by Glenn Meade
“If he doesn’t, I’ll have his neck on the end of a rope.” Hitler slumped into a leather armchair, his body crumpling with despair. “So, you still think Halder can do what’s needed?”
“I’m convinced of it.”
Hitler fixed Schellenberg with a cold stare. “As always, your optimism is enviable, Walter. But if Sphinx fails, mark my words, heads will roll. Perhaps even yours. With every day that passes, it becomes even more imperative we annihilate our two mortal enemies, Roosevelt and Churchill. Two bombs hit the Chancellery grounds this afternoon. Can you believe it? They’re trying to kill me, Walter. Me! We must destroy them first, before they destroy us all.”
“I agree totally, mein Führer.”
“The very second you receive word from Deacon, you call me, personally. Dismissed.”
CAIRO
8:00 P.M.
Weaver went up the steps past the uniformed dragomans at the entrance to Shepheard’s. He found an empty seat under the palms on the front terrace. It was Friday night and the streets were overflowing. He ordered a large Scotch and sat there, barely taking notice of the chaos of traffic that went past the hotel.
He had phoned Clayton at least half a dozen times, but the general wasn’t taking his calls. He felt angry and frustrated. And there was a strange feeling he was aware of, now that he had got over the shock of seeing Rachel alive. The fact that she was with Jack Halder sent a pang of jealousy through him, so powerful it almost made him wish Halder dead. It was as if he had been wounded, a pain spreading through his entire body.
A waiter scurried past, and he ordered another large Scotch. In the warm evening air, the alcohol was fast going to his head, but he didn’t care.
“Hello, Harry.”
He saw Helen Kane standing over him. “Mind if I join you?”
He was surprised to see her and felt faintly embarrassed. “No, of course not. How did you know I was here?”
She pulled up a chair. “I didn’t. I called at the villa but there was no one there. I was on my way back to the office and saw you on the terrace as I drove past.” She looked at him sympathetically. “I heard what happened with Sanson. I thought maybe you could do with some company. And I also wanted to apologize.”
“For what?”
“My behavior this afternoon. I was being selfish, playing the spurned woman and only thinking of myself. You’re a good man, Harry Weaver. And for what it’s worth I believe you when you say Rachel Stern is innocent.”
He put a hand on hers, and this time she didn’t pull away. “I’m sorry about what happened, Helen. It’s just—”
“You don’t have to explain, really you don’t.”
Weaver felt a terrible stab of guilt, and changed the subject. “You mind me asking if Sanson’s made any progress?”
She blushed, took her hand away slowly. “I suppose I shouldn’t be telling you this, but there was a phone call from a Sergeant Morris at the provost’s office. It had to do with the inquiry Sanson made about stolen vehicles. There were exactly four thefts in the last week—all of them in the last five days, all of them military, and from the same transport pool in Cairo.”
“What kinds of vehicles?”
“A Jeep and three trucks. The sergeant seemed to think it unusual that all four should be stolen almost simultaneously. Another thing. There were three uniforms taken from a clothing store at about the same time as the Jeep, which made him faintly suspicious there might be something more to it.”
“Uniforms?”
“Military police. One officer’s, and two NCOs’. The sergeant suggested he might have some information about the thefts.”
“What kind of information?”
“He didn’t say.”
Weaver perked up. “What’s Sanson doing about it?”
“He’s on his way back from Alex. I don’t think he’s had much luck interrogating the Arab agent that Myers picked up.”
“How long before he gets back?”
“An hour, maybe more.”
There was a spark in Weaver’s face, and Helen Kane said seriously, “If you’re thinking what I think you are, don’t even consider it, Harry. If Sanson found out you went behind his back he’d have you court-martialed.” She stood. “I’d better be going. He’s got everyone working round the clock. Do you mind if I say something? I hope for your sake Rachel Stern doesn’t come to a bad end in all of this, I really do.” She smiled bravely, still faintly upset. “Be good, Harry.”
“Helen, wait—”
But she turned, hurried down the veranda steps, and was gone.
