Assignment The Cairo Dancers

by Edward S. Aarons

  "I'd hoped to see what was being done here," she murmured. "I've always wanted to see this land of new hope and courage—"

  "There will be time later, I hope," Simon said. His smile had something softer in it than his previous melancholy. "Ben-Haakim cannot possibly reach our Negev camp before tomorrow night, going overland, but I think that time is running short for us."

  Throughout the trip. Inspector Bellau maintained a sullen, gnomish silence. He was a prisoner, in one sense, since he was constantly covered either by Durell or Simon, who took turns at staying alert for any trickery. On the other hand, once they were free of Cairo, it was clear he could do no damage for the time. There was some weight to his protests of innocence, since he seemed willing enough to accompany them.

  "We may not trust each other, Herr Durell," he said, breaking his silence in the car that sped south from Tel Aviv through the warm autumn night. "But we must accommodate one another, nein? Our interests merge into a common goal."

  "That depends on how much you can remember from your famous files on Dr. Hubertus Steigmann."

  "But I have already explained the situation."

  "I don't believe you, and never shall."

  "My dear Herr Durell, we are both policemen, in a sense, hunting down international criminals—"

  "True, but we have different ends. Yours is to fatten your personal files, to keep your skin in one piece." Durell looked at the dwarf's shadowed face in the darkness of the car. "I'd give something to know what your background of activity has been since 1939."

  Bellau's yellow eyes blazed with anger for a moment, then he relapsed into silence while the car sped south along the shore of the Mediterranean Sea.

  Lisl was nodding and trying desperately to keep awake when they entered the narrow, twisting streets of the Israeli sector of Jerusalem. Durell was also feeling the effects of their long imprisonment in the desert hut, the abrupt trip to Cairo, the tension of their escape with Bellau, and the disorienting air flights to Greece and back to the eastern shores of the Mediterranean. The nightmare hours in the hut seemed endless in retrospect, and since then they had been constantly on the move, always alert for danger. He looked at Lisl with sympathy and agreed with Asche when the Israeli major suggested a brief halt at a small, relatively obscure hotel to wash up, eat, and perhaps rest for a few hours. Durell nodded. Perhaps Simon had his own motives for halting here, since this was Simon's home ground, and it was plain that he commanded both respect and the heavy arm of police power in the place. Simon had his own ax to grind, too. But who didn't? he thought wearily. He agreed to the rest halt without much debate.

  The early morning hours were cool, and the tumbled mass of the Holy City slept under a serene and starlit sky. Far off on the Jordanian side of the Mandelbaum Gate there sounded a brief trumpet and then the clatter and grind of an armored car doing its endless patrol of the armistice line. It was a peace that was not peace, an armed pause for breath, a suspicious watching and waiting, suspicion and anger and jealous scrutiny on both sides of the line. Durell stood at the window in his hotel room and stared for a long time over the tumbled roofs, the rounded mosques, the synagogues and the modern synmietry of the Hebrew University on its hill. A handful of feudal desert monarchs, hand in glove with demagogues who fanned hatred as a means to gain private power, kept this long-tortured land in' a turmoil. The Israelis would never yield; the blood of millions of martyrs had taught them to steel their purpose. No threats of being driven into the sea frightened them. And far to the south, along Gaza and the Negev frontier, was a slim patrol of U.N. peace-keepers. They would have to be reckoned with tomorrow, Durell decided, to avoid detection of his illicit probe over the line into Sinai.

  But he decided to let tomorrow's troubles take care of themselves. Lisl was safe in her room, and Simon had taken the watch over Bellau, sharing a room with the dwarf while men came and went with reports for Major Asche; and Simon, transformed into a chunky administrative machine, kept his telephone busy with calls both to the north and south of his threatened little country.

  There was nothing more Durell could do.

  With a last yawn, he dropped into the soft bed and fell instantly into a deep and mindless sleep.

