“Good,” Rashid’s voice hinted at his amusement. “I am glad you realize how much there is at risk, General.” It was dark in the backseat, so al-Baquri could not see Rashid’s piercing eyes; but he felt them boring into his skull, even in the dark. “You and I, and all the others, count for nothing. What is at risk here is the future of Egypt and of the entire Moslem world. Never forget that.”
Al-Baquri knew to keep quiet, but his concerns were far less sweeping. Would he live to see one more sunset? Would he see his wife and children again, or would tomorrow afternoon find him standing in front of a firing squad, be that Nasser’s or Rashid’s? “My tanks and men have been arriving in small groups for the past four days,” he finally answered as he squirmed in his seat. “Two battalions are dug in here at Heliopolis and four more are waiting in the desert, ready to move on Cairo at noon. Remember, you promised there would be no fighting, that the garrison in Cairo would not resist.”
“They will not. Once he is dead and the general staff arrested, there will be no resistance. It would be pointless, especially against your tanks.”
“You assured us it would not come to that. I do not know how my troops would react if I ordered them to fire on other Egyptian soldiers.”
“A good commander can get his men to do whatever he tells them to do. Is that not so?” Rashid leaned closer, his eyes boring in again. “Is that not so, General?”
Al-Baquri began to sweat. At best, Rashid was a fanatic and a zealot. At worst, he was totally insane; but it was far too late to stop any of this now. He and the others had already committed treason, and General Faisal al-Baquri, Commander of the Egyptian Third Armored Regiment, found himself caught in a trap of his own making. All he could do now was thank Allah he could continue to hide here in the darkness, so Rashid could not read the desperation written on his face.
“He phoned me today, you know,” Rashid said quietly, sounding faintly amused.
Al-Baquri suddenly sat up, his back becoming ramrod straight. “He…?”
“Yes, he asked me if we had any armored units out here.”
“Nasser? Nasser asked you that?”
“I do not speak the name unless I am forced to. It is an abomination to me now.”
“He knows?” al-Baquri sputtered. “My God, how?”
“My old friend, Hassan Saleh. Somehow, the American got to him.”
“Then we are finished.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. The damage has been contained. Grüber finally caught the elusive American. He has him locked up; and I assure you, this will be the last time he meddles in my affairs.”
“But if Saleh knows…”
“Knows? He knows nothing. Nasser assured him that everything is fine. So, why should he? Besides, you have nothing to fear from Hassan Saleh. He will not be around to upset our plans tomorrow. Like the American, he is temporarily indisposed,” Rashid said as he turned and focused a withering stare towards the General. “If I am prepared to deal with my oldest friend, then you may be assured that I will deal even more harshly with anyone else who fails me or gets in my way.”
Al-Baquri swallowed hard, knowing exactly what he meant.
“The British had a saying about their accursed breakfasts.” Rashid leaned back and mused. “They said that the chicken who contributes the eggs is involved; but it is the pig who contributed the bacon who is truly committed.”
“Rashid, I assure you…”
“Do not assure me, General. At noon tomorrow, you will show me.”
Al-Baquri chafed under the rebuke; but before he could reply, the lights of the old RAF base came into view through the front windshield, saving him. He breathed a muffled sigh of relief. At least this inquisition was about to come to an end.
“I want your best officers on duty tomorrow, particularly at the reviewing stand. We want men we can trust.”
“It has already been arranged,” al-Baquri replied, as the sedan began to slow.
“I want this gate closed, too. From this moment, no one is to enter or leave. No one!”
