by Glenn Meade
“I’m hardly surprised. They’ve both been working round the clock.” Halder smiled teasingly. “Even while the rest of us were asleep. Only the other morning I saw them crawling back into their tent, looking like they had been up digging half the night. What’s the professor up to, Rachel? Has he discovered something he wants to keep secret from the rest of us?”
Rachel smiled back. “Hardly. But you know my father thinks he can never do enough. The work here means everything to him.”
Halder winked at Weaver conspiratorially. “Well, Harry, did you ask?”
Weaver shook his head, faintly uncomfortable, and Halder said, “Neither did I.”
“What are you both talking about?” Rachel inquired. “Ask what?”
Halder swallowed a mouthful of champagne, as if to steel his nerves, and took a deep breath. “This may be embarrassing. But who cares, the moment has come. There’s something Harry and I have been mulling over, and we didn’t have the nerve to ask. But seeing as you’re leaving for Port Said tomorrow, and Istanbul beckons, we thought we might as well be brazen and pose the question.”
“What question?”
“Is there even the slightest chance you might be in love with either one of us?”
Rachel flushed. She bit her lip, and for a moment she seemed unsettled. “Why—why don’t I make a promise. I’ll write to you both and you write back. It would give us all time to get to know each other better. Then we’ll take it from there.”
Halder looked deflated. “I think you’re being very diplomatic.”
“No, Jack, just honest. There’s so much happening in my life right now. Leaving Egypt, the move to Istanbul—”
“Have we put you on the spot?” Weaver asked.
“No, Harry.”
Halder said, “Then why do I feel embarrassed?”
“There’s no need. No need for either of you to be. You know I care so much for you both.”
“Only care?”
“Please, Jack. This is not the time.”
“I’m sorry we brought up the subject, Rachel,” Weaver said, and went to take her arm. “I can see that you’re tired. I’ll go see if one of the embassy cars can take you to your hotel and we’ll escort you down.”
“No, I hate partings. You both stay and enjoy yourselves, you’ve more than deserved it.” She hesitated, her lips trembling with emotion as she looked at them. “Can I tell you something? It’s been the best time of my life. I really mean that. Until we meet again, good-bye.” It was very sudden, and there were tears in her eyes as she kissed and hugged them both, and then she was gone.
• • •
The band was playing a waltz. Halder picked up his champagne glass. “She seemed pretty upset. But she didn’t really answer the question, did she? Me, I feel a little disappointed.”
Weaver considered for a moment. “I could be wrong, but it seems to me the offer to write could only mean one of three things.”
“What?”
“One, she doesn’t want to get involved with either of us, and it’s the easy way out. Two, she likes one of us, but we put her in an awkward situation by both being present, in which case she couldn’t say outright, for fear of disappointing the other.”
“And three?”
“She likes both of us equally, can’t make up her mind, and needs some breathing space to decide.”
“You think it’s that?”
Weaver shrugged. “It’s just a feeling I get. Maybe we should just take Rachel at her word. Besides, she’s right. There’s a lot happening in her life. Her family can’t return to Germany, and Istanbul’s a whole new world to come to terms with. And she was exhausted tonight. I think all the hard work she’s been putting in has finally caught up with her.”
“You seem very blasé all of a sudden.”
“I like to think she was being genuine, Jack. She’s not the kind of woman to just jump into a relationship. She needs time. So why don’t we drop it for now.”
“But you’re disappointed she didn’t give us a straight answer. I can tell.”
“Sure I am. It prolongs the torture. But why don’t we wait and see what happens, and try not to dwell on it.”
Halder forced a smile. “That’s the engineer in you speaking. Even when you’re upset in love, the practical side takes over. And maybe you’re right. I wish I could be like that, but I’ll really miss her. It was such a terrific time, and it’s a pity it all has to come to an end. I’ve had the best time of my life in her company.”
Weaver picked up the champagne bottle, refilled their glasses. “Change the subject. When are you leaving Cairo?”
“Tuesday. I’m flying home. I haven’t much choice—I’ve been conscripted.”
