

With his finger-tip he traced the silhouette of her face: forehead, nose, lips, chin. He said: "Why do you go out with me?"

What did he mean? Was is possible he suspected what she was really doing?

Or was this just the next move in the game?

She looked at him and said: "You're a very attractive man."

"I'm glad you think so." He put his hand on her knee, again, and leaned forward to kiss her. She offered him her cheek, as she had done once before this evening. His lips brushed her skin, then he whispered: "Why are you frightened of me?"

There was a noise up on deck-quick, light footsteps-and then the hatch opened.

Elene thought: William

A high-heeled shoe and a woman's foot appeared. The woman came down, closing the hatch above her, and stepped off the ladder. Elene saw her face and recognized her as Sonja, the belly dancer.

She thought: What on earth is going on?

"All right, Sergeant," Kernel said into the telephone. "You did exactly the right thing in contacting me. I'll deal with everything myself. In fact, you may go off duty now."

"Thank you, sir," said the sergeant. "Good night."

"Good night." Kernel hung up. This was a catastrophe. The British had followed Alex Wolff to the houseboat, and Vandam was trying to organize a raid. The consequences would be two-fold. First, the prospect of the Free Officers using the German's radio would vanish, and then there would be no possibility of negotiations with the Reich before Rommel conquered Egypt. Second, once the British discovered that the houseboat was a nest of spies, they would quickly figure out that Kernel had been concealing the facts and protecting the agents. Kernel regretted that he had not pushed Sonja harder, forced her to arrange a meeting within hours instead of days; but it was too late for regrets. What was he going to do now?

He went back into the bedroom and dressed quickly. From the bed his wife said softly: "What is it?"

"Work," he whispered.

"Oh, no." She turned over.

He took his pistol from the locked drawer in the desk and put it in his jacket pocket, then he kissed his wife and left the house quietly. He got into his car and started the engine. He sat thinking for a minute. He had to consult Sadat about this, but that would take time. In the meanwhile Vandam might grow impatient, waiting at the houseboat, and do something precipitate. Vandam would have to be dealt with first, quickly; then he could go to Sadat's house.

Kernel pulled away, heading for Zamalek. He wanted time to think, slowly and clearly, but time was what he lacked. Should he kill Vandam? He had never killed a man and did not know whether be would be capable of it. It was years since he had so much as hit anyone. And how would he cover up his involvement in all this? It might be days yet before the Germans reached Cairo-indeed it was possible, even at this stage, that they might be repulsed. Then there would be an investigation into what had happened on the towpath tonight, and sooner or later the blame would be laid at Kernel's door. He would probably be shot.

"Courage," he said aloud, remembering the way Imam's stolen plane had burst into flames as it crash-landed in the desert.

He parked near the towpath. From the trunk of the car he took a length of rope. He stuffed the rope into the pocket of his jacket, and carried the gun in his right hand.

He held the gun reversed, for clubbing. How long since he had used it? Six years, he thought, not counting occasional target practice.

He reached the riverbank. He looked at the silver Nile, the black shape, of the houseboats, the dim line of the towpath and the darkness of the bushes. Vandam would be in the bushes somewhere. Kemel stepped forward, walking softly.

Vandam looked at his wristwatch in the glow of his cigarette. It was eleven-thirty. Clearly something had gone wrong. Either the Arab policeman had given the wrong message or GHQ had been unable to locate Jakes, or Bogge had somehow fouled everything up. Vandam could not take the chance of letting Wolff get on the radio with the information he had now. There was nothing for it but to go aboard the houseboat himself, and risk everything.

He put out his cigarette, then he heard a footstep somewhere in the bushes. "Who is it?" he hissed. "Jakes?"

A dark figure emerged and whispered: "It's me."

Vandam could not recognize the whispered voice, nor could he see the face. "Who?"

The figure stepped nearer and raised an arm. Vandam said: "Who-" then he realized that the arm was sweeping down in a blow. He jerked sideways, and something hit the side of his head and bounced on his shoulder. Vandam shouted with pain, and his right arm went numb. The arm was lifted again. Vandam stepped forward, reaching clumsily for his assailant with his left hand. The figure stepped back and struck again, and this time the blow landed squarely on top of Vandam's head. There was a moment of intense pa" then Vandam lost consciousness.

Kernel pocketed the gun and knelt beside Vandam's prone figure. First he touched Vandam's chest, and was relieved to feet a strong heartbeat. Working quickly, he took off Vandam's sandals, removed the socks, rolled them into a ball and stuffed them into the unconscious man's mouth. That should stop him from calling out. Next he rolled Vandam over, crossed his wrists behind his back, and tied them together with the rope. With the other end of the rope he bound Vandam's ankles. Finally he tied the rope to a tree.

Vandam would come round in a few minutes but he would find it impossible to move. Nor could he cry out. He would remain there until somebody stumbled on him. How soon was that likely to happen? Normally there might have been people in these bushes, young men with their sweethearts and soldiers with their girls, but tonight there had surely been enough comings and goings here to frighten them away. There was a chance that a late coming couple would see Vandam, or perhaps bear him groaning ... Kernel would have to take that chance, there was no point standing around and worrying.