“I know that. We are following the plan.” The General smiled nervously as he watched the sentry step behind the gate and block their way, seemingly alert, as if the fellow actually knew what he was doing. Allah be praised for that much at least. Ahead of them, he saw the guard squint into the bright headlight beams, waiting for the Mercedes to stop. Good, al-Baquri thought, praying Rashid would find no fault with his troops tonight. The guard recognized the car and saluted. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and was beginning to raise the wooden barricade, when al-Baquri saw the outline of a second car approaching from the opposite direction. Its headlights were off; and as he leaned forward, a sick, nervous feeling began to grow in the pit of his stomach. He watched the other car slow, only to suddenly accelerate toward the gate. The guard turned his head and signaled for it to stop, but it did not. All the fellow could do was leap aside as the small car raced through, clipping the gate and sending pieces of wood flying. Al-Baquri turned his head and cursed as he watched the smaller car flash past. For a brief second, he looked into the front seat and gasped.
“That is Fengler’s daughter, and the American is with her. Turn around, turn around,” he shouted at the driver. “Go after them — quickly — after them, man!”
The driver slammed on the brakes and tried to stop until Rashid said, “Let them go. We will never catch them in the dark. Besides, Thomson will not get far. There is only one place left for him to run; and I swear, this is the last time that man will interfere with me.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“Why aren’t they following us?” Ilsa asked after they turned onto the main highway and she could see no headlights behind them.
“I don’t know, but I don’t like any of the answers that come to mind,” Thomson said as he took a deep breath, leaned back, and closed his eyes. He ran his fingers lightly across his ribs, wincing from the pain. If they weren’t broken, they were badly bruised. “Pull over to the side for a minute,” he said.
When the car stopped, Thomson sat up and struggled to slip off his tattered suit jacket. “You can’t go around like that,” he said, pointing to the torn sweater that barely covered her. She said nothing, obviously no longer embarrassed, as she leaned toward him and let the sweater drop onto the floor. He draped his jacket over her bare shoulders. She quickly put her arms through the sleeves and buttoned it, and then paused. He heard her sob as she hid her face in her hands and began to tremble. He laid his hand on her back, wanting so much to console her; but she stiffened at his touch, as if she had received an electric shock. Finally, she relaxed and slowly looked up at him. Tears were running down her cheeks. She tried to speak but could not. He raised his arms toward her, and she came to him. She threw her arms around his neck and buried her head against his shoulder, as if everything had caved in on her at the same time. He leaned back, holding her tight and stroking her hair for several long minutes until her crying stopped.
She lifted her head and started to speak. “Thomson…”
“It’s Richard — and don’t say anything. It will only break the spell,” he told her, realizing that nothing seemed more natural to him than to be holding her like this. It was not mere misplaced sympathy or a big-brother complex. It had been a long time, and he simply wanted to hold her. In her own strange way, she was different from any woman he had ever known. She raised her hands and tenderly touched his face, drawing it closer until their lips met, as she closed her eyes. When they parted, he looked at her and said, “It’s a good thing for you I’ve got sore ribs.”
She dropped her head on his shoulder again, as if it belonged to her. “What are we going to do, Richard?” she asked.
“I don’t know. They’ll be looking for the car at the borders, but we might be able to get out of the country.”
“Out?” She sat up and looked at him, puzzled. “We cannot leave here, not now. We must stay and stop them. You know what will happen if we don’t.”
> “Ilsa, look at us. How much chance do you think we have? If we run quickly, we might make it. If we try to stop them, and fail, we could lose everything, including each other. That didn’t matter before; but now I’m not sure that’s something I want to risk.”
“Richard, if we leave and they do this evil thing, I couldn’t live with myself or with you. I just couldn’t. Grüber? Rashid? We must stop them.”
“Including your father?”
“He does not know what he is doing.”
“He doesn’t know how to break ribs, either, Ilsa; but for an amateur, he gave it a pretty good try.”
“I cannot expect you to understand.”
“But I do. You can keep thinking your father is as pure as the driven snow, if that makes you feel better; but he’s in this up to his eyeballs.”
“Of course, he knows what he is doing, but only in a theoretical sense. He is consumed by it. To him, though, this is all some theoretical point, something he keeps trying to prove to the University people back in Berlin. That is all. He cannot seem to comprehend where this is really heading.”
