The Cairo Code (20 page)

“What's wrong?” she asked.

“Not a thing,” he lied. “I guess I'd better be going. Thanks for the drink.” When he stood, he felt dizzy. The mixture of morphine and alcohol had proved a deadly combination and had gone straight to his head. He swayed unsteadily on his feet.

“What's the matter?”

“Just a little muzzy, that's all. I'll find a cab.”

“Maybe you should rest a while. You lost a lot of blood. I wouldn't like to think of you collapsing in the back of some cab. Cairene taxi drivers aren't the most trustworthy.” She hesitated. “There's always Jenny's bed if you'd like to stay.”

He looked at her face. It blurred in front of him. “You're . . . you're sure?”

“Yes, I'm very sure.”

•  •  •

She led him into a large bedroom with a narrow bed. The room smelled faintly of perfume and there was an unlit candle by the bedside. She lit it, then helped him take off his jacket. The alcohol and the pills were still having their effect. He leaned over and made to kiss her, was surprised when she opened her mouth eagerly. They kissed for a long time, and then she said, “How do you feel?”

“All of a sudden, a lot better.”

She laughed, and something seemed to spark between them, her eyes smiling invitingly. Weaver put a hand to her cheek. “You know what they say about Egyptian women?”

“No. Tell me.”

“They talk with their eyes. For centuries, it was the only way a veiled woman could communicate her feelings to a man, and the habit's deeply ingrained.”

She smiled. “And what do my eyes say?”

“Lots of things.” Weaver blushed. “Some of them unspeakable.” He gently stroked her face with his fingertips. “Something else I noticed. At the party in Shepheard's, Sanson couldn't keep from looking at you. He and I haven't exactly hit it off, but I also get the feeling he thinks there's something going on between us. And he doesn't like it.”

Her eyes held his. “And is there something between us?”

“I think that's up to you. Tell me about you and him.”

“We had dinner a couple of times. He sent flowers, and seemed a little infatuated. He told me I reminded him of his wife. She died, you know. On one of those convoys taking officers' wives back to Britain during the flap, sunk by a U-boat. They hadn't been married long. I imagine that's why he hates the Germans so much. The devastation he suffered because of her death probably hardened him to lots of things, and maybe it's the reason he puts everything into his work. Sometimes it almost seems as if the war is personal, and he's trying to pay the Germans back for what they did.” Her voice softened. “I think it took him a lot of effort to ask me out, and I truly liked him—”

“But?”

She put a finger to his lips. “Not as much as you.”

It was a frosty morning and still dark when the Mercedes staff car pulled up outside the commandant's office in Lichterfeld SS training barracks. As Halder climbed out, he saw Schellenberg step out of the lighted doorway, his officer's leather coat draped over his shoulders, a briefcase under his arm.

“Well, you made it, Jack, I see. I hope you slept well?”

“Forget the small talk. I'm not in the mood.”

“I take it you're still angry about not being allowed to see your boy?”

“What do you think?”

“I'm sorry, but it can't be helped. Right, let's not waste any more time. I have a briefing room organized. Kleist and Doring are waiting. Colonel Skorzeny himself will be along later to meet you.”

“Where's Rachel?”

“Asleep in one of the barrack huts. She's been given medication to help with some extra rest, to build up her stamina. You can see her this evening.”

“You still haven't told me the other reason she's so important to the mission.”

“You'll be told before the time comes for your departure. Follow me.”

Schellenberg led the way to a barbed-wire compound, guarded by a dozen SS troops with machine pistols and a couple of vicious-looking leashed Alsatian dogs. A sign outside said
Strictly Authoriz
ed Personnel.
Schellenberg showed his pass and they were allowed through. Across the compound yard was a long, single-story red-brick building, a floodlight over the entrance. Two SS guards with German shepherds were posted outside, and the men snapped to attention as Schellenberg came forward to unlock the door.

“Security precautions,” he remarked as he led Halder inside, then locked the door behind them. “The mission's completely top secret, so we can't be too careful. Anyone who tries to enter without my personal permission will be shot out of hand, if the dogs don't get them first. Those animals can kill a man in seconds.”