He decided to take a quick look at the houseboat. He walked light-footedly along the towpath to the Rhan. There were lights on inside, but little curtains were drawn across the portholes. He was tempted to go aboard, but he wanted to consult with Sadat first, for he was not sure what should be done.

He turned around and headed back toward his car.

Sonja said: "Alex has told me all about you, Elene." She smiled. Elene smiled back. Was this the friend of Wolff's who owned the houseboat? Was Wolff living with her? Had he not expected her back so early? Why was neither of them angry, or puzzled, or embarrassed? Just for something to say, Elene asked her: "Have you just come from the Cha-Cha Club?"

"Yes."

"How was it?"

"As always-exhausting, thrilling, successful."

Sonja was not a humble woman, clearly.

Wolff handed Sonja a glass of champagne. She took it without looking at him, and said to Elene: "So you work in Mikis shop?"

"No, I don't," Elene said, thinking: Are you really interested in this?

"I helped him for a few days, that's all. We're related."

"So you're Greek?"

"That's right." The small talk was giving Elene confidence. Her fear receded. Whatever happened, Wolff was not likely to rape her at knifepoint in front of one of the most famous women in Egypt. Sonja gave her a breathing space, at least William was determined to capture Wolff before midnight-Midnight She had almost forgotten. At midnight Wolff was to contact the enemy by wireless, and hand over the details of the defense line. But where was the radio? Was it here, on the boat? If it was somewhere else, Wolff would have to leave soon. If it was here, would he send his message in front of Elene and Sonja? What was in his mind?

He sat down beside Elene. She felt vaguely threatened, with the two of them on either side of her. Wolff said: "What a lucky man I am, to be sitting here with the two most beautiful women in Cairo," Elene looked straight ahead, not knowing what to say.

Wolff said: "Isn't she beautiful, Sonja?"

"Oh, yes." Sonja touched Elene's face, then took her chin and turned her head. "Do you think I'm beautiful Elene?"

"Of course." Elene frowned. This was getting weird. It was almost as if-

"I'm so glad," Sonja said, and she put her hand on Elene's knee.

And then Elene understood.

Everything fell into place: Wolffs patience, his phony courtliness, the houseboat, the unexpected appearance of Sonja . . . Elene realized she was not safe at all. Her fear of Wolff came back, stronger than before. The pair of them wanted to use her, and she would have no choice, she would have to lie there, mute and unresisting, while they did whatever they wanted, Wolff with the knife in one hand-Stop it.

I won't be afraid. I can stand being mauled about by a pair of depraved old fools. There's more at stake here. Forget about your precious little body, think about the radio, and how to stop Wolff using it. This threesome might be turned to advantage.

She looked furtively at her wristwatch. It was a quarter to midnight. Too late, now, to rely on William. She, Elene, was the only one who could stop Wolff.

And she thought she knew how.

A look passed between Sonja and Wolff like a signal. Each with a hand on one of Elene's thighs, they leaned across her and kissed each other in front of her eyes.

She looked at them. It was a long, lascivious kiss. She thought: What do they expect me to do?

They drew apart.

Wolff kissed Elene the same way. Elene was unresistant. Then she felt Sonja's hand on her chin. Sonja turned Elene's face toward her and kissed her lips.

Elene closed her eyes, thinking: It won't hurt me, it won't hurt. It did not hurt, but it was strange, to be kissed so tenderly by a woman's mouth.

Elene thought: Somehow I have to get control of this scene. Sonja pulled open her own blouse. She had big brown breasts. Wolff bent his head and took a nipple into his mouth. Elene felt Sonja pushing her head down. She realized she was supposed to follow Wolffs example. She did so. Sonja moaned.

All this was for Sonja's benefit: it was clearly her fantasy, her kink; she was the one who was panting and groaning now, not Wolff. Elene was afraid that any minute now Wolff' might break away and go to his radio. As she went mechanically through the motions of making love to Sonja, she cast about in her mind for ways to drive Wolff out of his mind with lust. But the whole scene was so silly, so farcical, that everything she thought of doing seemed merely comical.

I've got to keep Wolff from that radio.

What's the key to all this? What do they really want?

She moved her face away from Sonja and kissed Wolff. He turned his mouth to hers. She found his hand, and pressed it between her thighs. He breathed deeply, and Elene thought: At least he's interested. Sonja tried to push them apart.

Wolff looked at Sonja, then slapped her face, hard.

Elene gasped with surprise. Was this the key? It must be a game they play, it must be.

Wolff turned his attention back to Elene. Sonja tried to get between them again.

This time Elene slapped her.

Sonja moaned deep in her throat.

Elene thought: I've done it, I've guessed the game, I'm in control.

She saw Wolff look at his wristwatch.

Suddenly she stood up. They both stared at her. She lifted her arms then, slowly, she pulled her dress up over her head, threw it to one side, and stood there in her black underwear and stockings. She touched herself, lightly, running her hands between her thighs and across her breasts. She saw Wolff's face change: his look of composure vanished, and he gazed at her, wide-eyed with desire. He was tense, mesmerized. He licked his lips. Elene raised her left foot, planted a high heeled shoe between Sonja's breasts and pushed Sonja backward. Then she grasped Wolff's head and drew it to her belly.

Sonja started kissing Elene's foot.