“And you think you can save him from himself?”
“I can try.”
“After you wreck his plans, do you think you can convince him you did it for his own good?”
“No, I don’t. That is why I tried to get you out of there, to set you free. Can’t you stop them? Can’t you get your government to stop them?”
“My government?” He laughed. “I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter. Your father will still hate you for doing it. He’ll never see it your way. Did you think about that — about destroying his dreams and what that will do to you?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Richard,” she moaned. “This has all happened too fast.”
He felt sorry for her and for himself now. He would rather run away, but only if she came with him. So, he was stuck. He did not owe them a damned thing now, certainly not this much… not after what Kilbride and Collins had done to him and Reggie Perper. The guy with the sharp sword was still out there, and so was Herr Doktor Fengler with his warheads. Besides, he could not refuse her now, even though her harebrained sentimentality would probably get them both killed.
Finally, she released him and turned back to the wheel. She stared through the windshield and put the car back in gear, driving in silence for several miles before she said, “Papa was not always like this. You must believe me. He was a kind, generous man until my mother was killed in a bombing raid in the war. I was only twelve, but I saw what it did to him. After that, all he had left was his work, but his constant rejections by the University only made him more bitter and angry. A man can be excused for that, can’t he, Richard?”
Perhaps if he was a carpenter or a plumber, Thomson thought. Unfortunately, Papa Fengler was none of those. He was a nuclear physicist. “How far has he gotten?”
“How far? I think he is finished,” she said quietly. “I can tell by the way he has been acting and by that strange all-knowing glow in his eyes. I have never seen him like this. He scares me.”
“Me, too, because the rockets are ready. One glance inside the hangar told me that much. What about all those tanks? When did they show up?”
“They began arriving two days ago. I assumed it was part of the big demonstration they have planned for tomorrow, but I am not certain of anything anymore. Everyone will be there, the entire government, the diplomatic community, and even Nasser himself. Would they not want all those tanks and troops to protect him?”
“Said the spider to the fly,” he mumbled, staring off into the night, realizing the enormity of the situation. “You’re right. We can’t run away from this.”
Finding a pay phone back in Cairo was not difficult. Persuading Kilbride’s butler to wake the Ambassador in the middle of the night was not difficult either, not after Thomson told him that he was the Secretary of State and demanded he get the dumb Mick on the line.
“Ambassador Kilbride here, Mr. Secretary.” Thomson smiled as he heard the panic in Kilbride’s voice. “If you’ll give me a few minutes, I’m sure I can explain this entire situation.”
“Oh, I bet you can,” Thomson said sarcastically, “and it’ll make a great fairy tale, won’t it?”
“What! Is that you, Thomson? You son-of-a-bitch! When I get my hands on you, I’m going to personally wring your…”
“Oh, shut up and listen for a minute, or you’ll be wringing laundry in Leavenworth.”
“Leavenworth? Me? This is your fault. You mucked it up good this time, boy. I have you nailed on espionage and treason now. That wasn’t good enough, though, was it? You had to go and shoot that code clerk, Perper, too. Well, that’s murder! You know what these Arabs do with a murderer? They cut off his goddamned head with one of those big swords of theirs. That’s what they do.”
“I didn’t kill Perper,” Thomson snapped, his voice turning angry. “It was your pet, Collins. You know that as well as I do.”
“Tell that to the guy with the sword, Thomson. You’re his problem now.”
“Your Arab pals are setting you up. Can’t you see that? They have long-range rockets ready to fire at Israel, and you know it. I’ve seen them, and they’ve built a dirty A-bomb to go with them.”
“An A-bomb? That’s ridiculous.”
“Remember those old Nazis you didn’t care about yesterday? Well, some of them may have worked with Von Braun at Peenemünde, but the rest are nuclear physicists.”
