by Glenn Meade
Kleist helped her climb up out of the tomb recess, and then they were gone into the darkness.
“For a while there I was worried you wouldn’t make it back.” Deacon dabbed his brow with a handkerchief. “What kept you? You’ve been gone over an hour.”
Halder busied himself stashing the remaining tools and lamps in the mouth of the shaft.
“There was work to be done. We had to open up the tunnel exit.”
“Well, what’s the verdict?” Deacon asked expectantly.
When Halder had finished hiding the equipment, he told him everything. Deacon’s amazement was obvious. “You actually saw the great man?”
“He was as close to me as you are. Not only that, I know exactly where he’s quartered.”
“Excellent!” Deacon radiated excitement. “You’ve excelled yourself, Major. Well done.”
“Save the congratulations. It’s not over yet. We’ll have our work cut out widening the tomb shafts and the exit. That’s solid rock we’re talking about.”
“Is there a risk somebody might spot the opening you made?”
“It’s somewhat protected, and in a hollow, but I took the precaution of covering it over with some bushes as best I could when I climbed back into the shaft.”
“Whatever extra tools you need, I can assure you you’ll have them.” Deacon’s face clouded. “Such a pity about that pig Churchill. You think there’s a chance he might return?”
“The general didn’t seem to hold out much hope. Apparently, old Winston likes his late nights.”
“So I’ve heard, though what a triumph it would be to get both. Still, at least we definitely have the main target in our sights. And with Churchill out of the way, we’ll have to intensify our efforts to get Roosevelt. But there’s a more pressing problem, or have you forgotten about Salter’s ultimatum? Even if Colonel Skorzeny and his men manage to land safely, without the trucks we’ve no way of transporting them from the airfield to here.”
Halder smiled. “Ah, now there I may have an idea. If Salter wants a piece of the action perhaps we shouldn’t disappoint him.”
“What do you mean?”
“Can you arrange for us to meet him within the next couple of hours? Somewhere safe, obviously, where there’s no risk of having to go anywhere near a checkpoint.”
“I think so.” Deacon’s eyebrows furrowed. “But what’s the idea?”
Halder explained, and when he had finished, Deacon looked at him in amazement, then rubbed his hands and laughed. “You know, that’s quite brilliant, Major. Simple, but brilliant. I wonder why I didn’t think of it myself. You’re a genius.”
“Hardly. But if our trick works, it might just solve our problems.”
“There’s just one other thing that bothers me. How do our paratroops get safely across the lawns and into the hotel building? Not the way you got in, surely? Granted, Skorzeny’s men will be wearing American uniforms, but after your little foray into the hotel, they’ll be checking papers at the kitchen entrance, like you told them to.”
Halder nodded. “True enough, but on the way back to the tunnel I took the time to count off the rooms on the first floor—it appears the one Roosevelt’s staying in has a large balcony area. It could prove a direct way of entering his quarters, if the guards in the immediate area could be silenced somehow. After that, a full frontal assault on the room might be the best course of action, swift and brutal, the kind of thing Skorzeny excels at. But that’s up to the colonel to decide, not me, and no doubt he’ll have his own ideas after I fill him in on the situation once he lands. The main thing is we’ve discovered exactly where Roosevelt is located. Not only that, we have a secure way of entering the grounds. All in all, a good night’s work.”
Deacon smiled in the darkness. “You know, I’m even beginning to think we might actually have a chance of pulling this off. Assuming we can solve the tricky problem of Salter, when do we signal Berlin to send in Skorzeny’s troops?”
Halder got a foothold in one of the limestone blocks, was about to climb out of the recess when he looked back solemnly. “I think we can safely assume Roosevelt has retired for the evening. We just may get lucky and Churchill will return, but we’ve got our main target in our sights, so from now on Roosevelt’s our priority. All things considered, the Allies are already on our backs, which means we’ve got to take whatever opportunity we’ve got and move fast. So it’s really got to be tonight, don’t you agree?”
59
* * *
9:30 P.M.
