Authors: The Sands of Sakkara (html)
The ancient fishing
Built on the marshlands of the Nile delta, dominated by the conquering Turks in
the fifteenth century, and bombarded by the French during Napoleon's campaign,
the port and its broad estuary had been of strategic importance ever since the
time of the Pharaohs: the Nile flowed into the Mediterranean from Rashid,
leaving an exposed artery running through the entire heartland of Egypt, all
the way down to Cairo and Luxor.
It was pitch dark as Weaver drove
through the town, a rundown shambles of Egyptian and French styles, with
peeling shutters and crumbling stone buildings. 'Take the next road south,'
Haider told him.
A smell of salt air and rotting
fish wafted into the Citroen as they trundled over cobblestone past the massive
granite harbour.
A couple of rusting Allied
frigates lay at anchor, and the whole town had a sad, neglected look.
'It's hard to believe Napoleon
intended to conquer all of
'Save me the history lesson, Jack.
What do you intend?'
'Ask me no questions, Harry, and
I'll tell you no lies.'
Haider pointed towards the
the silhouettes of tall palm trees. 'You'll see a road ahead. It runs alongside
some cane fields by the water. There's a track down to an old jetty. That's
where you're headed.'
Hassan had taken one of the minor
roads, eventually cutting on to the coast, but he hadn't seen the black Citroen
on the way. He feared he might have been wrong about the Germans trying to make
it to Rashid, or perhaps they had been caught en route. Either way, he would
have to get rid of the boat. He drove to the end of a grass-strewn track lined
with palms and halted. He was south of Rashid, on the delta marshlands.
A boathouse stood off to the left,
a crumbling wooden affair once used by local fishermen which looked as if it
hadn't been occupied in years. He saw a wooden motor vessel with a sharp prow
tied up at the jetty. He got out of the Packard, took a torch from the boot,
and flashed it three times. A light flashed back at him, then a small, unshaven
man wearing a greasy captain's hat trotted out of the boathouse shadows,
carrying a storm lamp.
He frowned, recognizing Hassan. 'I
didn't expect to see you here. What's up, cousin? Have we a cargo?'
'There's been a change of plan.
You must leave at once.'
The man looked relieved, but at
that precise moment they heard an engine noise. Hassan turned, and saw the
lights of an approaching car back along the track. As it drew closer, the
headlights flashed three times. Hassan's spirits rose when he saw the
distinctive black Citroen. He signaled with the torch, then turned to his
cousin and grinned.
'It seems your cargo's arrived
after all. Get the boat ready.'
'Those friends of yours had better
be fast - we can't hang about all night if you want to avoid the river
patrols.'
The man tossed away his cigarette,
scurried down to the jetty with the storm lamp and climbed into the boat. As he
began to untie the ropes, Hassan saw the Citroen approach, Weaver still in the
driver's seat.
He grinned to himself. 'Time to
settle old scores, American.'
They all climbed out. Haider
studied the Arab who came forward to meet them. 'There are supposed to be four
of you,' the man said gruffly. 'Where're the other two?'
'God only knows. We had some
trouble - it's what delayed us.' Haider jerked a thumb at Weaver. 'This man's
our prisoner - an American intelligence officer. We had to take him with us.'
'I know all about your trouble.
And I've met the American before.' Hassan produced the knife, pointed the tip
at Weaver's throat. 'Remember me, Weaver?'
Haider saw the gleeful menace in
the Arab's eyes. For a moment Weaver looked confused, until recognition sparked
in his face. 'I guess you can't get rid of a bad thing.'
Haider frowned. 'You obviously
know each other. Care to explain?'
'Later,' Hassan said sharply. 'The
boat's waiting. If you don't leave at once, you risk being spotted by the river
patrols.'
'You're not coming with us?'
'I return to
Haider said to Rachel, 'You'd
better get down to the jetty.'
'I - I'd like a few moments with
Harry.'
