Authors: The Sands of Sakkara (html)
The heavily guarded room on the
ground floor was large and magnificent, decorated with delicate Arabic
woodwork, the walls painted a pastel blue, but the air was grey with cigarette
smoke and thick with uniforms. Officially the hotel's main dining room, now it
thronged with military chiefs of staff and senior Allied officers, deep in
serious conversation.
Churchill was already there,
wearing a white linen suit, in excellent mood as he mingled with the crowd, the
usual cigar clenched between his fingers, and when they wheeled in
everyone present as the two great men warmly greeted each other. Finally, after
they had chatted briefly with most of the senior officers, an aide in charge of
the proceedings announced, 'And now, gentlemen, as I'm sure you can appreciate,
the Prime Minister and President need some time in private. Refreshments will
be served in the room next door if you'll kindly follow me, please.'
Moments later the room had been
emptied, the doors had been closed, and the two men were completely alone,
Roosevelt's Secret Service men and Churchill's Scotland Yard bodyguards, who
accompanied him at all times, waiting politely outside.
Sitting there in his wheelchair,
after the strain of so much travel,
rattan ceiling fans whirring overhead, and then Churchill said, 'So, we have a
busy schedule in front of us, Franklin. I take it you're still firmly committed
to Overlord going ahead?'
'As firmly as ever.'
Churchill smiled. 'We'll have our
differences on strategy, or course, and you'll hear them in the course of the
next few days.'
'No doubt I will'
'But on one thing we must agree.
You know how much I enjoy a good party - it's my one great weakness. Well, the
day we crush Herr Hitler, I intend for us both to host the biggest bash you can
bloody well imagine, and expense be damned.'
'I think I could go along with
that,'
Then his face became a little more serious, and he said almost as an
afterthought, 'I guess you heard about this bunch of Germans on the loose?'
'The word reached me through my
intelligence people. I must say, it certainly has my bodyguards on edge. They
seem intent on keeping me under close watch. No doubt you're suffering the same
fate.' Churchill was irritated. 'But if they think they're going to keep me
from a private drinks party I'm scheduled to attend in
some very dear old friends, they've got another damned think coming. I've been
looking forward to it for days.'
'What do you make of it all,
Winston?'
There was a glint of humor in
Churchill's eyes. 'I think Berlin has got a bloody cheek if they really intend
trying to assassinate us. It just shows how desperate Hitler must be to have
agreed such a gambit, but we can both see the logic behind it.
However, I have every confidence
that these people who crash landed will be quickly hunted down and dealt with -
considering the odds against them, the poor fools are as good as dead.
And speaking personally, I've no
intention of being the first Prime Minister in British history to be
assassinated.'
There was a soft knock on the
door, and Roosevelt said, 'Enter.’
One of the President's senior
aides stepped into the room, a middle-aged colonel in full dress uniform, and
closed the door discreetly behind him. 'I know you didn't wish to be disturbed,
Mr President. But there's a General Clayton here to see both you and the Prime
Minister, urgently. He's accompanied by Ambassador Kirk. I believe it has to do
with these German infiltrators the ambassador informed you about, sir.'
'Speak of the Devil. I guess you'd
better send them in.'
There was a meal laid out on the
kitchen table, with some pitta bread and fresh lime juice. When they had eaten,
Haider suggested to Rachel she go up to her room to get some rest.
He ¦went out on to the patio,
where Deacon and the others sat waiting at the table.
'You mind telling me how the hell
you both managed to make it across the desert without getting caught?' Haider
asked as he pulled up a chair.
'It wasn't easy,' Kleist answered
sourly. 'We'd stopped at a wadi in the late afternoon when we heard a spotter
plane overhead. We had to wait until it grew dark before taking the risk of
moving out again. Then our truck broke down about five miles from a village
called Birqash. We tried to make it on foot to the village and were stopped by
a couple of Egyptian police manning a roadblock. We cut their throats, buried
the bodies, and stole their car. Once we reached the outskirts of
the train, and barely made the rendezvous last night.'
Haider's face sagged with distaste
as he said to Deacon, 'More death. My God, this war gets worse by the day.'
Deacon simply shrugged. 'There's
no getting away from corpses in a battle, Major.'
'What did
your contacts had arrived safely?'
'They simply acknowledged the
message. I usually don't invite too much comment on the air, and keep things to
an absolute minimum. A lengthy communication time might allow the British radio
detectors to pinpoint my transmitter. And I've been very careful not to let
that happen. But no doubt they'll have some comment tonight. Now, we'd better
get down to business. Your misfortune may well have destroyed whatever chances
we had of success. It's certainly ruined the element of surprise. However,
we'll return to those problems later. Facts first.
tell me he's being accommodated in the presidential suite at the Mena House.
Churchill arrived yesterday, and he's also being quartered at the hotel.'
'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 authorisation. 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.'
Haider 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.'
Haider 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.’
Haider 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.'
Haider stood, exasperated. 'It
gets even worse. When does this fellow Salter want an answer?'
'Tomorrow night. After that,
there'll be trouble.'
Haider 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 archaeological caches
are sometimes transported to
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.'
Haider 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.'
Haider said to Kleist and Doring,
'Take a good look around.
Familiarise 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,
Haider 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.'
Haider looked at him in amazement.
'Why didn't you make
'But I did.' Deacon explained what
had happened. 'You weren't told?'
Haider 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.'
Haider 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 damn 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 Haider
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.' - Haider 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 coloured 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
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.'
Haider 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 Haider 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 rowing boat was tied up, complete
with an outboard motor, an old tarpaulin thrown over it to protect the engine.