• • •
Deacon halted the Packard near the western slope of the Cheops pyramid. Bathed in pale silver moonlight, the ancient burial site looked truly awesome, its gigantic silhouette filling the night sky. There was a scattering of ruined tombs nearby, all made of massive limestone cubes, dozens of them set around the pyramids. Most of the blocks were in total disarray, as if they’d been tossed about by the force of an earthquake.
When they climbed out of the car into the shadowy darkness, Halder said to Rachel, “You’d better lead the way.” He turned to Kleist and Deacon. “We’ll bring the things from the car. But don’t light the oil lamps just yet.”
They retrieved a couple of spades, a pickaxe, several oil lamps, a large crowbar, some balls of twine, and two water canteens from the trunk and stumbled over the rocks, fumbling in the dark for about fifty meters, until Rachel said, “It’s down there somewhere. I’m sure of it.”
She pointed to the ruins of one of the tombs. It was no more than a deep gaping recess in the ground, about twelve feet square and six feet deep, surrounded by a jumble of huge limestone blocks. Some were cracked and broken and had spilled into the recess.
“My father left a marker, on a stone block above the entrance.”
“What kind of marker?”
“Two parallel lines chiseled in the stone.”
They climbed down into the recess, but it was impossible to see anything clearly in the moonlight. “Let’s have some light on the situation,” Halder said. They lit a couple of the oil lamps and searched along the walls until Kleist said, “Is this what you’re looking for, Major?”
Halder and the others joined him. There was a pile of old rubble, chunks of rock and earth left stacked up near the bottom right-hand corner of the tomb. Above the pile, etched in one of the stone blocks lining the walls, was an unmistakable pair of straight lines.
“That’s it,” said Rachel. “The entrance should be underneath the rubble, covered by a slab of rock.”
Halder grabbed the crowbar and picked away all the rubble. Below was a large round stone, about two feet in diameter, lying flat on the ground. Using the crowbar, he tried to jimmy it back, but the slab didn’t budge. “It’s no use—it’s bloody heavy and wedged hard.” He stripped to the waist and tossed away his shirt, sweat pumping from him now in the clammy heat. “Give me a hand here, Kleist.”
The SS man joined him and together they levered the crowbar and applied all their strength, groaning with the effort, but still the slab didn’t move.
“Bring the rest of the tools and give us some help,” Halder called out to Deacon.
The three of them worked around the edge with the crowbar, shovel, and pickax, sweating in the darkness, loosening the slab and heaving together until it began to move a little. When they finally managed to lever it back, the slab fell away with a crash, and a sudden rush of dust and foul air wafted up at them.
They covered their mouths until the air cleared, and Halder held up the lamp. There was a small rim of rock that surrounded a round, black hole, sloping down into darkness, barely enough room for a man to crawl through. “It seems we’re in the right spot.”
His excitement mounting, Halder rolled off a length from one of the balls of twine, tied it to a slab. “I’ll go first. Deacon, you’d better stay here and keep watch. If anyone comes by, tug hard on this a couple of times. Got that?”
�
�Whatever you say, Major.”
Halder grabbed the oil lamp, got down on one knee, ready to crawl into the hole, and looked back up at Rachel and Kleist. “The moment of truth. If it’s safe, I’ll tug on the string and you follow me in.”
• • •
He crawled for about five meters, the journey claustrophobic, the air stale. The ground was covered with a scattering of rough limestone chips, and when he came to the end of the passage he found himself in a narrow upright vault. It was pleasantly cool. He stood, dusted himself, and picked up the lamp.
He was in a dark and ghostly chamber, about eight feet across, the roof just touching his head. In the center was a large stone sarcophagus covered in a layer of thick brown dust. He ran his fingers over the grimy lid of the ancient coffin, revealing a smoothly polished surface beneath, parts of it etched with hieroglyphics. He raised the lamp and turned slowly in a circle.
The chamber walls were decorated with even more magnificent hieroglyphics, the colors still fresh and vivid despite the centuries that had passed, and for several moments he marveled at the uncanny splendor of it all, until he picked out with startling suddenness two skeletal remains lying in a heap against the bottom left-hand wall, the skull sockets staring out at him eerily. Halder shivered.