“You’ve lost your mind,” Kilbride sputtered, no longer sounding as confident.
“Have I? Check out that guy Fengler and a place called Haigerloch, Mr. Ambassador. There’s a lot more going on, too; but I haven’t got all the pieces yet.”
“You never do, and I don’t want to hear any more about it.”
“Can’t you understand what they’re going to do with those rockets?” he asked, as the answer to his own question finally hit home. “That’s it, isn’t it? You already know all about them.”
“They aren’t going to actually use them, you fool,” Kilbride screamed into the phone. “It’s all a game, like I told you before, but you wouldn’t listen.”
“You’re wrong. Call Washington. This thing’s gotten out of control.”
“I’m not calling anyone. You almost screwed it up big time for me, Thomson. You kept pickin’ at it and just wouldn’t leave well enough alone. You were too goddamned smart to listen, weren’t you? Just like Washington. You’re all too goddamned smart to listen to me. Well, pretty soon, we’re gonna see who’s right.”
“Kilbride, don’t do this. You’ve got it wrong, horribly wrong.”
“Wrong? Me wrong, Thomson? Why don’t you save us the trouble and put a bullet in your head. Do anything but have the good sense not to let the Egyptians catch you,” the Ambassador said as he slammed the phone down.
Thomson stared at the receiver and shook his head. “So much for that idea,” he said as he looked at Ilsa, trying to think of something else. Well, what about Saleh, he thought. That would be like sticking his head down the lion’s throat, but where else could he turn? He dropped the coins into the phone and waited through the rings for someone to answer. A bored receptionist finally came on the line. “Police Headquarters,” she muttered.
“May I speak with Captain Saleh, please?” Thomson asked.
“The Captain is not available.”
“Where can I reach him? It’s urgent.”
“He has had a serious accident. He’s in the military hospital and will not be back to duty for some time. Who may I…” Thomson hung up before she could finish asking.
“Why are you calling the police? I thought they were chasing you?” Ilsa asked.
“They are, but Saleh is a good cop. He is tough and nasty, but I don’t think he knows a damned thing about the rockets or the bombs. Not that it matters anymore, because he’s in the hospital.” He closed his eyes and tried to think, but he was far too tired. Where could he possibly turn now? Perper was
dead, Kilbride refused to listen, and Saleh couldn’t be reached. That was strike three. Then again, maybe it wasn’t. He frowned and picked up the phone again, trying to remember the number. On the fifth ring, someone answered.
“This is Thomson. Tell the old man that Perper is dead.”
“We know,” came the heavily accented reply.
“Tell Jani I’ll be at that address in thirty minutes. I need your help.”
Hassan Saleh fought to regain consciousness. He was swimming in a thick white cloud, flailing at it with his arms and legs; but the harder he struggled, the denser the cloud around him became. He could not move or even talk, but he heard voices arguing nearby.
“I am not a visitor,” he heard a man threaten. “Can you not read my pass?”
He could see, but the shapes were hazy. “I am his nurse,” he heard a woman counter and refuse to back down. “If you stay here, I won’t be held responsible for what happens. Captain Saleh is in serious condition, and the Doctor said he was to have no visitors.”
“I’m the one who made that rule, you fool! I am his sergeant, and his bodyguard.”
“Well, you did not do such a good job, did you, Mr. Big-sergeant-bodyguard!”
Sayyid was more than twice her size and wanted to strangle her, but he was a simple man and anyone in a uniform, even a white one, intimidated him. “All right, all right, tell me of his condition.”
The nurse looked up at him, knew she had made her point, and backed down too. “He has a skull fracture. We must be very careful with him for at least forty-eight hours. How did this happen, anyway?”
“A car. A hit and run.”
“Hit by a car? No other injuries? That is most unusual.”
“Yes, most unusual.”
“I must leave now and attend to others, but you will not forget what I said. He is to have complete rest for at least forty-eight hours — no visitors and no disturbances.”
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