Authors: The Sands of Sakkara (html)
The room was on the top floor.
There was a double brass bed with clean cotton sheets, and the luxury of fresh
towels in the tiny bathroom leading off. Tall shuttered windows overlooked the
rear of the building, a private flagged courtyard below, complete with a couple
of fig trees, an outhouse of some sort, and an arched wrought-iron gate that
led out on to a narrow back street, lined with cheap hotels and more brothels.
A small cafe stood directly opposite, rickety cane tables and chairs set
outside on the pavement, the Arab customers smoking hookah pipes.
After Madam Pirou had left, Haider
locked the door and opened the shutters. It wasn't yet evening, but already the
streets were busy, troops and civilians wandering through the red-light
district. He could see on to the landings of several of the buildings opposite,
their windows open, and noticed a couple of tarty-looking girls leading
customers into rooms.
'Do you really think it's safe
here?' Rachel asked.
'As safe as can be. Let's just
hope Harry and his friends stay well away.'
'I can't stop thinking about what
happened, seeing him again in these circumstances.’
The, I'm trying hard not to.
Frankly, it's a little too disturbing right now. And we need to keep our
spirits up.' He closed the shutters and cracked open the bottle of iced
champagne, a cheap Egyptian brand, and filled two of the three glasses the
madame had left on a tray. He handed one to Rachel with a grim smile.
'Not exactly vintage, but enjoy it
while you can.'
Rachel swallowed hers thirstily
and flopped back on the bed, exhausted. 'I never thought I'd be so glad of a
bed in a brothel.'
'The question is, how do we avoid
the inevitable embarrassment when the young lady arrives?'
Rachel managed a tiny smile and
Haider said, 'What's the matter?'
'How did you keep a straight face
with the madame? You talk about me, but you definitely missed your vocation -
you should have been an actor. No wonder your friend Schellenberg picked you.'
'He's not a friend, and he didn't
do me any favours. But I'm glad you see the funny side.'
'You still haven't told me how you
knew about this place.'
'After a month here, undercover, I
got to hear of certain salons by reputation, Madam Pirou's included. Now, let's
be serious. Any minute now, a girl's going to appear-'
'If it means saving our necks.'
Haider was shocked. 'You're not
serious?'
'I could think of worse things to
have to endure, if it keeps us from being caught. But I'm sure you'll think of
something.'
Rachel slid off the bed, ran a
hand through her hair, and moved towards the bathroom, past a stunned Haider.
'I need a warm bath and a change of clothes. I'd suggest you do the same while
we can.'
There was a knock on the door and
Haider froze. Another knock, and Rachel suddenly became serious. 'I think you'd
better answer it.'
Haider crossed to the door. When
he unlocked it, a very delectable, chocolate-skinned Arab woman stood there.
The madame was right, she was quite beautiful, with jet-black hair and dark
brown eyes. She smiled at Haider, then looked past his shoulder at Rachel.
'Monsieur, Madame. My name is Safa.’
Haider hesitated, unsure of what
to do, but the girl came into the room, all business, and closed the door. She
wore harem pants and a low-cut top that showed off her generous cleavage, and
it was obvious from the way she made eyes at Rachel exactly where her
tendencies lay.
'You're certain we won't be
disturbed?' Haider asked.
Safa smiled wolfishly. 'Of course.
The room is ours for as long as you want.' She ran her fingers playfully down
his lapels, but her stare moved hungrily on to Rachel. 'Madame tells me you
have special needs. I am here to please you both.'
'That really won't be necessary,'
Haider answered.
'Pardon?'
'Where's madame?'
'In her office, taking a nap.
Why?'
'Is there a back way out of here?
In case any of the customers want to slip out unnoticed.'
The woman looked puzzled. 'Yes.
Why do you ask?'
Haider opened his wallet and
produced a generous wad of notes. 'We agreed five pounds an hour. I'll give you
a hundred to vanish until midnight, and say nothing to Madame or the other
girls.'
This time, Safa looked completely
bewildered. Haider said, 'Our presence here can be easily explained. We're
trying to escape from an American intelligence officer, an angry and determined
man, who doesn't like the idea of his wife having an affair. We arrived from
had to flee our hotel with him in pursuit. You can bet he'll be searching every
hotel and lodging house in the area, so we needed a refuge for the evening,
until it's safe to leave town.' Haider smiled charmingly. 'There's obviously
been a misunderstanding on Madame's part, one which we gladly played along
with. When it comes to delicate matters such as this, we thought it wise to say
little. I'm sure you understand?'
Whether the woman did or didn't
seemed immaterial. Safa plucked the money greedily from Haider's fingers,
tucked it between her breasts, and smiled agreement. 'Anything you say,
monsieur.’
Deacon swallowed his third brandy
in ten minutes. He had just returned from the Pharaoh's Garden, and there was
no one waiting on the terrace who looked remotely as if they were trying to
make contact.
'It's over, then?' Hassan said.
'If the city's surrounded, they're finished.'
'It's a complete mess,' Deacon
said bitterly. 'After this disaster, it could be the last nail in the coffin.'
He put down his glass and took a sheet of paper from his desk. He'd driven to
the villa and returned to the houseboat with Hassan hidden in the Packard's
trunk; luckily he hadn't been stopped by any checkpoints. He needed Hassan for
what he had in mind. 'But we're not finished yet. There's something we need to
do-'
There was a knock on the door and
his manservant entered, looking flustered. Deacon exploded. 'I thought I told
you I wasn't to be disturbed.'
'Apologies, effendi. But there's a
gentleman named Salter to see you - he came alongside in a boat, with some
men.'