Wolff made a sound between a groan and a sigh, and buried his face between Elene's thighs.

Elene looked at her watch.

It was midnight.

Chapter 23.

Elene lay on her back in the bed, naked. She was quite still, rigid, her muscles tense, staring straight up at the blank ceiling. On her right was Sonja, facedown, arms and legs spread all ways over the sheets, fast asleep, snoring. Sonja's right hand rested limply on Elene's hip. Wolff was on Elene's left. He lay on his side, facing her, sleepily stroking her body. Elene was thinking: Well, it didn't kill me.

The game had been all about rejecting and accepting Sonja. The more Elene and Wolff rejected her and abused her, the more passionate she became, until in the denouement Wolff rejected Elene and made love to Sonja. It was a script that Wolff and Sonja obviously knew well: they had played it before.

It had given Elene very little pleasure, but she was not sickened or humiliated or disgusted. What she felt was that she had been betrayed, and betrayed by herself. It was like pawning a jewel given by a lover, or having your long hair cut off to sell for money, or sending a small child to work in a mill. She had abused herself. Worst of all, what she had done was the logical culmination of the life she had been living: in the eight years since she had left home she had been on the slippery slope that ended in prostitution, and now she felt she had arrived there.

The stroking stopped, and she glanced sideways at Wolff's face. His eyes were closed. He was falling asleep.

She wondered what had happened to Vandam

Something had gone wrong. Perhaps Vandam had lost sight of Wolff's car in

Cairo. Maybe he had had an accident in the traffic. Whatever the reason, Vandam was no longer watching over her. She was on her own.

She had succeeded in making Wolff forget his midnight transmission to Rommel-but what now was to stop him sending the message another night? Elene would have to get to GHQ and tell Jakes where Wolff was to be found. She would have to slip away, right now, find Jakes, get him to pull his team out of bed . . .

It would take too long. Wolff might wake, find she was gone, and vanish again.

Was his radio here, on the houseboat, or somewhere else? That might make all the difference.

She remembered something Vandam had said last evening-was it really only a few hours ago? "If I can get the key to the Rebecca code, I can impersonate him over the radio ... it could turn the tables completely. . ."

Elene thought: Perhaps I can find the key.

He had said it was a sheet of paper explaining how to use the book to encode messages.

Elene realized that she now had a chance to locate the radio and the key to the code.

She had to search the houseboat.

She did not move. She was frightened again. If Wolff should discover her searching . . . She remembered his theory of human nature: the world is divided into masters and slaves. A slave's life was worth nothing. No, she thought; I'll leave here in the morning, quite normally, and then I'll tell the British where Wolff is to be found, and they'll raid the houseboat, and-And what if Wolff had gone by then? What if the radio was not here? Then it would all have been for nothing.

Wolff's breathing was now slow and even: he was fast asleep. Elene reached down, gently picked up Sonja's limp hand, and moved it from her thigh on to the sheet. Sonja did not stir.

Now neither of them was touching Elene. It was a great relief.

Slowly, she sat upright.

The shift of weight on the mattress disturbed both of the other two.

Sonja grunted, lifted her head, turned it the other way, and fell to snoring again. Wolff rolled over on his back without opening his eyes.

Moving slowly, wincing with every movement of the mattress, Elene turned around so that she was on her hands and knees, facing the head of the bed. She began painfully to crawl backward: right knee, left hand, left knee, right hand. She watched the two sleeping faces. The foot of the bed seemed miles away. The silence rang in her ears like thunder. The houseboat itself rocked from side to side on the wash of a passing barge, and Elene backed off the bed quickly under cover of the disturbance. She stood there, rooted to the spot, watching the other two, until the boat stopped moving. They stayed asleep.

Where should the search start? Elene decided to be methodical, and begin at the front and work backward. In the prow of the boat was the bathroom. Suddenly she realized she had to go there anyway. She tiptoed across the bedroom and went into the tiny bathroom.

Sitting on the toilet, she looked around. Where might a radio be hidden? She did not really know how big it would be: the size of a suitcase? A briefcase? A handbag? Here there were a basin, a small tub and a cupboard on the wall. She stood up and opened the cupboard. It contained shaving gear, pills and a small roll of bandage.

The radio was not in the bathroom.

She did not have the courage to search the bedroom while they slept, not yet. She crossed it and passed through the curtains into the living room. She looked quickly all around. She felt the need to hurry, and forced herself to be calm and careful. She began on the starboard side. Here there was a divan couch. She tapped its base gently: it seemed hollow. The radio might be underneath. She tried to lift it, and could not Looking around its edge, she saw that it was screwed to the floor. The screws were tight. The radio would not be there. Next there was a tall cupboard. She opened it gently. It squeaked a little, and she froze. She heard a grunt from the bedroom. She waited for Wolff to come bounding through the curtains and catch her red-handed. Nothing happened. She looked in the cupboard. There was a broom, and some dusters, and cleaning materials, and a flashlight. No radio. She closed the door. It squeaked again.