Weaver was dumbstruck. “So that’s what your letter was about?”
“I’m afraid so.” Halder shrugged. “You know my father’s family come from a long line of Prussian officers, some of them founders of the military academy. They’d turn in their graves if I ignored the call.”
Weaver put a hand on Halder’s shoulder. “You should have told me, Jack. It just all seems so sudden. I’ll be worried about you.”
“To be honest, I didn’t want to spoil the last couple of days by mentioning it. And I’ve been trying my best to put it at the back of my mind. But don’t worry about me. With my background, I’ll probably land a boring desk job.”
“Do you really believe it’ll be over by Christmas, Jack? Rachel said you thought so.”
Halder nodded firmly. “I think it will. Ordinary Germans don’t want another war. Too many of them remember how bad the last one was. I’m pretty sure common sense will prevail in the end. And what about you? What will you do?”
“Right now, I feel kind of footloose. Professor Stern suggested there’s still a little clearing up to be done at Sakkara before the site’s handed over to the Egyptians, so I volunteered to help, along with a couple of the others. I’ve also had an offer tonight to join a desert expedition, so maybe I’ll stay on for a while, and even try to learn more of the language. Besides, America declared its neutrality. We’ve no part in this war.”
“Good for you. Let’s just hope it all settles down soon. But the thing about it is, the whole world’s gone crazy.”
“What do you mean?”
“The war’s already sort of started to intrude. The rumor’s been going around that the British dug up a German radio transmitter hidden in a field along the Pyramids Road. It seems there are spies already at work in Cairo.”
Weaver nodded. “I know about the rumor. But what’s that got to do with anything?”
“After we heard the declaration of war on the radio over a week ago, I actually overheard one of the British in our group claim that Rachel and I, and all the other Germans on the dig, were really enemy agents and up to no good. Did you ever hear such garbage? I mean, her mother’s Jewish for a start. And Professor Stern loathes the Nazis.”
“And what do you think of the Nazis, Jack?”
It was the first time they had ever discussed politics, and Halder was mildly surprised. “Me? I love my country, but I think you’ll have guessed by now I haven’t got much time for Hitler.”
“You mean because of Poland? Or because of what he’s doing to the Jews? All these race laws and prison camps and deportations we’ve been hearing about.”
“Both. And I’ve no time for that sort of cruel behavior, and nor do so many decent-minded Germans. And we’ve been friends long enough for you to know I wouldn’t condone the kind of laws the Nazis have enacted against the Jews, or the way Hitler has banished so many of them from Germany. But it’s not only that. Hitler talks too loudly and hasn’t a single ounce of humor. Always a bad combination, especially in an Austrian.” Halder smiled faintly. “I’m afraid he’s also an arrogant bore. And most important of all, he has the makings of a tyrant. And all tyrants are cowards in the end. Which is why I think he’ll back down before it really does go too far.”
“I just hop
e you’re right. But do you really have to go back home?”
“There’s a German word. Pflicht. You may have heard my father use it. It means duty, and more besides. And it’s a word often used in the Halder vocabulary. In fact, it’s in the family motto. So in a way, I feel I’m honor-bound not to let down the family name. No matter what my father might think of Hitler, I really don’t believe he could live with the fact of having a son who turned out to be the first conscientious objector in the clan.”
“In that case, I wouldn’t worry about what the British say about you being a spy. I hear some of the Germans pointed the same accusations at the French and the British members of the crew.” Weaver smiled. “So far, I think I’m the only one who hasn’t had a bad word said about him. It has me worried.”
Halder laughed, and Weaver scanned the crowds and said more seriously, “There was a man watching Rachel this evening. Egyptian. Thin, about forty, a bit sinister-looking, wearing a linen suit. Did you notice him?”
“No. Why?”
Weaver shrugged. “It’s probably nothing. Perhaps she has a secret admirer.” He hesitated. “You know what just occurred to me? What if America entered the war, and we were on opposing sides? How would that make you feel?”
“Terrible.” Halder shook his head firmly. “But we could never be enemies, Jack. Not ever. At least not personally, whatever differences our two countries might have.”