  He awoke to the sound of trucks moving into the courtyard behind the little hotel. Simon's bull voice could be heard, giving decisive orders. Durell showered and changed into the new clothing he found provided for him. There were desert boots and khakis and a cloth sun-hat somewhat like those once favored by the old French Foreign Legion. He tapped on Lisl's wall and heard her voice in query, then went into the corridor to join her for breakfast on a small terrace that overlooked the fabled hills of Jerusalem. It was a hot, cloudless day, relieved by a slight breeze from the east.

  Lisl looked refreshed and lovely. She flushed faintly as Durell came to join her, and fussed with the breakfast dishes on the little metal table under a blue-and-white striped awning. She, too, had put on desert clothing: fine leather boots and fawn riding pants and a plain white shirt open at her soft throat.

  "Relax," he told her gently. "We're quite safe here. For you, the nightmare is over."

  "No, it is not. Not until I find Father, and make amends for the terrible things I've done to him. His face haunts me,

  Sam. I keep seeing how he looked when I refused to listen to him, after he risked everything to see me." She paused. "But it isn't that, after all."

  "Are you thinking of our nights in the hut?"

  She bit her lip. "I don't know how you regard me, or what it meant to you, but to me it's like a dream, and some of it was wonderful—with you, I mean—but the rest of it—" She shuddered. "I can't imagine what you think of me, Sam."

  "I think you expected to die, and what we did was understandable. But if you want to forget it, Lisl—"

  She toyed with her scrambled eggs, and spoke in a small voice. "Have you told Simon about us?"

  "Of course not." He kissed her uncertain mouth. "And you seem interested in Simon."

  "Yes, I am."

  "You should examine your motives carefully, Lisl. Don't just make him into another cause by which to make amends for German guilt. Simon would reject that."

  "I know. I've thought about it most of the night. He's different from other men. He's dedicated to the future here, to building something fine and decent for generations to come, to defend the land and develop it. It's a wonderful thing to find today. He's a soldier, educator, scholar—and yet he can move into your world of war and intrigue without any loss of all his fine, sensitive qualities."

  Durell laughed softly. "This has hit you very suddenly, Lisl."

  "Yes, it has. As for you and me, I'm sorry—"

  He did not hurt her by showing relief at being freed of his responsibility for her. "You are unforgettable, Lisl, and it was a rare thing in my life. But I suppose I can't measure up to Simon in your life. I understand how you must feel."

  "Do you really, Sam? If so, I'm most grateful."

  He patted her hand. "Don't trouble yourself about it. I only hope you can help ease Simon's grief over Carole."

  "Oh, I hope so," she said earnestly. "I want to do that, very much."

  They joined Simon in the courtyard. A small convoy had been collected, three jeeps and a stake body truck, loaded with archaeological equipment: tents, tools, crates of books, cameras, cases of food. Simon's military training was evident in the eflBcient way the little convoy was organized.

  He greeted Lisl with a smile that warmed the severity of his harsh face. "You both slept well?"

  Durell nodded. "When do we leave?"

  "In two hours. We're waiting for some equipment from the University. It does not matter, since we cannot look for Ben-Haakim to cross the Sinai before tomorrow, at the very earliest. We can study some aerial maps I have with me, to plan our searches." He regarded Lisl with surprised interest. "You look well. A good night's rest and new clothes always work wonders for a woman's morale."

  There were shadow
s under Simon's deep brown eyes. Lisl quickly asked if he could not find time to take her about the ancient city, and Durell was not surprised when Simon agreed. He stood aside and begged off when Simon asked if he would like to accompany them, but took a pass from Simon to enable him to move about freely. After they drove off, he returned to his room and used the telephone to call the number of an Israeli philatelist who served as a political analyst for K Section. The CIA man, a Mr. Herschel, had facilities for sending coded microdot messages to Washington on canceled postage stamp specimens. He sounded relieved when Durell identified himself.