She moved into the kitchen area. She had to open six smaller cupboards. They contained crockery, tinned food, saucepans, glasses, supplies of coffee and rice and tea, and towels. Under the sink there was a bucket for kitchen waste. Elene looked in the icebox. It contained one bottle of champagne. There were several drawers. Would the radio be small enough to fit in a drawer? She opened one. The rattle of cutlery shredded her nerves. No radio. Another: a massive selection of bottled spices and flavorings, from vanilla essence to curry powder-somebody liked to cook. Another drawer: kitchen knives.

Next to the kitchen was a small escritoire with a fold-down desk top. Beneath it was a small suitcase. Elene picked up the suitcase. It was heavy. She opened it. There was the radio.

Her heart skipped.

It was an ordinary, plain suitcase, with two catches, a leather handle and reinforced comers. The radio fitted inside exactly, as if it bad been designed that way. The recessed lid left a little room on top of the radio, and here there was a book. Its board covers had been torn off to make it fit into the space in the lid. Elene picked up the book and looked inside. She read: "Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again." It was Rebecca.

She flicked the pages of the book. In the middle there was something between the pages. She let the book fall open and a sheet of paper dropped to the floor. She bent down and picked it up. It was a list of numbers and dates, with some words in German. This was surely the key to the code.

She held in her hand what Vandam needed to turn the tide of the war.

Suddenly the responsibility weighed her down.

Without this, she thought, Wolff cannot send messages to Rommel-or if he sends messages in plain language the Germans will suspect their authenticity and also worry that the Allies have overheard them . . . Without this, Wolff is useless. With this, Vandam can win the war.

She had to run away, now, taking the key with her.

She remembered that she was stark naked.

She broke out of her trance. Her dress was on the couch, crumpled and wrinkled. She crossed the boat, put down the book and the key to the code, picked up her dress and slipped it over her head.

The bed creaked.

From behind the curtains came the unmistakable sound of someone getting up, someone heavy, it had to be him. Elene stood still, paralyzed. She heard Wolff walk toward the curtains, then away again. She heard the bathroom door.

There was no time to put her panties on. She picked up her bag, her shoes, and the book with the key inside. She heard Wolff come out of the bathroom. She went to the ladder and ran up it, wincing as her bare feet cut into the edges of the narrow wooden steps. Glancing down, she saw Wolff appear between the curtains and glance up at her in astonishment. His eyes went to the suitcase opened on the floor. Elene looked away from him to the hatch. It was secured on the inside with two bolts. She slid them both back. From the corner of her eye she saw Wolff dash to the ladder. She pushed up the hatch and scrambled out. As she stood upright on the deck she saw Wolff scrambling up the ladder. She bent swiftly and lifted the heavy wooden hatch. As Wolff's right hand grasped the rim of the opening, Elene slammed the batch down on his fingers with all her might. There was a roar of pain. Elene ran across the deck and down the gangplank.

It was just that: a plank, leading from the deck to the riverbank. She stooped, picked up the end of the plank, and threw it into the river. Wolff came up through the hatch, his face a mask of pain and fury.

Elene panicked as she saw him come across the deck at a run. She thought: he's naked, he can't chase me! He took a flying jump over the rail of the boat.

He can't make it.

He landed on the very edge of the riverbank, his arms wind milling for balance. With a sudden access of courage Elene ran at him and, while be was still off balance, pushed him backward into the water. She turned and ran along the towpath.

When she reached the lower end of the pathway that led to the street, she stopped and looked back. Already her heart was pounding and she was breathing in long, shuddering gasps. She felt elated when she saw Wolff, dripping wet and naked, climbing out of the water up the muddy riverbank. It was getting light: he could not chase her far in that state. She spun around toward the street, broke into a run and crashed into someone.

Strong arms caught her in a tight grip. She struggled desperately, got free and was seized again. She stumped in defeat: after all that, she thought; after all that.

She was turned around, grasped by the arms and marched toward the houseboat. She saw Wolff walking toward her. She struggled again, and the man holding her got an arm around her throat. She opened her mouth to scream for help, but before she could make a sound the man had thrust his fingers down her throat, making her retch.

Wolff came up and said: "Who are you?"

"I'm Kemel. You must be Wolff."

'Thank God you were there."

"You're in trouble, Wolff," said the man called Kemel.

"You'd better come aboard-oh, shit, she threw away the fucking plank." Wolff looked down at the river and saw the plank floating beside the houseboat. "I can't get any wetter," he said. He slid down the bank and into the water, grabbed the plank, shoved it up on to the bank and climbed up after it. He picked it up again and laid it across the gap between the houseboat and the bank.

"This way," he said.

Kemel marched Elene across the plank, over the deck and down the ladder.

"Put her over there," Wolff said, pointing to the couch.

Kemel pushed Elene over to the couch, not urgently, and made her sit down.

Wolff went through the curtains and came back a moment later with a big towel. He proceeded to rub himself dry with it. He seemed quite unembarrassed by his nakedness.

Elene was surprised to see that Kemel was quite a small man. From the way he had grabbed her, she had imagined he was Wolffs build. He was a handsome, dark-skinned Arab. He was looking away from Wolff uneasily.

Wolff wrapped the towel around his waist and sat down. He examined his hand. "She nearly broke my fingers," he said. He looked at Elene with a mixture of anger and amusement.

Kemel said: "Where's Sonja?"

"In bed," Wolff said, jerking his head toward the curtains. "She sleeps through earthquakes, especially after a night of lust."

