by Glenn Meade
“Is your source reliable?”
“He’s an Egyptian air force officer with excellent connections, whose information is usually faultless.”
“Security?”
Deacon grimly pursed his lips. “Very tight, as you’d expect. And after what’s happened, you can be sure it’ll be tighter still.”
“Schellenberg said you’d have gathered more details by the time we arrived.”
“I’ve done my best.” Deacon reached inside his pocket and took out several folded pages. “You’ll see from my report the hotel’s heavily guarded. No one is allowed near the compound without the proper authorization. Photographs were obviously out of the question, far too risky, but I got as close as I dared and made notes and drawings of everything I could see. Tanks, antiaircraft guns on the roofs, patrols in the grounds operating at irregular intervals.”
Halder studied the handwritten pages intently, then looked up. “Hardly the crock of gold I’d hoped for. We could really do with more exact information.”
“Impossible, I’m afraid.”
Halder gave the pages to Kleist and Doring to study. “What about this problem with the vehicles?”
Deacon sighed heavily. “You’re not going to like this.” He explained about Salter. “The man’s a dangerous gangster with a reputation for violence. Unfortunately, I had no choice except to deal with him.”
Halder said, puzzled, “What exactly does he think we’re up to?”
“The fool suspects we’re about to carry out a robbery, and wants a cut to ensure his silence. Otherwise, we can forget about the Jeep and trucks, and I can expect a visit from the police.”
Halder stood, exasperated. “It gets even worse. When does this fellow Salter want an answer?”
“Tomorrow night. After that, there’ll be trouble.”
Halder sighed. “You’re quite sure he knows nothing about our real intentions?”
“I doubt Salter would imagine for a moment that I’m a German agent. Apparently, valuable archeological caches are sometimes transported to Cairo via the Shabramant airfield. Salter seems to think there might be one on its way, and has it in his stupid head we’ve got a plan to steal it.”
“Does he know we’re here at the villa?”
Deacon shook his head vigorously. “Absolutely not. I’ve been careful to make sure I haven’t been followed since the last episode, and I’ve seen nobody trying to tail me. I can only assume Salter thinks we’ve no choice except to agree to his little proposition, and following me is a futile exercise.” He gave another sigh. “Quite a mess, isn’t it? Well, any suggestions? Because I certainly haven’t.”
Halder shook his head in despair. “Right now, not even one. But we must have those vehicles. Everything depends on it.” He turned back to study the villa. “So, this is to be our lair?”
“I think you’ll find it comfortable enough, and perfectly safe.”
Halder said to Kleist and Doring, “Take a good look around. Familiarize yourselves with the surroundings and draw me a decent map. I want to plan escape routes in case we need them. And choose a couple of suitable rooms front and back that we can use as lookout points. We’ll need to set up a watch roster. I don’t want anyone surprising us—including this fellow Salter.”
“Yes, Major.”
After Kleist and Doring had left, Halder lit a cigarette. “The villa’s somewhat remote. I’m not sure I’m happy about that.”
“A necessary change of plan. The safe house I intended using in the city was raided by your friend Weaver, and a comrade of his, a British officer named Sanson, from GHQ.”
Halder looked at him in amazement. “Why didn’t you make Berlin aware of this?”
“But I did.” Deacon explained what had happened. “You weren’t told?”
Halder shook his head angrily. “It sounds to me like we’ve been walking towards trouble from the very start.”
Deacon frowned. “It seems odd you weren’t informed.”
Halder raised an eyebrow suspiciously, still furious. “All Schellenberg is concerned with is accomplishing his plan, come hell or high water. He doesn’t give a curse about people’s lives. No doubt he thought I’d have no interest in his little scheme if I knew your operation had been jeopardized.” He thought for a moment. “Is there any way Allied intelligence could have become aware of our plans because of the raid?”
“I seriously doubt it. What evidence could they have?”
“Maybe you’re right. But it worries me how they could have known. I’ve already met this Sanson, by the way.”
Deacon raised his eyes when Halder explained. “I’m impressed you managed to escape. I don’t know about your friend Weaver, but Sanson is not someone to cross. By reputation he’s a determined man, as dangerous as a cobra.”
Halder stood, nodded to the villa. “Right now, I’m more worried about this place.”
He strolled in through the French windows, into a large living room with cane chairs and brightly colored Arab rugs scattered on the floor. The white-painted walls were bare except for a couple of Nubian death masks made of polished dark wood, the primitive faces frightening, almost evil.
“The villa’s called Maison Fleuve,” Deacon explained. “Originally built by a French campaign general to entertain his mistresses. There’s no telephone, but then most of the villas around here are used only as weekend retreats. It’s also very private, so no one should bother us. The main road is a mile from here—which gives plenty of time to see anyone approaching—and leads directly into Cairo. The Mena House and Giza are only five miles away. Naturally, the motorboat will be at your disposal. You can reach the city without having to worry about being stopped and having your papers scrutinized—the river patrols don’t operate this far south.”