The building was large and basic inside, and looked like a classroom, with a wooden desk facing three chairs, a blackboard, and a tiled wood stove in the middle. Two men stood beside it warming their hands, both wearing civilian clothes. One was in his late thirties and very obviously a military man, broad and bullish, with a ravaged face and a flattened nose. He looked like a study in brutality, his dark eyes hinting at a savage nature. The second man was in his middle twenties, coarse-looking, with a sharp face and a thin, cruel mouth.

“You already know Major Kleist. And this young man is SS Feldwebel Doring. Meet Major Halder.”

Kleist was the first to thrust out his hand. “Well, Halder, we meet again. The last time was an antipartisan operation near Sarajevo, as I recall?”

Halder ignored the offered hand. “I remember it very well. And I can't say it's a pleasure seeing you again. Not after witnessing how you dealt with prisoners.”

Kleist flushed, offended, and his eyes narrowed dangerously. “Harsh methods are sometimes called for in war, Major. You ought to know that.”

“I'm a soldier, not a butcher, Kleist. Or perhaps you can't understand the distinction? And I hardly call raping and torturing women an honorable way of conducting a war. Your behavior disgraced the German uniform. If I had my way, I'd have had you shot.”

Kleist grinned maliciously. “Strange you should have that opinion, considering I ended up getting a commendation for the operation. But obviously the major doesn't have the stomach for such work.”

Halder ignored the provocation. Doring, the Feldwebel, had a sly grin on his face, as if amused by the proceedings, and Halder took an instant dislike to the man.

“A pleasure to meet you, sir,” Doring offered.

“Charmed, I'm sure.”

Schellenberg sighed and placed his briefcase on the desk. “Right, now that it's quite obvious you'll all get on like a house on fire, take your seats, gentlemen, and we'll proceed.”

•  •  •

Schellenberg opened his briefcase, took out a number of maps, and unfolded a detailed one of northern Egypt. “I'll give you the exact particulars in a moment, but simply and shortly put, the structure of your mission is this. You'll be flown to northern Egypt and be met by one of our local agents at a disused desert airfield who'll help you on your way to Cairo, under the guise of an archeological group.

There, you'll meet with one of our Egyptian agents, who'll accommodate you in a safe house. From then on, and quickly, mind—we estimate within no more than three days—you'll do your utmost to discover
exactly
where Roosevelt and Churchill are located in the city. We suspect it'll be the Mena House, but we'll come to that later. Once you manage to confirm the location, you'll need to come up with a plan that will help us breach the Allied leaders' security and get close enough to kill them. That done—assuming you've achieved all of your objectives—the rest is straightforward. You'll radio Berlin and we'll send in Colonel Skorzeny and his paratroops, to rendezvous with you at a small airfield outside Cairo, which you'll need to have secured beforehand. Once Skorzeny lands, you'll brief him in detail and transport him and his men to the location where you've determined Roosevelt and Churchill will be, and help them get past their security. After that, it'll all be up to Skorzeny to finish the thing, and you're out of it.

“I hardly need to impress on you again the importance of this mission to Germany's survival. It's absolutely vital that it succeeds. No matter what obstacles you encounter, your objectives will remain firm: to reach Cairo and carry out your tasks. Under no circumstances will you abort, unless personally instructed by me to do so. Is that understood?”

“How will we keep in touch?” Halder asked.

“Besheeba, the agent you'll meet in Cairo, has a radio transmitter. His signals are relayed to Berlin via a receiver in Rome. Weather permitting, we can usually communicate with each other within an hour, two at the most. There's also an alternative listening post in Athens, in case of problems.” Schellenberg jabbed at one of the maps. “So, to details. The Italians have surrendered, of course, but our troops still occupy the northern half of Italy, Rome included, which is less than three hours' flying time to the North African coast. In four days' time you'll be flown to Rome to take up your standby position. Assuming we have confirmation from Egypt that everything is prepared for your arrival, our intention is to land you at a disused RAF desert airfield, here, near a village called Abu Sammar, thirty kilometers southwest of Alexandria, at approximately five hundred hours on the morning of the drop.