  "I've been sitting on an 'Urgent' from Annapolis Street since dawn," the agent said. "The General has word of an impending crisis. He thinks your activities have alarmed the Dancers to the point where they may make their first strike. If they do, he believes the entire Middle East may blow up. Washington has tentatively warned the Israeli government to expect trouble. Another warning has gone to the Arab states to respect the U.N. truce lines. But of course, none of this will affect El-Raschid. That madman does not care what he destroys with his stolen toys and kidnapped brains, eh? Not as long as he inflames all Islam into a new, holy war against Western infidels."

  "Are there any specific orders for me?" Durell asked.

  "Yes. You are to proceed immediately, at all risks, to find and destroy the headquarters of the Second Prophet."

  Durell thanked him wryly and hung up.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  "ONCE there were rivers in this desert," Simon Asche said, unconsciously taking on the air of a lecturer. "Ben-Gurion once announced that here in the Negev stood the cradle of our ancient people. The Negev is both the hope of our nation and our weak point and danger zone. What the ancient Nabateans accomplished here, with engineering works that brought irrigating waters to this wasteland, we hope to do, too. We dig here to learn the secrets of those long-dead people, and perhaps to do as they did. If you know the Old Testament, you may recall Isaiah's prophecy."

  Durell nodded. " 'And the desert shall rejoice, and blossom as the rose.' Isaiah 35:1."

  Simon was pleased. "Exactly. All this was once fertile with vineyards and grain, supporting almost a million people. With modem methods and machinery, we can easily duplicate and surpass what the Nabateans did, despite the waste and erosion of three thousand years of Arab neglect. Water from the Jordan, already on its way through pipelines, will perform the miracle we need."

  "All the miracles are human," Lisl said. "All that's being done is with the mind and energy of ordinary people; and yet you are not ordinary, Simon. Your dedication and hope is not an ordinary thing in our world today." She considered the landscape that surrounded the little camp at the head of a long wadi that reached south and east toward the distant frontier. "But it all seems so hopeless. The land is so bleak and emptyl"

  "We will change it," Simon said. "Give us a chance, and we will make our modern miracles."

  At a glance, Durell thought, if you ignored the spirit that moved the men and women in this land, you would say it was a hopeless dream. The land was utterly hostile. In every direction from the camp, with its black Bedouin tents and cook fires, its plank shacks for storage of tools and artifacts, there was nothing but a blinding, flinty emptiness. Jagged peaks rose to the south across the Sinai, and the brazen sun in a copper sky touched a vista of browns and grays without a single spot of blessed green to relieve the aching eye and desolate mind. The camp was sheltered by a towering granite cliff behind them, and though it was late afternoon, the sun still struck like a giant fist, and the air in their lungs was like that from the maw of a blast furnace. Simon went on to describe the spring rains that came down in torrential storms that swept the desert, only to be lost in the rocky gullies and sand pools along the seasonal watercourses. But the ancients had managed their irrigation by building low stone dams to form terraced catch-basins along the wadi, and by this means the spring rain was caught and stored for careful use during the growing season. Little remained of that antiquated system of dams now, and even less of the Nabateans who had lived and farmed this incredible land. But the old water-courses had been charted by aerial surveys and foot exploration, and Simon exhibited a map of the area to show how cleverly the features of the , land had been exploited.

  Aside from the Bedouin workmen, no other human had come into sight through the shimmering, illusory horizon, although Simon mentioned a nomad trail ten miles south where the Arabs, ignoring the artificial boundary of the Egyptian Sinai, casually crossed back and forth with their flocks of sheep, goats and camels, their black-veiled women and half-naked children. Smuggling was still their major occupation, although Simon explained that the Israeli government had experimented with permanent settlements for them and offered schools, medical service, and farms for the youths who could break the nomadic and traditional habits of their desert life.

  The Bedouins were silent men when Durell or Lis! stood nearby,, but in their black tents could be heard the chatter of women, the tumbling cries of children. Ben-Haakim's men were tall and fierce of eye, with the far look of those accustomed to limitless horizons. The ancient dam they were uncovering yielded to the willing labor of their picks and shovels and the aid of a small bulldozer that by some marvel of heroic labor had been transported to the dig.