Kernel was uncomfortable with such talk, Elene observed, and perhaps also impatient with Wolff's levity. "You're in trouble," he said again.

"I know," Wolff said. "I suppose she's working for Vandam"

"I don't know about that. I got a call in the middle of the night from my man on the towpath. Vandam had come along and sent my man to fetch help." Wolff was shocked. "We came close!" he said. He looked worried. "Where's Vandam now?"

"Out there still. I knocked him on the head and tied him up." Elene's heart sank. Vandam was out there in the bushes, hurt and incapacitated-and nobody else knew where she was. It bad all been for nothing, after all.

Wolff nodded. "Vandam followed her here. That's two people who know about this place. If I stay here I'll have to kill them both."

Elene shuddered: he talked of killing people so lightly. Masters and slaves, she remembered.

"Not good enough," Kernel said. "If you kill Vandam the murder will eventually be blamed on me. You can go away, but I have to live in this town." He paused, watching Wolff with narrowed eyes. "And if you were to kill me, that would still leave the man who called me last night."

"So . . ." Wolff frowned and made an angry noise. "There's no choice. I have to go. Damn."

Kernel nodded. "If you disappear, I think I can cover up. But I want something from you. Remember the reason we've been helping you." "You want to talk to Rommel."

"Yes."

"I'll be sending a message tomorrow night-tonight, I mean, damn, I've hardly slept. Tell me what you want to say, and I'll-"

"Not good enough," Kemel interrupted. "We want to do it ourselves. We want your radio."

Wolff frowned. Elene realized that Kemel was a nationalist rebel, cooperating or trying to cooperate with the Germans.

Kernel added: "We could send your message for you. . ."

"Not necessary," Wolff said. He seemed to have reached a decision. "I have another radio."

"It's agreed, then."

"There's the radio." Wolff pointed to the open case, still on the floor where Elene had left it. "It's already tuned to the correct wavelength. All you have to do is broadcast at midnight, any night."

Kemel went over to the radio and examined it. Elene wondered why Wolff had said nothing about the Rebecca code. Wolff did not care whether Kernel got through to Rommel or not, shp decided; and to give him the code would be to risk that he might give it to someone else. Wolff was playing safe again.

Wolff said: "Where does Vandam live"

Kernel told him the address.

Elene thought: Now what is he after?

Wolff said: "He's married, I suppose."

"No.

"A bachelor. Damn."

"Not a bachelor," Kemel said, still looking at the wireless transmitter.

"A widower. He's wife was killed in Crete last year."

"Any children?"

"Yes," Kemel said. "A small boy called Billy, so I'm told. Why?" Wolff shrugged. "I'm interested, a little obsessed, with the man who's come so close to catching me."

Elene was sure he was lying.

Kernel closed the suitcase, apparently satisfied. Wolff said to him:

"Keep an eye on her for a minute, would you?"

"Of course."

Wolff turned away, then turned back. He had noticed that Elene still had Rebecca in her hand. He reached down and took it from her. He disappeared through the curtains.

Elene thought: If I tell Kemel about the code, then maybe Kernel will make Wolff give it to him, and maybe then Vandam will get it from Wolff-but what will happen to me?

Kernel said to her: 'That-" He stopped abruptly as Wolff came back, carrying his clothes, and began to dress.

Kernel said to him: "Do you have a call sign?"

"Sphinx," Wolff said shortly.

"A code?"

"No code."

"What was in that book?"

Wolff looked angry. "A code," he said. "But you can't have it."

"We need it."

"I can't give it to you," Wolff said. "You'll have to take your chance, and broadcast in clear."

Kernel nodded.

Suddenly Wolff's knife was in his hand. "Don't argue," he said. "I know you've got a gun in your pocket. Remember, if you shoot, you'll have to explain the bullet to the British. You'd better go now."

Kemel turned, without speaking, and went up the ladder and through the hatch. Elene heard his footsteps above. Wolff went to the porthole and watched him walk away along the towpath.

Wolff put his knife away and buttoned his shirt over the sheath. He put on his shoes and laced them tightly. He got the book from the next room, extracted from it the sheet of paper bearing the key to the code, crumpled the paper, dropped it into a large glass ashtray, took a box of matches from a kitchen drawer and set fire to the paper.

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 on to 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 on to 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."

Chapter 24.

Anwar el-Sadat was delighted with the radio.

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

Kernel explained that he had to broadcast at midnight on the precise 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. Kernel left Sadat's home and drove from Kubri al-Qubbah back to Zarnalek 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 who 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 be, 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 bad been tied up. Yes, he would sty 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 Kernel with wide, staring eyes.

Kernel 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.

Kernel 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 Kernel tamed 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 Kemel. You must be Wolff." That was how he knew that Kernel 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.

Kernel 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 Kemel'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. Kernel struggled to his feet. "Turn around."

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

"Move."

They walked to the houseboat. Vandam pushed Kernel 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 bands tied, Kernel descended the ladder. Vandam bent down to look inside. There was nobody there. He went quickly down the ladder. Pushing Kernel 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 Kemel.

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

"Wake her."