“I guess not.” Weaver put down his glass and smiled. “But do you think we’d still be buddies if there’s even a slim chance Rachel might choose one of us?”
“Always. No matter what the future brings.” Halder’s eyes twinkled. “But I have to admit, she’s such a desirable woman I’d be almost tempted to fight you for her if ever it came down to it.” He smiled good-humoredly, raised his glass. “A final toast, then. To friendship and a wonderful summer.”
Weaver lifted his glass. “To friendship. And I’ll miss your company, Jack. I really will. So try and look after yourself. I just hope this war doesn’t drag on too long.”
Halder winked. “Me, too. But if there really is a chance for one of us, may the best letter-writer win the fair lady’s hand.”
• • •
Jack Halder returned home to Germany via Rome on a scheduled Italian passenger flight out of Cairo. Within a week he had been conscripted into the Wehrmacht and posted to Berlin for officer training. Although no admirer of the Nazis, he was to prove a highly capable, adventurous officer, and his sharp intellect and knowledge of languages soon came to the attention of the Abwehr, Germany’s military intelligence.
He was personally recruited by Admiral Wilhelm Canaris, posted to the special operations section which dealt with the Balkans and the Mediterranean, and when the war in North Africa began in earnest, was eventually seconded to the Middle Eastern Division, working with Rommel’s Afrika Corps.
When he didn’t hear from Rachel Stern within six months of returning home, he met and fell in love with Helga Ritter, the daughter of a Hamburg doctor. It was something he had never expected or anticipated, because part of him still loved Rachel, and there were many times when he thought of her. But his new wife was to prove as interesting a young woman, vivacious and loving. Within ten months of marriage she gave birth to a son, Pauli.
Rachel Stern never wrote to either young man. Three days after the ambassador’s party, she and her parents sailed from Port Said on the Izmir, the only paying passengers on board the ancient Turkish-owned cargo ship bound for Istanbul. On the second night out of port she was standing at the starboard rail, still thinking about the momentous summer, when the engine room erupted in fire. The explosion that sank the Izmir killed fourteen people. Her mother was one of them.
The surviving crew members had abandoned ship while flames raged on deck. Rachel and her father managed to scramble aboard one of the lifeboats with two badly wounded Turkish sailors, her father still clutching his briefcase containing his precious maps and notes from the Sakkara dig. They drifted away from the other lifeboats in the darkness, and a little before midnight a storm blew up. Their tiny vessel was pounded by ten-foot waves and lashed by savage winds. The weather improved by dawn, but by noon the sailors were dead and she and her father were exhausted, dehydrated, and burnt by a scorching Mediterranean sun.
Late in the afternoon, a gray shape loomed on the horizon and cruised towards them. At first, Rachel thought it was a British naval boat searching for survivors, but when it came closer she saw the red-and-black swastika of the German Kriegsmarine. She and her father were detained on board the naval vessel after it docked in Naples for refueling, and two weeks later they arrived in Hamburg, where they were promptly met by the Gestapo.
Harry Weaver stayed on in Egypt, and for much longer than he thought, working with an American desert exploration group searching for archeological ruins, until six months before Rommel landed in Tripoli in February 1941. Then he flew to Lisbon and on to London, returning to the United States via Southampton. He volunteered the day after the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor.
He had heard about the sinking of the Izmir while still at Sakkara. It was a little after midnight, and someone came to his tent with a newspaper and showed him the report, which claimed that the only survivors were four Turkish crewmen whose lifeboat had been picked up by a Maltese fishing trawler.
When he read the news in the lamplight, he cried. He had loved Rachel deeply, and that night on the ambassador’s veranda he had so much wanted to tell her, but had never really got the chance, or had the courage. Then he did what any grief-stricken young man would have done in such circumstances. He put aside the newspaper, took a bottle of whisky from his bag, and got drunk.
But the very last thing he did before he finally fell asleep was to look at the photograph he treasured, of the three of them together. Rachel, Jack, and himself. Three young, smiling people, their arms around one another, standing in the desert sands at Sakkara. It was a happy time.