  Durell was next to Lisl's little hut, which had been Carole Bainbury's during her past year's work here.

  "You don't mind?" Simon asked her anxiously.

  "Of course not. I only wish I had the training to be as helpful to you as Carole was."

  "Don't worry about that," he reassured her. "There's enough to do to oversee the commissary and supervise the general sanitation in the camp."

  "I'll be glad to do that. But I'd like to share in the actual work—"

  "I'll brief you later on what we're doing." Simon smiled freely for the first time. "I'll make you my private pupil, when we have time."

  "I'd like that," she murmured.

  At that moment, Durell was more interested in the sound of a distant jet that moved invisibly across the southern horizon. The boom of its engines shook the brazen sky, making a distant growl like that of a threatening beast. He used Simon's field glasses to search out the plane, but could not find it. Then he spotted the thin contrail high above the setting sun. Was it an Egyptian patrol? An Israeli Mystere? Or could El-Raschid have planes of his own? The warning from Washington had been urgent. Somewhere beyond the jagged horizon in the Sinai was a dread destructive force. Infinite terror was brewing there, pushed into a panic by his recent efforts.

  He was worried, too, about the failure of Ben-Haakim to appear across the frontier. That fat but competent nomad should be able to take care of himself, but the dangers of crossing the Sinai by illegal routes, where sand filled the water holes and famine was the rule, could not be ignored. These nomads knew the desert as he knew the streets of New York, but there was always the possibility that Ben-Haakim had been lost or worse, perhaps captured either by Egyptian patrols or the fanatic Dancers.

  When night fell, only the hissing of gasoline lanterns in the Arab tents offered a reply to his questions. The desert was silent, as cold as a corpse. But something was out there, Durell thought—a thing both malignant and patient, waiting for him.

  Twice during the night he awoke to hear the distant thunder of more jets in the dark canopy over the desert. He slept fitfully, dreaming of searing beams of Hght that made the desert sun seem like a feeble, flickering candle—flight that destroyed and ravaged innocent cities and people, licking into flames all the fruit of housing, orchards and vineyards built with the sweat and blood of desperate people. Ajid it would not end there. ReUgious fanaticism, catching the fire, could sweep the earth with another flame, in which power-mad meddlers would seek their own ends at the cost of millions of lives. The precarious balance of peace in the world would be tipped toward ultimate destruction. . . .

  He awoke to a sharp, urgent rap on his tent pole, and heard the canvas pulled
aside even as he rolled over on the sleeping pad and reached for his gun. It was past dawn, and the sunlight was harsh and unrelenting i)eyond the entrance. Major Asche stood there, legs straddled a bit, an automatic rifle in his big paw.

  "Cajun?"

  "You should be more careful." Durell lowered his gun. "I've got reflexes I can't always control."

  Asche said quickly: "Is Lisl here with you?"

  "Of course not. What is it?"

  "She is not in her hut."

  "You're sure?"

  "She is nowhere in the camp."

  Durell was awake instantly. He was aware of a quick relief in Asche's face, erasing a hard jealousy which had sprung from the expectation of finding Lisl with him; then it was replaced by a savage anxiety. "Take it easy, Simon. We'll find her."

  "But she is gone!"

  "Let's see where she slept."

  The hut assigned to Lisl had been between his and Simon's quarters. Durell narrowed his eyes against the glare of sunlight. Already heat was splintering off the mica-encrusted cliffs and barrens of the desert. Nothing was to be seen beyond the Bedouins' goatskin tents except tumbled and forbidding emptiness.

  Nothing was disturbed in Lisl's quarters. There was no sign of violence, except that her blanket was thrown back in disarray, and her small handbag, a gift from Simon yesterday in Jerusalem, was still there. Durell blew air through pinched nostrils. Perhaps she had only gone for a walk. But even that held its dangers in this wasteland.

  "She's not visiting the Arabs in the camp?"

  "She has not been seen."

  "What about the guards you posted?"

  "Not a sound. No alarm."

  "What about a search party, in case she simply went exploring?"

  "They are looking now."