“The airfield's no more than a flat strip of sand, really, but ideal for our purposes. Deserted, apart from a couple of Bedouin families camped a few miles away, but they shouldn't give you any trouble. Our agent there has already been given instructions to meet you. He'll signal your aircraft from the ground and once you land he'll drive you to Alexandria. From there, you'll board the first train to Cairo, which departs at 7:00 a.m., arriving in Rameses station just over two hours later. If everything works to plan, you'll make contact with Besheeba and be taken to a safe house.”

“How do we make contact?” Kleist asked.

“There's a popular café called the Pharaoh's Garden, directly across the street from the Rameses station. You'll proceed there as soon as you get off the train, take a table outside, and each order coffee. One of you will leave your ticket stubs in your hatband as a recognition signal. A man will engage you in conversation—he'll be wearing a Panama hat, have a copy of the
Egyptian Gazette
under his left arm, and a rose in his buttonhole.” Schellenberg smiled. “An old routine, but then the old ones are always the best. He'll ask you the shortest way to the Egyptian Museum. You'll tell him you're going there and can show him the way. We'll go over the precise details of everything later, including the warning signals, in case you or your contact feel the meeting is in danger, and an alternative rendezvous is necessary. If for some reason you don't make the first train, your contact will return at the arrival time of each successive train due from Alexandria that day, until the first one the next morning. If you still haven't turned up by then, he'll have to assume the worst.”

“And what if no one shows up at the airfield?” Halder asked.

“The man who'll meet you is a reliable fellow. He has my personal instruction to wait until your aircraft makes the rendezvous.”

“You still haven't said what happens if he doesn't show up.”

Schellenberg offered a thin smile. “Ever the cautious one, Jack. But to put your mind somewhat at rest, and in case of any extreme obstacles—which I don't anticipate—there'll be a motorboat waiting here”—he pointed to the map—“on the Nile delta, just outside the town of Rashid. The river's a straight run to Cairo, about six hours away. Again, details later.”

Halder checked the map. “But Rashid's at least twenty miles from Alex.”

“You're neglecting the point. If there are difficulties overland, and with desert all around, the river route offers the only likely alternative to get you to Cairo, and Rashid is one of the nearest points where you can access the Nile. Besheeba considers the route a safe bet, should you run into any problems. We've also arranged for him to supply any equipment necessary, from weapons to transport, and anything else you'll require.” Schellenberg smiled. “I've already given him a shopping list of things you'll likely need. Three American army trucks, to ferry Skorzeny's men from the airfield outside Cairo. And a Jeep and military police uniforms for yourself, Kleist, and Doring, along with any necessary transport papers required, which should help you move around the city with ease while you're setting everything up. I'll go over the list with you this afternoon. But there's another reason for the Jeep and uniforms, which I'll come to presently.”

“Permission to speak, Herr General.”

“Yes, Kleist.”

“You're certain this Besheeba fellow can be trusted?”

“Completely—he's a man who's proved himself very useful, and one of our top agents. He'll have help, of course—an Arab, a former agent of Rommel's.”

“I never trusted these Arabs,” Kleist remarked sourly. “Shifty, the lot of them.”

“He's a reliable fellow, Kleist. So treat him with respect when the time comes, despite the fact that he's a mentally inferior class by SS standards. That's an order. Understand?”

“Yes, Herr General.”

“Any more questions? Yes, Doring?”

“What about our air transport, Herr General? We'll be taking a big risk flying over enemy territory in a Luftwaffe aircraft.”

Schellenberg smiled broadly. “I shouldn't worry about that, it's all been taken care of. In fact, you have an interesting surprise in store for you when the time comes.”

“And our papers?”

“Each of you will have an excellent set of forged documents—everything you'll possibly need will be sorted out before you depart. Jack, you'll be assuming an American identity, naturally. Kleist and Doring, you'll be South African nationals. Fräulein Stern will have papers in the name of a German Jewess. Unlike other Germans in Egypt, German Jews have not been interned—they're free to go where they please. Hopefully you shouldn't be bothered too much by the Egyptian authorities. I understand they're quite lax about such matters as checking papers. But to make sure you're all prepared, I've arranged for three of my best counterintelligence officers to question each of you thoroughly about your cover stories, and the same with the young woman.”