Baldy Reed lay naked on the bed, watching appreciatively as the young Arab girl undressed in front of him. She was no more than eighteen, with large breasts and a full figure, one of the best the brothel near the Rameses station could offer. He grinned in anticipation of the pleasure to come, finished smoking, and stubbed his cigarette out in the beer bottle by the bed. “Get a move on, darling. I haven’t got all bleeding night.”
The girl finished undressing, came over to lie beside him. Reed started to run his hands over her skin when there was a knock on the door. “Who the bloody devil is that?”
The girl looked bewildered, and Reed got off the bed angrily. “A man can’t even have a few hours to himself in bloody peace.” As he crossed the room to open the door, it burst in on its hinges and a couple of uniforms barged in.
“Baldy, old son, and about time. We’ve scoured half the city looking for you.” Morris glanced over Reed’s shoulder at the girl. “I see you’re doing your bit to socialize with the natives?”
Reed recognized the military police sergeant instantly, but the American officer didn’t look familiar. “Get your clothes on, miss,” Weaver ordered the girl in Arabic, and gestured to the door. She hastily dragged her clothes on and left.
“What the bleeding heck’s going on?” Reed demanded. “Since when is it against the law for a man to enjoy ’imself?”
The American jerked a thumb. “Get yours on, too, Sergeant. We need to talk.”
9:30 P.M.
The decaying jetty on the Nile’s eastern bank looked deserted in the darkness as Halder and Deacon came alongside in the motorboat. Halder tied the ropes. As they went up the wooden steps they saw a military ambulance parked at the shore end, the telltale red cross painted on the side.
A solid-looking man stood guard, wearing a British uniform and armed with a Sten gun. Two other men waited beside him, dressed as officers, one of them swarthy and carrying a storm lamp, the other smoking a cheroot, small and vicious-looking, his uniform jacket draped casually over his shoulders, a swagger stick under his arm.
“The one smoking the cheroot is Salter,” Deacon told Halder. “The other’s Costas Demiris, his partner, another deserter and all-round slimeball.”
“What’s the idea of the ambulance and uniforms?”
“Just one of the ways Salter moves about with impunity. He’s got a barrel-load of disguises and forged papers that any intelligence service would die for.”
“Let’s go meet him.”
They moved down the boardwalk. Salter had a grin on his face. “So you must be Harvey’s mystery man. Reggie Salter’s the name.” He thrust out a hand. “I didn’t catch yours?”
“That’s entirely irrelevant,” said Halder, and ignored the offered handshake.
“Have it your way.” Salter shrugged. “I take it Harvey’s filled you in on my little offer?”
“It seems you’ve left us with no option but to accept, Mr. Salter. We need those vehicles badly.”
Salter’s grin widened in triumph. “Supply and demand, ain’t it the curse of this wicked old world? Now that the awkward bit’s out of the way, you mind telling me what you have in mind?”
“A robbery, Mr. Salter. Pure and simple. There’s a valuable cargo on board two Dakota aircraft due to land at Shabramant airfield.”
Salter beamed. “What did I tell you, Costas?” He looked back at Halder, drew fiercely on his cheroot, the expression on his face unconcealed greed. “So what’s thi
s cargo worth?”
“It hasn’t got a worth, not as such. It’s priceless. Artifacts of gems and gold, mostly. But if you insist on assessing its monetary value—assuming the gold was melted down and the gems cut up—a conservative estimate would probably be two million. Pounds sterling, not dollars.”
Salter whistled. “Well blow me down.”
“Ten percent makes that two hundred thousand. That’s a lot of money coming your way, Mr. Salter. The question is, are you worth it?”
“Oh, I’m worth it, old son,” Salter answered excitedly. “Don’t fret about that. Anything you need done, or in the line of equipment and men, you’ve only got to ask. So how do me and Costas here get our cut?”
“We can discuss that later, when we go over details.”
“You mind telling me who’s involved?”
“Five of us, including Deacon here.”