At the far end of the tomb was a gaping hole in the ground, leading into darkness. He knelt and crawled forward on his belly. This time the passage was no more than a couple of feet long, and it came out into a cavern. The rock walls were about five feet wide, and the roof formed a jagged apex a couple of feet above his head. The shaft had obviously been formed naturally and extended about ten paces before it came to an archway of rock. He went forward, ducked through the low entrance, and saw that the passageway carried on into blackness.
He crawled back into the burial chamber, tugged hard on the string, and called up the passage. “You can come in now. Bring some of the tools with you, and the canteens and kit bag.”
A few minutes later, Kleist crawled through, grunting as he pushed the shovels and crowbar ahead of him, then came Rachel, with the kit bag and water canteens. “Did you find the passageway?” she asked.
“Over there.” He pointed to the entrance, then played the lamp over the skeletons.
“The remains of the grave-robbers I told you about,” said Rachel.
Halder shot a look at Kleist. “Not the most reassuring of company, are they? Let’s just hope they’re not an omen for us.” He put down the lamp and knelt, ready to enter the cavern again. “OK, follow me, and we’ll see where the passageway leads. And be careful how you go.”
• • •
After the first ten paces, the cave floor sloped downward for about twenty feet, then came up again. They moved through it smoothly, the walls narrowing and widening along the way, but it was an easy enough passage, and while Kleist held the lamp, Halder carefully let out the string, trying to keep it from snagging on the jagged rock edges. He counted off the number of paces. After they had gone about two hundred, they came to the end of the tunnel.
An immense slab of stone, at least five or six tons, stretched across their path and sloped backwards towards the high roof. Halder swung the lamp in an arc but could see no way forward. “Unless I’m very much mistaken, we’re at a dead end,” he told Rachel, his voice rebounding off the cavern walls.
She pointed above them, to where the slope met the roof. “You should see some rocks near the top. That’s where the exit is, I think.”
Halder raised the lamp. Sure enough, there was a sloping bank of rubble and stones in a recess between the top of the massive boulder and the roof. “Give me a lift up,” he ordered Kleist.
The SS man cupped his hands and hefted him up. Halder balanced precariously on the sloping boulder for a couple of moments, his boots scraping on stone, then managed to get a firm grip. “Now hand me up a shovel, and try to give me some light.”
Kleist did so, directing the oil lamp into the recess as Halder picked away at the rubble, his face and body streaked with sweat, the blade of the shovel flashing in the light as he worked feverishly at scouring away the rocks and clay, until a mass of debris came tumbling down, filling the passageway with choking dust. An eerie sound whispered through the cave, as a warm finger of fresh air licked their faces, causing the lamp to flicker. When the dust cleared, Halder looked up and saw an open rock shaft leading upwards, more than wide enough for him to pass through.
He wiped sweat from his face. “I’ll see where it leads. Wait here.”
He handed the shovel back down to Kleist and climbed up through the darkened shaft. A moment later he was securely wedged against the rock, his back against one side, his feet against the other, his hands fastening on the rock as he heaved desperately, moving his way up. After about six feet he came to the top. He saw moonlight, smelled the scent of warm perfumed air, and hauled himself out over the edge.
He was lying in a slight hollow in the ground, the area in deep shadow and partly protected by a cluttered circle of bushes. A vast manicured lawn stretched around him. At first, he saw only darkness beyond, but then he noticed a perimeter fence about eighty yards away, patrolled by dozens of armed American GIs and British squadies, some with dogs.
Behind him was a large building, perhaps a hundred paces distant, the clipped lawns in front dotted with flowerbeds and palm trees, the windows ablaze with lights. He recognized the Mena House. Up on the roof a muzzle protruded from a sandbagged machine-gun emplacement, and a short way behind it the twin fingers of an antiaircraft gun pointed skyward. Several of the windows below the roof parapet were lit up, and he noticed a couple of Sherman tanks parked in front of the hotel.