Halder examined the death masks on the wall with interest. “The wood carving’s really first class. At least a couple of hundred years old, I imagine?”
Deacon nodded, took one down with a smile, brushed some dust from the wood with his sleeve. “Something the general picked up on his travels up the Nile. Along with a couple of exquisite female Nubian slaves I believe he was rather fond of.”
“And what about the villa’s present owner?”
“You’re looking at him.” Deacon replaced the mask. “Now, I believe you mentioned escape routes?”
• • •
Deacon held up the oil lamp as they went down the cellar steps. Light flickered on the arched walls, the air pleasantly cool, and Halder saw the stored racks of cobwebbed wine bottles off to one side. They moved to the end of the cellar where there was a metal door rusting on its hinges. Deacon pushed it open and brilliant sunshine flooded in. A tiny stone pier was revealed outside, well covered by tall reeds.
The Nile lay beyond, and a small rowboat was tied up, complete with an outboard motor, an old tarpaulin thrown over it to protect the engine.
“Interesting,” remarked Halder, seeing an aerial protruding outside, hidden by the reeds, the wire leading back to a wooden cabinet at the bottom of the stairs. “That’s where you keep your radio?”
Deacon nodded, opened the cabinet, revealing the transmitter, his Luger pistol beside it, then closed it again. “The cellar was originally built as a cave. You know how fastidious the French are about storing their wine. But being a practical man, the general decided he’d be better served knocking out the end wall and using it as an escape route for his girlfriends, in case their husbands showed up, which apparently was often.”
Deacon smiled, went to shut the metal door, which creaked on its hinges. “An ace in the hole, should we need it. But let’s hope not. I’ll leave it to you to show the others. One other precaution I should mention. There’s a solid metal bar I suggest you always leave in place on the villa’s main entrance door upstairs. If there’s danger brewing and anyone tries to force their way in, it should give you enough time to get down here and make your escape.”
“You’re a cautious man, Deacon.”
“Schellenberg also mentioned you’d have an overall escape route lined up, in case things went badly wrong at the airfield.”
Deacon nodded. “An Egyptian friend of mine is a serving captain with the Royal Egyptian Air Force. It was he who supplied much of the information about the Shabramant airfield. If we need him, he’s arranged to ‘borrow’ an aircraft from his unit and pick us up from a landing strip in the desert, a few miles from Sakkara. It’ll be outside any air exclusion zone, and therefore less likely to get shot down.”
“I know the strip you’re talking about. It was used to ferry in supplies for archeological digs.”
“I believe so. My friend the captain can be in the air, on standby, ready to pick us up if necessary, once he sees a prearranged signal on the ground. As soon as you decide when the attack will commence and we know Skorzeny’s men are on their way, I’ll contact him. But then I’m assuming everything will still go ahead as planned. If not, and we have to abort, the captain will attempt to fly you out anyway, to the nearest German airbase on Crete. But we can go over everything in more detail later.”
“This captain friend of yours doesn’t know what we’re up to, of course?”
“Naturally. But being a fervent sympathizer, he’s willing to help the German cause any way he can.”
They came back up the steps to the hallway and Deacon blew out the lamp.
“Two things,” said Halder. “First, you don’t reveal our intentions in front of the lady. She knows nothing about our plans, or our purpose here.”
“I understand. Berlin explained everything.”
“Second, I’ll give you a list of things I’ll need by this afternoon—mostly some heavy tools and digging equipment, as well as a pair of powerful binoculars, and a couple of the American uniforms you got from Salter.”
Deacon saw the tension on Halder’s face, the man like a coiled spring. “You mind telling me what for?”
“My original intention was to try and bluff my way into the compound posing as an American officer, or somehow steal a pass, so I could carry out the necessary reconnaissance work. But that’s just the kind of strategy the Allies would expect now that they’re aware of our intentions. And one that’s especially useless seeing as they know my identity. It looks to me like we now have only one option. Near Cheops pyramid, there’s a tunnel, part of a natural rock cavern that runs for almost two hundred meters from a Second Dynasty burial vault. It leads from the direction of the hotel grounds.”
Deacon frowned. “How do you know?”
“It was discovered some years ago by Fräulein Stern’s father, a respected archeologist. Schellenberg seems to think the passageway may lead inside the compound.”
“Amazing.” Deacon looked astonished, scratched his jaw. “So that’s why Berlin had me confirm there was still digging going on at Giza. I wondered about that.”
“What’s important is that we may have a way of getting into the compound, unseen. But the tunnel entrance will have to be reopened and the direction verified. Did you find out who’s working on the site?”
“Mostly student groups from Cairo’s universities.”
“There’s no time to waste, so we’ll have to carry out the necessary exploration late this afternoon. Just you, me, and Kleist. The students will have finished their work by the time it’s getting dark. Is the site guarded?”
Deacon nodded. “There’s usually either a few men on watch duty from one of the nearby police stations, or civilian guards from the Ministry of Antiquities.”
Halder produced his wallet and showed Deacon the documents stating that he was Paul Mallory, along with credentials from the American University. “Do you know of an expert forger? Someone trustworthy who can work fast?”