“Military backgrounds?”
“You might say that.”
“I thought you had the look of it about you. So what’s the deal?”
“Now that you’re to be counted in, you’ll have to earn your share. Are you prepared for that?”
“For two hundred grand? Listen, Mister Whoever-you-are, for that kind of dosh I think you can safely assume I’ll give this job my undivided attention.”
“Good, then let’s get straight down to business. I want you and your men to secure the airfield.”
Salter frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I want control of the airbase. No one goes in or out without my say-so, but at the same time, no one outside must know what’s happened. It has to be done without shooting. We don’t want the army or police alerted.”
“I get the drift. We take over the airfield and nab the stuff when it arrives. What are the trucks and Jeep for, an escort afterwards?”
“Precisely.”
Salter smiled. “I like it.”
“No more than a dozen of your men ought to be enough. The tower, the barrack quarters, and the entrance are our main concerns. As well as seizing and controlling all communications equipment. There shouldn’t be more than half a dozen Royal Egyptian Air Force personnel on duty. I emphasize, I don’t want any of them killed—just kept under lock and key and out of harm’s way until the aircraft land and our business is completed. Could you handle all that?”
“No sweat. With a dozen of my best men, I could take the Royal Palace.” Salter frowned. “You mind telling me what you’ll be doing while me and my lads are playing commandos?”
“Three of my men and I will accompany you to the airfield, to make sure everything goes smoothly. Assuming it does, I’ll leave two of them behind, then join you later, before the aircraft land. Among other things, I have a radio link to take care of—I’ll be in touch with someone at the point of departure before the aircraft take off—so that way I’ll know the arrival time. Obviously, you’ll need to bring the trucks to the airfield, to transport the consignment.”
Salter thought for a moment, then nodded. “Sounds all right to me. When do you want to do it?”
Halder smiled. “I want the airfield secured by midnight tonight.”
Salter whistled again. “Blimey! That soon? It’s not giving us much time. I’d have to work like the clappers to get everything organized. Why so bloody quick?”
“We’ve no choice in the matter. We learned this evening the delivery has been brought forward. Which is why I’m agreeing to your demand. We’ll need those trucks and the Jeep smartly. I take it you were serious about supplying anything we need?”
“Of course. Why?”
“I’ll want a couple of field radios, with a minimum range of ten miles.”
Salter nodded. “There’s no problem there. When do you expect the aircraft to land?”
“Sometime between three and four a.m. I’ll go over the airfield layout and security, and tell you exactly how I want this done.”
“Just one other thing.” Salter looked across threateningly, pointed the swagger stick at Halder’s chest. “You and your friends try to double-cross me, mister, and I’ll bury the lot of you. Understand?”
Halder pushed the stick away, met Salter’s stare. “I’ll keep to my word. Just make sure you keep to yours.” He took a map from his pocket, spread it on the ambulance hood, borrowed the storm lamp from Demiris. “Right, let’s go over things so nobody makes any mistakes.”
• • •
Twenty minutes later, Halder was back in the motorboat, headed towards the far side of the Nile.
“You think it’ll work?” Deacon asked as he maneuvered the tiller.
“There’s a fair chance,” Halder replied. “But Salter’s going to get one almighty shock when he sees two Dakotas landing and dozens of crack SS paratroops piling out.”
Deacon smiled. “I only hope I’m there to see the bleeder’s face when it happens.”
• • •
Salter watched from the jetty as the motorboat faded into the watery darkness. He pulled his uniform jacket around his shoulders and lit another cheroot. “Two million quid’s worth of gems and gold.” He scratched his head. “Well, I’ll be blowed.”
Costas Demiris’s face was sweaty with excitement. “It’s a real treasure trove, Reggie. In the right quarters, our share could be worth an even bigger fortune. It’s the kind of stuff private collectors would give their eye teeth for.”
“True enough. What do you reckon about Deacon’s mate?”
“A smooth customer. But he sounded on the level.”