'You heard, there isn't time. We
could have company any minute. The boatman's waiting. Go now.'
Rachel bit her lip as she looked
over at Weaver, then she moved off towards the jetty.
Haider said, 'Bring the storm lamp
from the boat. And find some rope to tie his hands.'
'With pleasure.' Hassan grinned,
and moved off at a trot.
'Are you going to kill me?' Weaver
asked.
'Come off it, Harry. We've been
friends too long.'
You still haven't told me why
you're involved in this. And why Rachel? I thought she was dead-'
'There's no time for all that, I'm
afraid. With a bit of luck, someone will find you by morning. But by then,
we'll be long gone.'
Hassan came back with the storm
lamp and a handful of rope. While he held the lamp, Haider yanked back Weaver's
arms and tied them. 'Now take him to the boathouse.'
Hassan grinned. 'And then I kill
him.'
'No one's going to kill anyone,'
Haider snapped. 'Just tie him securely and gag him. Make sure he can't escape
or call for help.
When you're finished, ditch the
Citroen in the river.'
Hassan looked completely puzzled.
'But he's the enemy, and he's seen our faces-'
'No buts, just do as you're told.
I don't want him harmed,'
Haider ordered. He gave a wave,
and turned towards the jetty.
'So long, Harry. Be good.'
Hassan shoved Weaver into the
boathouse. There was a dirt floor and wooden rafters, ancient nets hanging
overhead, and the place stank of rotting fish.
The Arab hung the storm lamp on
one of the rafters and pushed Weaver into a corner.
'I should have killed you last
time, American. It was my mistake.'
Weaver heard the boat's engine
start up outside, and knew what was coming. Hassan tossed the rope aside and
drew his knife out again. 'But don't worry, I'm going to finish it now.
Slowly. Painfully.' He moved
closer, a bloodthirsty look on his face. 'Then I'm going to cut out your
heart.'
Hassan slashed with the blade and
Weaver stepped back.
'Give in to the will of Allah,
American. Death will be quicker.'
Weaver lashed out helplessly with
his feet and the Arab laughed. 'Good. You're angry. That way, dying will be
more painful.'
He slashed again, and Weaver
staggered back. The Arab moved in for the kill. Weaver kicked out with his
foot, but Hassan caught it, twisted, and Weaver fell back into the corner.
He was trapped. There was nowhere
to turn.
'And now you die.’
Hassan raised the knife. There was
a soft click and a voice said, 'Put down the toothpick, there's a good boy.'
Haider stood in the doorway, the
pistol in his hand, livid anger on his face. Hassan frowned. 'He tried to kill
me once before. Now I kill him.'
He turned back smartly to finish
Weaver off. The blade stabbed through the air, but before it reached its target
there was a loud explosion and a bullet nicked Hassan's ear, drawing blood. The
knife clattered to the floor and he yelped in pain.
'You ought to wash out your ears,'
Haider admonished.
'And heed a warning when it's
given. I told you to tie him up - not kill him. Now get outside and take care
of the Citroen, before I change my mind and finish the dirty deed.'
There was a curious look on the
Arab's face, rage mixed with confusion, as he clutched his ear. 'Fool! You
don't know what you're doing-'
Haider jerked the revolver
impatiently. 'Outside, I said. And be quick about it. I haven't got all night.'
Hassan stared over at Weaver and
spat on the floor. 'Inshallah. There'll be another time, American.'
He went out, glaring at Haider,
who tucked the gun into his trouser belt, took a pack of cigarettes from his
pocket, selected one, and lit it. 'It's so hard to find decent help these
days.'
Weaver struggled to move. 'Stay
where you are, Harry.'
Haider picked up the rope and tied
him securely to one of the wooden posts.
'You came to kill Roosevelt and
Churchill, didn't you?'.
Haider raised his eyes, his shock
obvious. 'And what makes you think that?'
'It's true, isn't it?'