Deacon nodded. “Cairo’s got no shortage of forgers who’ll do anything for a price. Why?”
“Sanson checked my papers in Alex, as well as Fräulein Stern’s. No doubt he’ll alert the police and military to keep a lookout for our identities. But a clever forger should easily be able to alter the names without too much difficulty. Can you arrange it promptly, if I give you a couple of alternative names?”
Deacon shrugged. “It’s a minor enough job, so I don’t see why not. Care to tell me what you have in mind?”
“To all intents, I’ll be a professor, conducting a legitimate inspection of my students’ work at Giza, so it should be easy enough to bluff our way past the police, but even if it comes to the worst, and if my past experience is anything to go by, such guards are unreliable at the best of times, and totally corruptible. The poor devils are usually paid such a pittance they could probably be bribed not to bother us.”
Deacon studied the documents carefully. “They certainly look impressive enough. Don’t you need to bring the woman along?”
Halder shook his head. “It’s pointless putting her in any further unnecessary danger. She can tell me what I need to know. But you still need to arrange to have her papers altered, just in case we have to leave the villa at any stage. I’ll fetch them for you before you go.”
Deacon raised his eyes. “Do I detect something between the two of you, Major?”
Halder avoided the question. “Just the three of us should be enough. Besides, a little distraction might help me mull over Salter’s ultimatum. As it is, the problem has me completely stumped.”
“And what if we manage to find this tunnel and it leads where you think it does?”
“Kleist and I will assess the security inside the hotel grounds, and try to find out exactly where Roosevelt and Churchill are quartered. Which is why we’ll need the uniforms.”
Deacon looked troubled. “But you won’t have passes. And there are bound to be security checks inside the compound. Weaver and his comrades will be determined to catch you. All of which makes everything infinitely more hazardous.”
“My problems to worry about. And there’s really no other option besides the tunnel. Unless you can think of one.”
“You’ve got me there, Major.”
“We’ll need transport. And preferably a way of getting to Giza that helps us avoid any checkpoints, if possible.”
Deacon scratched his head. “There’s a rough desert track nearby that leads directly to the village of Nazlat as-Saman, near the pyramids. But the Packard’s heavily built and the suspension would take a hammering, so we’d be asking for trouble.” He thought for a moment. “I have a better suggestion. All of us traveling together would certainly be unwise. No doubt your friend Weaver has issued your description to every police station and military barracks from here to Luxor. Hassan has a motorcycle. Kleist and I could take the car, using the normal route, by road. You could take the motorcycle, and we can meet up on the far side of the village, near the Sphinx.”
Halder crushed out his cigarette, smiled tightly. “Perfect. It’s settled, then. And don’t fret about Harry Weaver. He’s not going to find me.”
53
* * *
CAIRO
22 NOVEMBER, 12:30 P.M.
“What kind of an idiot are you?” Clayton banged his fist on the desk. “How could you let them escape?”
Weaver sat in the general’s office, his eyes raw, his body aching from exhaustion. He hadn’t slept for more than a couple of minutes throughout the entire night. After eight hours of trying to free himself from the ropes, all he had managed to do was loosen the gag. A little after seven, two local fishermen heard his shouts, wandered into the boathouse, and found him. Soon after he had made the telephone call to military HQ from Rashid police station, Sanson arrived, furious that he’d allowed Halder and Rachel to escape. Two hours later, Sanson had him on a plane to Cairo, and they drove straight to Clayton’s office.
“I didn’t have much choice, sir,” Weaver answered.
Sanson sat next to him. He and the general were still seething. “It’s completely ridiculous,” Clayton said in astonishment. “We had half the army out, ever
y road blocked off, and still they evaded capture. As for you, Weaver, allowing two enemy agents to dupe you into helping them escape is downright incompetence. What have you got to say for yourself?”
“I made a mistake going after them alone.”
Clayton flared. “Darned right you did. It seems to me you let personal sentiment get in the way of duty. In this instance, that’s not only unforgivable, it’s almost treasonable.” The general rose angrily from behind his desk. “You’d better tell me everything you know about this couple.”
The general stood there until Weaver had finished, then said to Sanson, “What about the boat they used?”
Sanson explained that every vessel on the waterway as far as Cairo had been stopped and boarded. “But the river patrols turned up nothing. We were obviously too late. By early morning, the boat could easily have reached any number of places along the Nile.”
Clayton turned back to Weaver. “Didn’t you see the registration on the Arab’s car?”
He had already gone over every detail with Sanson. “I couldn’t see the license plate in the dark. The only thing I’m reasonably certain of is the car was an American model.” Weaver knew the information was pretty useless without an exact model description or license number. Cairo was full of American vehicles, military and civilian.
“That’s not much help, is it?” Clayton grimaced, picked up Sanson’s report from his desk, and slapped it back down again. “But there are a couple of things we can be pretty certain of. First, it’s obvious we’re dealing with more than just two enemy infiltrators. And second, they’re most likely somewhere in the city by now.”