“Too bloody smooth if you ask me. And he gave in to us just like that.” Salter snapped his fingers. “Which makes me suspicious. And he didn’t offer to explain what Deacon was doing out at Giza. That’s the little bit that baffles me.”
“You think he might try and mess us about?”
“Who knows? Either way, I’m pretty sure it’s something our boys can handle.”
Salter’s eyes narrowed and he tossed his cheroot into the water. “Deacon’s mate definitely had the cut of the military, all right. I wonder who the blighter is.”
“Special forces or commandos, by the looks of him. And you can bet he’s not going to like it when he finds out what we’ve got up our sleeve, Reggie. He’s not going to like it one little bit.”
Salter shot a sly look at Demiris and laughed. “No, he won’t, will he?”
60
* * *
9:15 P.M.
“You mind telling me what this is about, sir?” The interrogation room at the provost’s office was stifling hot, and beads of perspiration were running down Baldy Reed’s face. Weaver stood over him. “I thought you were the one who could do that.” He read out the list of stolen items and Reed frowned.
“I think you’ve got the wrong man, sir.”
“We’ve got the right man,” Sergeant Morris interrupted. “He’s just singing the wrong tune. A friend of yours in the motor pool at Camp Huckstep sang the full ten verses, pointed the finger right up your nose. Claims you were behind the whole thing. So spill, Baldy.”
Reed nervously licked his lips, stared back at Morris. “You’re either lying, or joking.”
“It ain’t my style. You ought to know that.”
“As God is my bleeding judge—”
“He won’t be, it’ll be a military court. You’re already fingered. So you might as well tell us what you did with the stuff you nicked.”
“I told you, there’s been some kind of mistake—”
Weaver lost his patience, grabbed Reed by the lapels. “Listen to me, four German agents are loose in the city and playing a very dangerous game. There’s a chance they might have need for the kind of military equipment that’s been stolen. Now you can sing dumb all night, but so help me, if you’re lying, I’ll see you face a firing squad for aiding the enemy.”
Reed blinked at Weaver as if he were mad. “You’re—you’re not serious?”
“Deadly. Get it into your thick skull.”
Reed turned chalk-white
and crumpled, cupping his face in his hands. “The bleeders put me up to it, I swear they did.”
“Who?”
“Reggie Salter and Costas Demiris. Said they’d have my balls for worry beads if I didn’t help them.”
Weaver turned to the sergeant. “Who’s he talking about?”
“Underworld criminals,” Morris replied. “Deserters who run a stolen-goods and black-market racket. Salter’s the mastermind, as nasty a gangster as they come.”
Weaver addressed Reed. “Did they tell you what they wanted the stuff for?”
Reed shook his head. “Salter only mentioned he had some deal going and needed it urgently. That’s the honest truth.”
“What exactly did he want?”
“The Jeep and trucks, papers for the lot, and the three uniforms.”
“Anything else?”
“Nothing, I swear it.” There was an instant look of fear on Reed’s face. “You’ve got to protect me. If Salter hears I’ve squealed, he’ll skin me alive.”
The sergeant couldn’t help smiling. “It’s nothing compared to what the army’s going to do with you. I’ve got you at last, mate. And you’ve nailed yourself to the wall.”
“What d’you mean?”
“No one pointed the finger, Baldy, except yourself. We bluffed about your pals’ squealing. And don’t go thinking you can retract your admission. I’ve got an officer as witness.”
Reed’s mouth opened, his face a furious red. “You cunning, bleeding—”
“Shut up, Reed,” Weaver interrupted and turned to the sergeant. “Can we pull Salter in and have a word with him?”
“With respect, sir, you might as well try and catch a greased snake. We’ve been after his hide for over a year now. Tight little number he operates. We reckon he’s got about twenty men and a couple of warehouses in the city, but where they are we don’t know. Rumor has it he’s got armed guards and lookouts posted, not to mention his hand in a few pockets hereabouts to keep him alerted to any trouble coming his way. Sad fact of life, but that’s the size of it.”