'You always were quick off the
mark, Harry. But this time you really do surprise me. Maybe it's a reasonable
deduction, maybe not. The question is, what makes you think so?'
'It's an insane idea, Jack - a
suicide mission. It doesn't have to be this way. Give yourself up right now
and-'
And what? Face a firing squad?'
Haider finished tying the knot, stepped back, and shook his head solemnly.
'That's about my only option, Rachel's too, even though she's an innocent in
all this. Call me an adventurous fool, but I know where our chances lie, and
surrender's not one of them. Besides, I'm in far too deep to wade out again.'
'Because you killed two officers?'
Haider shook his head, disgust
etched on his face. 'Not my doing, I promise you that.'
Weaver felt a welter of confusion.
'I don't understand any of this. Why you and Rachel? How is she still alive-?'
Haider put a finger to his lips.
'No time for explanations, not now. Let's just hope we don't bump into each
other again, at least for the duration of this war. Even the thought of us
being temporary enemies is hard enough to stomach, and I'd hate to ruin
whatever fellowship remains. So do me a favour and stay out of this.'
'I can't do that.'
Haider ground out his cigarette
with his shoe, his expression grim. 'Then if it comes to the ¦worst, a flower
on my grave wouldn't go amiss. One of those lilies my father ¦was so fond of
will do quite nicely. I'd do the same for you, if it came to it. But meantime
let's try to look on the bright side, and pray that doesn't happen - for either
of us.' A tortured look crossed his face. 'I beg you, stay out of it, Harry,'
he pleaded. 'This is bigger than both of us.'
'I told you - I can't.'
'So be it.' Haider removed his
jacket, took off his shirt, and twisted it to make a gag. ''Jack, for God's
sake, listen to me-'
Haider tied the gag around
Weaver's mouth, then slipped his jacket back on. He retrieved the storm lamp
and moved towards the door. 'It's been good seeing you again, and I mean that,
despite the circumstances. And I'd love to stay and finish our talk, but I've
got a boat waiting and duty beckons. So long, Harry.'
Weaver struggled behind the gag,
the storm lamp went out, the door banged shut, and the boathouse was plunged
into darkness.
The Douglas C-54 transport plane,
with the Stars and Stripes emblem on its fuselage, touched down on the heavily
guarded runway at RAF Cairo West airport, exactly two and a half hours behind
schedule. After a ten-hour night flight from
silence, a distance of almost two thousand miles, the crew and passengers were
exhausted.
Waiting on the runway apron were
dozens of troop-filled trucks and armoured vehicles, Secret Service agents,
squads of MPs mounted on motorcycles, and a cavalcade of staff cars.
When the aircraft taxied to a
halt, there was a flurry of activity, and two of the staff cars drove up to
meet the plane.
A group of anxious-looking senior
officers stepped out of the vehicles, among them the commanding general of US
Army forces in the
Royce, his chief of staff, and the American ambassador, Alexander C. Kirk. They
waited while the aircraft door opened, and then the Secret Service agents on
board climbed down, tough-looking men wearing suits, felt hats, and carrying
Thompson submachine guns, who acted like a law unto themselves as they
surrounded the plane.
The Douglas C-54, nicknamed the
Sacred Cow, had been uniquely modified by the manufacturers, for as well as the
usual. exits a special hydraulic door had been installed in the fuselage.
Moments later it whirred open, and
an electrical elevator cage began to lower the familiar white-suited figure of
President Franklin Delano Roosevelt, seated in his wheelchair. Once he had been
surrounded and helped to disembark by the Secret Service men, his personal
entourage of uniformed military and naval personnel, tired-looking men all of
them, came down the metal steps.
Ambassador Kirk was the first to
step forward, offering his hand. 'Good to see you again, Mr President. Welcome
to
'Hello, Alex. I guess I kept you
all waiting, but better late than never.'