At that precise moment, two GIs appeared from the palm trees, rifles over their shoulders, talking idly as they strolled towards him across the lawn. Halder flattened himself into the ground, waited until the men had passed a short distance away, then climbed back into the shaft, feet first. Moments later he was inching his way down the slope of the massive boulder, back into the tunnel.
“Well?” Kleist asked expectantly.
“I think we might be in business.”
The SS man beamed, his excitement obvious, and Halder said to Rachel, “Take one of the lamps and make your way back to Deacon. Wait there until we return.”
“Don’t you need me anymore?”
“No, your work’s done.” He smiled, touched her arm reassuringly. “I’ll join you later.” He saw the concern on her face.
“Whatever you’re going to do, be careful, Jack.”
She took one of the oil lamps and moved back into the tunnel. Halder took a swig from one of the canteens, poured some water onto his palm, and cleaned his face, then said to Kleist, “Hand me the kit bag with the uniforms, then get yourself tidied up. We’re going up to have a proper look.”
“You mind telling me exactly what you found up there?”
Halder explained as he struggled out of his shirt, dried his face with it, and began to change into the captain’s uniform. “The shaft leads up to the hotel grounds, about a hundred paces from the main building.”
The SS man beamed again. “It almost sounds too good to be true.”
“Which is why we shouldn’t speak too soon. There are lots of guards about, and remember, we have to confirm that the targets are inside. Even if they are, we have another concern—the entrance to the tomb, and the shaft here, will have to be widened. Dozens of paratroops in full combat gear are going to have to crawl through those holes, not to mention return the same way.”
“It can be done.” Kleist’s excitement mounted. “You can be sure of that.”
“We’ll see.” Halder finished putting on the uniform and buttoned the tunic, while Kleist began to struggle into his. “You’d better blow out the lamp before we go up. It wouldn’t do for anyone above to catch a glimpse of light down here. If anything goes wrong and I don’t make it, try to get back to the others and away from here as quick as you can.” A troubled look flashed i
n Halder’s eyes. “One other thing—you don’t harm the woman under any circumstances, is that understood, Kleist? If I don’t return, you simply let her go—I want you to promise me that. She’s more than played her part in all of this. She doesn’t deserve to die.”
A slight grin played across Kleist’s face as he finished adjusting his uniform. “Whatever you say, Major. But I’m quite sure you’ll make it back. You have something at stake, I think?”
Halder glared at him silently in reply, then tugged on his officer’s cap. “Give me a lift up.”
Kleist cupped his hands again. Halder scurried up onto the boulder, then helped up the SS man. A moment later he blew out the lamp, the cavern was smothered in darkness, and he climbed up through the shaft again, Kleist behind him.
58
* * *
Halder lay flat on his belly among the bushes in the hollow. He remained like that in the darkness for several minutes, surveying the grounds. The two sentries were nowhere to be seen, but behind him the guards were still patrolling the perimeter. When he was reasonably certain it was safe to move, he whispered down the shaft. “You can come up now, Kleist.”
A minute later Kleist struggled up. “Stay flat,” Halder ordered, and gave the SS man a few moments to adapt himself to his surroundings. “We’ll head towards the front of the hotel. Just a nice leisurely pace like we’re out for a stroll.”
“What then?”
Halder dusted his clothes, ready to move. “We play the cards as they fall. So long as we keep our heads we shouldn’t arouse suspicion, but you can bet the sentries have got a password system in operation, in which case we’re at a disadvantage. So you’d better keep that weapon of yours handy just in case we’re challenged.”
• • •
They walked towards the front of the hotel. There was a flurry of activity, dispatch riders arriving and departing on the gravel driveway out front. A half-dozen white-helmeted MP sentries stood on either side of the entrance steps, and there was a desk in the open-doored foyer beyond, manned by an officer and a corporal checking the papers of anyone who entered. On the grass lawn directly outside were the Sherman tanks, their crews sitting out around the turrets, idly talking and smoking cigarettes. Halder strolled over casually. One of the tank crew sergeants saw them and went to salute. “At ease, Sergeant. Have you got a light?”