Kernel 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 Kernel, 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 Wolffs 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 bull, 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 Kernel 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 Kernel in the back then, keeping the gun pointed at them, he got in the front beside the wide-eyed, frightened Arab driver.

"GHQ," be 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 arm 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. Gaafar seemed to hesitate. Wolff said: "All right, Gaafar, snap it up. We haven't got all day."

"Yes, sir," Gaafar said, reacting with the reflex of an Egyptian servant addressed in an authoritative manner by a European. "Billy is just finishing his breakfast. Would you wait in here for a moment?" He opened the drawing-room door.

Wolff propelled Elene into the room and at last let go of her arm. Elene looked at the upholstery, the wallpaper, the marble fireplace and the Tatler photographs of Angela Vandam: these things had the eerie look of familiar objects seen in a nightmare. Angela would have known what to do, EIene thought miserably. "Don't be ridiculous" she would have said; then, raising an imperious arm, she would have told Wolff to get out of her house. Elene shook her head to dispel the fantasy: Angela would have been as helpless as she.

Wolff sat down at the desk. He opened a drawer, took out a pad and a pencil, and began to write.

Elene wondered what Gaafar might do. Was it possible he might call GHQ to check with Billy's father? Egyptians were very reluctant to make phone calls to GHQ, Elene knew: Gaafar would have trouble getting past the switchboard operators and secretaries. She looked around, and saw that any-way the phone was here in this room, so that if Gaafar tried, Wolff would know and stop him.

"Why did you bring me here?" she cried. Frustration and fear made her voice shrill.

Wolff looked up from his writing. "To keep the boy quiet. We've got a long way to go."

"Leave Billy here," she pleaded. "He's a child."

"Vandam's child," Wolff said with a smile.

"You don't need him."

"Vandam may be able to guess where I'm going," Wolff said. "I want to make sure he doesn't come after me."

"Do you really think he'll sit at home while you have his son?"

Wolff appeared to consider the point. "I hope so," he said finally.

"Anyway, what have I got to lose? If I don't take the boy he'll definitely come after me."

Elene fought back tears. "Haven't you got any pity?"

"Pity is a decadent emotion," Wolff said with a gleam in his eye.

"Scepticism regarding morality is what is decisive. The end of the moral interpretation of the world, which no longer has any sanction . . ." He seemed to be quoting.

Elene said: "I don't think you're doing this to make Vandam stay home.

I think you're doing it out of spite, You're thinking about the anguish you'll cause him, and you love it. You're a crude, twisted loathsome man."

"Perhaps you're right."

"You're sick."

"That's enough!" Wolff reddened slightly. He appeared to calm him-elf with an effort, "Shut up while I'm writing."

Elene forced herself to concentrate. They were going on a long journey. He was afraid Vandam would follow them. He had told Kemel he had another wireless set. Vandam might be able to guess where they were going. At the end of the journey, surely, there was the spare radio, with a copy of Rebecca and a copy of the key to the code. Somehow she had to help Vandam follow them, so that he could rescue them and capture the key. If Vandam could guess the destination, Elene thought, then so could I. Where would Wolff have kept a spare radio? It was a long journey away. He might have hidden one somewhere before he reached Cairo. It might be somewhere in the desert, or somewhere between here and Assyut. Maybe-Billy came in. "Hello," he said to Elene. "Did you bring me that book?"

She did not know what he was talking about. "Book?" She stared at him, thinking that he was still very much a child, despite his grown-up ways. He wore gray flannel shorts and a white shirt, and there was no hair on the smooth skin of his bare forearm. He was carrying a school satchel and wearing a school tie.

"You forgot," he said, and looked betrayed. "You were going to lend me a detective story by Simenon."

"I did forget. I'm sorry."

"Will you bring it next time you come?"

"Of course."

Wolff had been staring at Billy all this time, like a miser looking into his treasure chest. Now he stood up. "Hello, Billy," he said with a smile. "I'm Captain Alexander."

Billy shook hands and said: "How do you do, sir."

"Your father asked me to tell you that he's very busy indeed."

"He always comes home for breakfast," Billy said.

"Not today. He's pretty busy coping with old Rommel, you know."

"Has he been in another fight?"

Wolff hesitated. "Matter of fact he has, but he's okay. He got a bump on the head."

Billy seemed more proud than worried, Elene observed.

Gaafar came in and spoke to Wolff. "You are sure, sir, that the major said you were to take the boy to school?"

He is suspicious, Elene thought.

"Of course," Wolff said. "Is something wrong?"

"No, but I am responsible for Billy, and we don't actually

Is know you...

"But you know Miss Fontana," Wolff said. "She was with me when Major Vandam spoke to me, weren't you, Elene?" Wolff stared at her and touched himself under the left arm, where the knife was sheathed.

"Yes," Elene said miserably.

Wolff said: "However, you're quite right to be cautious, Gaafar. Perhaps you should call GHQ and speak to the major yourself," He indicated the phone.

Elene thought: No, don't Gaafar, he'll kill you before you finish dialing.

Gaafar hesitated, then said: "I'm sure that won't be necessary, sir. As you say, we know Miss Fontana."

Elene thought: It's all my fault.

Gaafar went out.

Wolff spoke to Elene in rapid Arabic. "Keep the boy quiet for a minute." Be continued writing.