Kirk and his companions were
visibly relieved. Because of the secrecy of the President's flight plan, his
pilot had maintained total radio silence. Two different groups of fighter
escorts had been appointed to rendezvous with the plane at scheduled times
during the flight, but they had failed to make visual contact and returned to
their bases, leaving some very anxious senior officers fearful that the
aircraft had been shot down.
'You certainly caused us some
concerns, Mr President,' one of them commented. 'We were just about to send up
search planes.'
He reckoned the only way to avoid
any enemy fighters that might cross our path by accident or design was to fly
the longest route south.' He greeted each of the senior officers present by
name, then turned his attention back to Kirk. 'And how have you been, Alex?'
'Fine, sir. I thought I should let
you know that Prime Minister Churchill sends his best wishes, and is looking
forward to your preliminary private discussion at eleven a.m. at the Mena, as
scheduled, after you've both had a chance to greet the chiefs of staff.'
'He arrived yesterday, I believe?'
'Yes, sir.' Before Ambassador Kirk
could speak further, the motorized cavalcade started up and the heavily armed
Secret Service detail went into action, taking up their positions, forming a
solid wall of flesh as the President was wheeled towards a waiting black
Packard. No one could have failed to notice the extraordinary number of troops,
military vehicles, and Bofors anti-aircraft guns guarding the airfield, least
of all the President. 'Security seems pretty tight this morning,'
Kirk dabbed his forehead with a
handkerchief, waited until the Secret Service men had quickly transferred the
President to the back seat of the Packard. 'Sir, there's something of
importance I'd like to discuss. Would you mind if I rode with you?'
'I was kind of hoping you would.
Why, is there a problem?'
'I think you could say that, Mr
President.'
Four hundred yards across the
airfield, a Royal Egyptian Air Force liaison officer with the RAF was on duty
that morning in one of the Nissen huts. He stood at the window, watching the
arrival proceedings with a pair of powerful binoculars, well out of range of
the security cordon. When the cavalcade drove out through the main exit gates,
he laid down the binoculars and picked up the desk telephone.
Haider came awake from a fitful
doze, to the sound of lapping water and a hot sun on his face. The boatman was
busy guiding the vessel through some reeds towards the private jetty of a
whitewashed villa, with overgrown gardens. Rachel was asleep on Haider's
shoulder and he roused her. 'We're here.'
Banyan trees overhung the water's
edge, steps leading up to a flagstone patio at the back, a wicker table and
chairs set out. The villa looked sadly neglected, the walls peeling and covered
with ragged creepers.
the near distance, and the unmistakable
didn't look happy to see them.
'Not exactly the warm welcome I'd
hoped for,' Haider commented.
Rachel studied the villa. 'Where
are we?'
'A couple of miles south of
it. Happy to be back?'
'Under these circumstances, I'm
not so sure.'
'If you're still worried about Harry,
don't be. He'll be perfectly safe until he's found.'
'I'm more worried about what
happens afterwards.' Her face darkened. 'He's not going to stop until he finds
us, but then I presume you know that.'
'I didn't think he would. But war
or no war, I could hardly kill him now, could I? Even though something tells me
we might live to regret it.'
The Arab helped the boatman tie
the ropes, then glared at them sullenly and jerked his head towards the patio.
Haider stepped on to the jetty and
held his hand out to Rachel. 'Come on. There should be someone waiting to
meet'" us.'
As they stepped on to the patio, a
French door opened and a rugged-looking man came out. His hands were thrust
into the pockets of his linen jacket, his greying hair greased off his forehead,
and he frowned worriedly as he came forward. 'So, you finally made it. You must
be Major Haider?' He offered his hand. 'Harvey Deacon. Besheeba to my friends
in
hope your river journey wasn't too unpleasant?'
'Apart from the boatman having to
hide our vessel in the reeds for two solid hours to avoid a river patrol.'
'Unfortunate, but you're here now,
which is what's important.'