Deacon peered through the
porthole. Darkness had fallen outside, but he saw that a motorboat had tied up
alongside, a couple of Salter's henchmen on board. Hassan came over.
'What's he doing here?'
'If the bastard isn't careful,
he'll have the law all over us.'
At that moment the door burst open
and Salter entered, Costas Demiris in tow. 'Hello,
picked up the brandy bottle from the desk, examined the label. 'A '36 Hennessy.
Living well, I see. Does a man have to die of thirst before he's offered a
drink?'
'Leave us,' Deacon said abruptly
to his servant, and when the man had left he glared at Salter.
'What are you doing here?' « 'No
need to get shirty. It's about those trucks you ordered.
And there are a couple of things
we need to discuss.'
'I thought we'd done that
already.’
Salter grinned as he went over to
the drinks cabinet, found a glass, then came back and helped himself to a generous
splash of brandy. 'Not really, but we'll come to that in a minute. I've got
three American trucks, like I promised, and with all the right papers.' Salter
swallowed from his glass and raised an eye.
'What's the matter? You don't look
too impressed.'
'If you could get to the point and
be on your way, I'd appreciate it. Playing the roulette table in my private
room after dark is one thing, but if anyone saw you come aboard I risk a visit
from the military police.'
'Relax, you're safe as houses. No
one saw me, I made sure of that.' Salter refilled his glass, swirled the amber
liquid. 'The stuff will be at the warehouse tomorrow afternoon, ready for
delivery.'
'Good,'
Deacon said flatly.
'You could try and sound a bit
more enthusiastic. You're not * thinking of backing out on me, are you,
'The deal's done and I'll pay you.
Now, what else did you want to talk about?'
Salter nodded to his partner.
'Tell him, Costas.'
'You've been a busy boy, Mr
Deacon. Trips out to
and another to that airfield. We wondered what to make of it all.'
Deacon was aware of the blood
draining from his face, and felt like an idiot. In his haste he'd ignored the
most basic of rules; always watch your back. He was barely able to contain his
rage as he looked at Salter. 'You've been following me.'
'Quick off the mark, ain't you,
else we found out, Costas.'
'The airfield belongs to the Royal
Egyptian Air Force. It's used sometimes when the government Antiquities
Department wants to transport valuable artifacts to
south. The last I heard, some stuff came through there a month ago, bound for
the
Gold and valuables from a tomb
they're working on in the
Priceless, all of it.'
Salter put down his empty glass
with a wicked grin. 'Interesting, don't you think,
pretty penny from private collectors once the war's over - it could set a man
up for life. You wouldn't happen to know anything about another consignment due
shortly, would you, old son?' He studied Deacon and shrugged. 'It's the
American Army trucks I don't understand - I would have thought Egyptian Army or
Air Force was more likely the case. That and your little trip to
figure out. Some kind of clever plan in mind, have we?'
Deacon swallowed. 'I think you're
seriously misjudging the situation, Reggie. Honestly, I do.'
'I don't think so, mate, not by a
long shot. I reckon your friends are up to no good - like nabbing some
priceless treasure out at the airfield - or something tasty along those lines.
And I'd like to know exactly what they have in mind.'
'I couldn't tell you even if I
knew.'
Salter stepped closer, jabbed a
finger threateningly into Deacon's chest. 'Don't try it on with me, Deacon. It
doesn't wash. Whatever you're up to, I reckon it's worth a lot more than three
grand. So we've got a new arrangement. I want in for ten per cent. In return,
you get your vehicles and uniforms free of charge, and any extra muscle that
might come in handy from me and my boys.'
'I told you…' Deacon made to
speak, but Salter slapped him across the face.
'Don't mess me around. I haven't
got the patience. I want to know what these buddies of yours are up to.'
In an instant, Hassan was up off
the chair, his knife out, but Salter was quicker. He had his Browning out of
its shoulder holster and pointed at Hassan's face. 'Try it, sunshine, and I'll
drill a fucking hole in you big enough to drive a camel through.
Now drop the blade, or your boss
here is going to need a new carpet.'
Hassan didn't move. 'I'm not going
to ask again,' Salter warned.
'Drop the knife,' Deacon told him.
Hassan obeyed. Salter's fist came
up and struck him a blow in the face and Hassan fell back, his nose bloodied.
Salter picked up the knife. 'You ever threaten me again, you fucking wog, and
I'll carve you.’
He tossed the blade away, turned
back, and touched the Browning to Deacon's nose. 'Have a talk with your
friends.
Explain the situation. Make them
see reason. I can lay my hands on anything they need to pull this off - and I
mean anything - equipment, uniforms, men, you name it. I want to know by
tomorrow night where I stand.' He smiled as he put down the gun. 'Trust me,
Harvey, this can be good for us all. A nice tidy profit all round.'
Deacon took the handkerchief from
his breast pocket and wiped his face. 'You're a conniving bastard, Salter.'
'You know, that's the nicest thing
anyone's said to me all day.' Salter replaced the Browning in his shoulder
holster, grinned, and patted Deacon's cheek. 'No hard feelings, Harry, but this
is business. And a word of advice. Convince your friends to play ball, and I
promise, everything can be sweet. But try to keep me out of this caper, and
I'll screw the lid down on you.
And I don't think your friends
would be too happy if the police got a tip-off telling them to watch the
airfield. Get my drift? See you around.'
When Salter and the Greek had
left, Hassan spat on the floor and wiped blood from his nose. He picked up his
knife and glared at Deacon. 'Next time, I kill him. And the Greek.'