Elene looked at Billy's satchel, and had the glimmer of an idea. "Show me your schoolbooks," she said.

Billy looked at her as if she were crazy.

"Come on," she said. The satchel was open, and an atlas stuck out. She reached for it. "What are you doing in geography?"

"The Norwegian fjords."

Elene saw Wolff finish writing and put the sheet of paper in an envelope.

He licked the flap, sealed the envelope, and put it in his pocket.

"Let's find Norway," Elene said. She Ripped the pages of the atlas. Wolff picked up the telephone and dialed. He looked at Elene, then looked away, out of the window.

Elene found the map of Egypt.

Billy said: "But that's--"

Quickly, Elene touched his lips with her finger. He stopped speaking and frowned at her.

She thought: Please, little boy, be quiet and leave this to Me. She said: "Scandinavia, yes, but Norway is in Scandinavia, look." She unwrapped the handkerchief from around her hand. Billy stared at the cut. With her fingernail Elene opened the cut and made it bleed again. Billy turned white. He seemed about to speak, so Elene touched his lips and shook her head with a pleading look.

Elene was sure Wolff was going to Assyut. It was a likely guess, and Wolff had said he was afraid Vandam would correctly guess their destination. As she thought this, she heard Wolff say into the phone: "Hello? Give me the time of the train to Assyut."

I was right she thought. She dipped her finger in the blood from her hand. With three strokes, she drew an arrow in blood on the map of Egypt, with the point of the arrow on the town of Assyut, three hundred miles south of Cairo. She closed the atlas. She used her handkerchief to smear blood on the cover of the book, then pushed the book behind her.

Wolff said: "Yes-and what time does it arrive?"

Elene said: "But why are there fjords in Norway and not in Egypt?" Billy seemed dumbstruck. He was staring at her band. She bad to make him snap out of it before he gave her away. She said: "Listen, did you ever read an Agatha Christie story called The Clue of the Bloodstained Atlas" "No, there's no such-" 'It's very clever, the way the detective is able to figure everything out on the basis of that one clue."

He frowned at her, but instead of the frown of the utterly amazed, it was the frown of one who is working something out.

Wolff put down the phone and stood up. "Let's go," he said. "You don't want to be late for school, Billy." He went to the door and opened it. Billy picked up his satchel and went out. Elene stood up, dreading that Wolff would spot the atlas.

"Come on," he said impatiently.

She went through the door and be followed her. Billy was on the porch already. There was a little pile of letters on a kidney-shaped table in the hall. Elene saw Wolff drop his envelope on top of the pile. They went out through the front door.

Wolff asked Elene: "Can you drive?"

"Yes," she answered, then cursed herself for thinking slowly-she should have said no.

"You two get in the front," Wolff instructed. He got in the back.

As she pulled away, Elene saw Wolff lean forward. He said: "See this?"

She looked down. He was showing the knife to Billy.

"Yes," Billy said in an unsteady voice.

Wolff said: "If you make trouble, I'll cut your head off."

Billy began to cry.

Chapter 25.

"Stand to attention!" Jakes barked in his sergeant major's voice.

Kemel stood to attention.

The interrogation room was bare but for a table. Vandam followed Jakes in, carrying a chair in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. He sat down.

Vandam said: "Where is Alex Wolff?"

"I don't know," said Kemel, relaxing slightly.

"Attention!" Jakes yelled. "Stand straight, boy!"

Kemel came to attention again.

Vandam sipped his tea. It was part of the act, a way of saying that he had all the time in the world and was not very concerned about anything, whereas the prisoner was in real trouble. It was the reverse of the truth. He said: "Last night you received a call from the officer on surveillance at houseboat Jihan."

Jakes shouted: "Answer the major!"

"Yes," Kemel said.

"What did he say to you?"

"He said that Major Vandam had come to the towpath and sent him to summon assistance."

"Sir!" said Jakes. "To summon assistance, sir!"

"To summon assistance, sir."

Vandam said: "And what did you do?"

"I went personally to the towpath to investigate, sir."

"And then?"

"I was struck on the head and knocked unconscious. When I recovered I was bound hand and foot. It took me several hours to free myself. Then I freed Major Vandam, whereupon he attacked me." Jakes went close to Kemel. "You're a bloody lying little bloody wog!" Kemel took a pace back. "Stand forward!" Jakes shouted. "You're a lying little wog, what are you?" Kemel said nothing.

Vandam said: "Listen, Kemel. As things stand you're going to be shot for spying. If you tell us all you know, you could get off with a prison sentence. Be sensible. Now, you came to the towpath and knocked me out, didn't you?"

"No, sir."

Vandam sighed. Kemel had his story and he was sticking to it. Even if he knew, or could guess, where Wolff had gone, he would not reveal it while he was pretending innocence.

Vandam said "What is your wife's involvement in all this?"

Kemel said nothing, but be looked scared.

Vandam said: "If you won't answer my questions, I'll have to ask her."

Kemel's lips were pressed together in a hard line.

Vandam stood up. "All right, Jakes," he said. "Bring in the wife on suspicion of spying."

Kemel said: "Typical British justice."

Vandam looked at him. "Where is Wolff?"

"I don't know."