NOVEMBER 1943
4
* * *
CAIRO
10 NOVEMBER
It was the hottest summer in thirty-six years. The ancient city built in the shadow of the Giza pyramids had always stunk, but now it smelled like a fetid sewer. All over North Africa and Europe, clear skies and an oppressive heat wave had added an unpleasant discomfort to the rigors of war. And yet, despite the climate, it had been a momentous year for the Allies. The once mighty Rommel had been defeated, the German Fifth Army of Field Marshal von Paulus had surrendered at Stalingrad, General Patton’s troops had landed in Sicily, and the Reich’s second city, the sprawling port of Hamburg, had been reduced to smoldering rubble.
And then came autumn. The weather cooled, the Germans started to regroup, and the war stagnated. In the cauldron that was Cairo, such news mattered far less than the chilling winds and the welcome rainclouds that finally blew in from the Mediterranean in early November.
To Mustapha Evir, crouching in the shadows of the pine trees, it seemed that the oppressive heat of summer had never gone away. It was a mild night, yet sweat ran down his shirt and back, trickled down his face and chin, and his body felt on fire. It was fear, of course. To try to lessen his anxiety, he toyed with a cheap set of Arab worry beads in his right hand. Considering the danger of what he was about to do, Evir knew that one slip could cost him his life.
He was a small man, lean and thin, and wore a shabby black suit, tatty leather sandals, and a grimy, collarless shirt. His unshaven face had the tired look of a weary old fox constantly beset by hounds. He was in the grounds of a walled villa in the wealthy district of Garden City, an area that quartered some of the grand city homes of foreign ambassadors and their families. He had waited with the patience of a hunter for over an hour, and now it was almost time to move. Sixty paces across the lawns stood the handsome villa that housed the American ambassador. Two armed sentries paced outside the double oak doors, and there were another two at the entrance by the gate lodge.
&
nbsp; Evir glanced behind him, down the sloping gardens, past the ornate pavilion and the sentries at the lodge, checking that the guards were still there. Beyond the wrought-iron gates, in the far darkness, he could make out the Kasr-el-Nil bridge and the broad, majestic Nile, the ghostly white sails of feluccas gliding over the shimmering, moonlit water. He noticed the tall minaret of a mosque on the far side of the river and said a silent prayer—not that prayer had ever changed anything in his miserable life, but right now he needed to calm himself. The last thing he wanted was to go back to the stinking, crowded cell he had shared with twelve other prisoners, and he begged Allah to protect him.
As he turned back, a chandelier blazed into life in the villa’s hallway, and Evir tensed. Moments later he heard a car’s engine start up, then an imposing black Ford appeared from behind the servants’ quarters and drew up in front of the entrance. The sentries snapped to attention as the oak doors opened and a man dressed in evening wear came out and stepped into the chauffeured car.
The American ambassador had a well-fed look, and Evir spat in the darkness and despised him. What did he know of having seven hungry mouths to feed? Of living in a stinking hovel? Of how a man had to break his back every day to earn a crust in a harsh city like Cairo?
Evir saw the Ford drive away, and seconds later the chandelier lights went off. As soon as the car moved out through the main gates, the sentries seemed to relax, and the two outside the villa entrance sat on the granite steps and lit cigarettes. Evir crouched in the shadows of the trees for five more minutes, then wiped the sweat from his face, slipped the set of worry beads into his pocket and stood, massaging his aching knees. It was time to go to work.
• • •
The American ambassador’s residence had a reputation for tight security, but Mustapha Evir also had a reputation. To those who availed themselves of his services he was known as The Fox. There wasn’t a house built that he couldn’t break into, or a safe made that he couldn’t crack. But three stiff sentences in the hell of Cairo’s Torah prison, in over thirty years of crime, had cooled his love of the work. After his release three months previously he had formed the intention of leading an honest life, but the only work he could find was back-breaking drudgery, carrying bales of cotton through the steep, cobbled market streets, for a fat cloth merchant who treated him like a dog and paid him barely enough to feed his family. But tonight, this one job could earn him a fortune.