Deacon turned to Rachel, the frown
gone as he smiled charmingly and kissed her hand. '
never expected one so pretty. Delighted, I'm sure.' He made a gesture towards
the villa. 'But perhaps for now you'd be good enough to step inside and
J make yourself at home? There's
some private business I need to discuss with the major.'
Rachel went in through the French
doors, leaving Haider alone with Deacon and Hassan. When Deacon turned back,
the worried look returned. 'A terrible catastrophe, your aircraft crashing.
It's not going to help matters.'
'How did you know?'
Deacon sighed. 'A long story,
which I'll explain later, but among other things, I radioed
airfield sent them a signal. As of now, our friend Schellenberg isn't aware of
your safe arrival in
but he'll know tonight when I send my report.' He glanced at Hassan before
turning back. 'I believe you both had a small disagreement last night?'
'He failed to carry out my
orders.'
'You should have let me kill the
American,' Hassan said bitterly. 'He'll only bring us trouble after this.
You're a fool if you think otherwise.'
Haider stared him down. 'And you
ought to remember who's in charge of this operation.'
'Gentlemen,' Deacon interrupted,
and jerked his thumb at Hassan. 'Go inside and look after the woman, then do as
I told you.'
When he had left, Haider lit a
cigarette. 'Does your friend have a name?'
Deacon plucked a cigar from his
breast pocket, lit it, tossed the match into the river.
'Hassan. He tells me you already
know this American intelligence officer, Weaver?'
'Since before the war.' Haider
explained briefly and Deacon frowned.
'I see. An unwelcome surprise. But
you'll have to understand about Hassan. He's headstrong and arrogant, and never
forgives a slight. But apart from that, he's worth his weight in gold. Try to humor
him. He's been very useful to us.'
'From now on he'll have to get
used to taking my orders - so I'd suggest you make sure he follows them. We're
on fragile ground as it is, and I'm not going to tolerate disobedience.’
Deacon said icily, 'You can talk
about disobedience all you like, Major, but the fact is Hassan was right - you
should have killed Weaver when you had the chance. It was very stupid to have
let him live. He can only cause us more trouble.'
Haider ignored the rebuke.
'There's something much more troubling you should be aware of. He knew exactly
what we're up to.'
Deacon was stunned. 'But - how?'
Haider shrugged. 'Guesswork, or
maybe there's more to it.
But it's unlikely he knows of your
involvement, otherwise you'd have had a visit from military intelligence long
before now.'
'But it doesn't bode well, does
it?'
'My sentiments exactly. The fact
of it is, we've been dealt a lousy hand, but we've no choice except to play the
game. And it's going to be an uphill battle from now on.'
'You're still committed to carrying
on?'
Haider nodded. 'But our misfortune
rather puts you in greater danger.'
Deacon had a look of steely
resignation. 'Risk is something I willingly accepted long ago, Major.'
Haider glanced towards the jetty.
'Can the boatman be trusted?'
'Absolutely.'
Suddenly the strain and tiredness
showed on Haider's face: 'We've had a trying time of it since we crashed. We'll
need to get cleaned up. And a decent meal wouldn't go astray.'
'It's all been organized. I'll
take you to your rooms and get you settled in. Afterwards, we'll have a talk,
in private. There are some other serious difficulties you'll need to be aware
of 'You mean there's more bad news?'
Deacon sighed. 'I'm afraid I've
run into a snag with your transport.' He nicked away his unfinished cigar, and
it
cartwheeled
into the river. 'But we can discuss
that later. You never told me the woman's name.' K 'Rachel Stern.'
'Hassan informs me you've no idea
what's happened to your two comrades.’
'The last I knew, they tried to
make their escape across the desert.'
'As I said, I'll inform
arrival. But the signal I sent them last night contained some welcome news. In
fact, you have a surprise in store.'
Deacon looked towards the French
doors as Hassan stepped out on to the patio. Behind him came Kleist and Doring,
wearing fresh civilian clothes. A slow grin spread on Kleist's face. 'It seems
we're back in business, Herr Major.'