Vandam went out. He waited outside the door for Jakes. When the captain came out, Vandam said: "He's a policeman, he knows the techniques. He'll break, but not today." And Vandam had to find Wolff today. Jakes asked: "Do you want me to arrest the wife?"

"Not yet. Maybe later." And where was Elene?

They walked a few yards to another cell. Vandam said: "is everything ready here?"

"Yes."

"Okay." He opened the door and went in. This room was not so bare. Sonia sat on a hard chair, wearing a coarse gray prison dress. Beside her stood a woman army officer who would have scared Vandam, had he been her prisoner. She was short and stout, with a hard masculine face and short gray hair. There was a cot in one corner of the cell and a cold water basin in the other.

As Vandam walked in the woman officer said: "Stand up!"

Vandam and Jakes sat down. Vandam said: "Sit down, Sonja."

The woman officer pushed Sonja into the chair.

Vandam studied Sonja for a minute. He had interrogated her once before, and she had been stronger than he. It would be different this time:

Elene's safety was in the balance, and Vandam had few scruples left.

He said: "Where is Alex Wolff?"

"I don't know."

"Where is Elene Fontana?"

"I don't know."

"Wolff is a German spy, and you have been helping him."

"Ridiculous."

"You're in trouble."

She said nothing. Vandam watched her face. She was proud, confident, unafraid. Vandam wondered what, exactly, had happened on the houseboat this morning. Surely, Wolff had gone off without warning Sonja. Did she not feel betrayed?

"Wolff betrayed you," Vandam said. "Kernel, the policeman, warned Wolff of the danger; but Wolff left you sleeping and went off with another woman. Are you going to protect him after that?"

She said nothing.

"Wolff kept his radio on your boat. He sent messages to Rommel at midnight. You knew this, so you were an accessory to espionage. You're going to be shot for spying."

"All Cairo will riot! You wouldn't dare!"

"You think so? What do we care if Cairo riots now? The Germans are at the gates-let them put down the rebellion."

"You dare not touch me."

"Where has Wolff gone?"

"I don't know."

"Can you guess?"

"No."

"You're not being helpful, Sonja. It will make things worse for you."

"You can't touch me."

"I think I'd better prove to you that I can." Vandam nodded to the woman officer.

The woman held Sonja still while Jakes tied her to the chair. She struggled for a moment, but it was hopeless. She looked at Vandam, and for the first time there was a hint of fear in her eyes. She said: "What are you doing, you bastards?"

The woman officer took a large pair of scissors from her bag. She lifted a hank of Sonja's long, thick hair and cut it off.

"You can't do this!" Sonja shrieked.

Swiftly, the woman cut Sonja's hair. As the heavy locks fell away the woman dropped them in Sonja's lap. Sonja screamed, cursing Vandam and Jakes and the British in language which Vandam had never heard from a woman. The woman officer took a smaller pair of scissors and cropped Sonja's hair close to the scalp.

Sonja's screams subsided into tears. When he could be heard Vandam said "You see, we don't care much about legality and justice anymore, nor do we care about Egyptian public opinion. We've got our backs to the wall. We may all be killed soon. We're desperate."

The woman took soap and a shaving brush and lathered Sonja's head, then began to shave her scalp.

Vandam said "Wolff was getting information from someone at GHQ. Who?"

"You're evil," said Sonja.

Finally the woman officer took a mirror from her bag and held it in front of Sonja's face, At first Sonja would not look in the glass, but after a moment she gave in. She gasped when she saw the reflection of her totally bald head. "No," she said. "It's not me." She burst into tears. All the hatred was gone. Now she was completely demoralized. Vandam said softly: "Where was Wolff getting his information?"

"From Major Smith," Sonja replied.

Vandam heaved a sigh of relief. She bad broken: thank God.

"First name?" he asked.

"Sandy Smith."

Vandam glanced at Jakes. That was the name of the major from M16 who had disappeared-it was as they had feared.

"How did he get the information?"

"Sandy came to the houseboat in his lunch break to visit me. While we were in bed Alex went through his briefcase."

As simple as that, Vandam thought. Jesus, I feel tired. Smith was liaison man between the Secret Intelligence Service-also known as M16--and GHQ, and in that role be had been privy to all strategic planning, for M16 needed to know what the Army was doing so that it could tell its spies what information to look for. Smith had been going straight from the morning conferences at GHQ to the houseboat, with a briefcase full of secrets. Vandam had already learned that Smith had been telling people at GHQ he was lunching at the M16 office, and telling his superiors at M16 he was lunching at GHQ, so that nobody would know he was screwing a dancer. Vandam had previously assumed Wolff was bribing or blackmailing someone: it had never occurred to him that Wolff might be getting information from someone without that someone's knowledge.

Vandam said: "Where is Smith now?"

"He caught Alex going through his briefcase. Alex killed him."

"Where's the body?"

"In the river by the houseboat."

Vandam nodded to Jakes, and Jakes went out.

Vandam said to Sonja: "Tell me about Kernel."

She was in full flood now, eager to tell all she knew, her resistance quite crushed; she would do anything to make people be nice to her. "He came and told me you had asked him to have the houseboat watched. He said he would censor his surveillance reports if I would arrange a meeting between Alex and Sadat."