The Cairo Code (41 page)

Halder explained. Just then they heard the whistle of a steam engine. Farther down the track a plume of thick smoke rose into the air. The train was only minutes from arriving. “Any suggestions?”

Rachel looked over at the Military Police Jeep. “Just one. But will it work?”

Rachel saw the two military policemen as soon as she stepped into the station. The sergeant approached her. “Excuse me, miss. Are you traveling?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Where to, miss?”

“Alex.”

“May I see some identification, please?”

Rachel pretended to search in her bag. “I'm sorry, I don't seem to have any with me. I came out in such a rush this morning, you see. I must have forgotten my papers.”

“Are you British, miss?”

“South African.”

The sergeant said politely, “And may I ask what you're doing in town?”

“I came on an earlier train to meet a friend at the station, but he didn't turn up.”

“And who might that be?”

Rachel frowned. “Look, do you mind telling me what all this is about?”

“That isn't any of your business, miss.”

“It is if I'm being stopped,” Rachel said boldly, and glanced at the corporal beside the ticket gate. “You're looking for someone, aren't you?”

The sergeant's eyebrows rose. “Now why would you ask that?”

“My father's a colonel, serving in Cairo. You get to know when something's up with the military—they get in such an obvious tizzy. Who or what are you looking for?”

“That's privileged information, miss. And I'll need some sort of confirmation of your identity. Otherwise I can't let you board.”

“Well, I can't help you, unless you phone my father in Alex. Look, I've had a difficult enough morning as it is. I came here to meet my boyfriend, and he stood me up. His name's Captain Jameson and he's stationed at Amiriya. Perhaps if you could radio the camp and find out what's happened to him? If he's there, I'm sure he can vouch for me.”

“Jameson, miss?” The sergeant frowned. “He was here only five minutes ago. Thought he'd got the train times mixed up. But he said he'd be back.”

“Really?” Rachel pretended relief. “Well, thank God for that—I thought I'd made a wasted trip.”

Beyond the ticket barrier, the waiting passengers were dragging their belongings closer to the platform, and there was the faint rattle of metal wheels. Rachel said to the sergeant, “Look, I hope you don't mind me saying this, but you've done me such a good turn. Is that your vehicle outside?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I just saw two men a few minutes ago, acting awfully suspiciously. They drove up to the station in a Jeep, and when they saw yours they seemed to panic. They got out of their Jeep and took a military staff car parked nearby, then drove off in a hurry. The whole thing looked terribly suspect.”

The sergeant's face clouded. “What did these men look like?”

“It all happened so fast. I didn't get a proper look. But one of them wore an officer's uniform and the other was dressed in a civilian suit. That's all I remember.”

The sergeant pulled out his pistol. Behind him, an ancient black train came alongside the platform in a squeal of metal and clouds of steam. “Did you see which way they went?”

“Out of town, heading east. I hope you don't mind me telling you all this.”

“Not at all, miss, you've been a great help.” The sergeant beckoned the corporal. “Get out to the Jeep, Charlie, quick as you can. I think we're on to something.” The corporal raced towards the exit, and the sergeant tipped his cap at Rachel as he followed him out. “Thanks, miss. Thanks a lot.”

•  •  •

Moments later, Halder joined her at the ticket barrier. Rachel had bought two tickets and they boarded. The carriages were ancient and filthy, smelling of stale sweat and coal smoke, many of them filled with noisy peasant families, the overhead racks packed with their belongings—sacks and baskets of farm produce bound for the bazaars and markets of Alex. They had to move to the end of the train before they found an empty carriage to themselves, and Halder slumped into the hard wooden seat as the train pulled out.

“That was pretty close. I really didn't think we'd make it.” He smiled at Rachel without humor. “One hurdle over with. How many more to go? Up to now, the military didn't know what we looked like. But that'll soon change as soon as those MPs can't find who they're looking for and put two and two together.”

“How long will it take to reach Alex?”

“Barring no more problems, about half an hour. Let's hope our two friends are kept busy for at least that.”

“But what if there are more police checking papers when the train pulls into Ramleh station?”

“It crossed my mind. Which is why we'll get off one stop before Ramleh and take a train or taxi the rest of the way into the city. According to Achmed, there's a train for Cairo at two-fifteen, which should give us plenty of time to scout out the station and see if the police have got it under watch.”

“And what if they have?”

“Let's worry about that if and when we get to Alex. In the meantime, I ought to get out of this uniform, and you'd better change your clothes. Did you have to show your papers to the sergeant?”

“No.”

“Good. It might make things a little easier. They won't have a name to go on. Have you makeup in that bag of yours?”

“A little.”

“Try to alter your appearance as best you can. I'll ditch my suitcase and put some of my things in with yours—we can't go traipsing around looking like bewildered refugees. And well done, by the way. You must have given a convincing performance. Those MPs drove off like they had a rocket attached to their Jeep.”

“I still don't know how I mustered the courage,” Rachel admitted.

“That's simple,” Halder said. “Just think of the alternative.”

Harvey Deacon was in his office when the telephone rang. He picked it up anxiously. “Deacon.” He listened, then thanked his caller. “I'm grateful for your help, Omar. I know I can rely on your discretion. If you get any more information, call me at once.”

He slammed down the telephone and sat grimly shaking his head, dabbing his brow with a handkerchief before stepping over to one of the cabin portholes. As he lit a cigar to help steady his nerves, he saw that his hands were trembling. His contacts should have landed over eight hours ago, and arrived in Cairo before now.

He'd gone to the Pharaoh's Garden opposite the railway station at nine that morning, wearing his Panama hat and a fresh rose in his buttonhole, to await the first train from Alex. He'd sat outside on the terrace drinking coffee and reading the
Egyptian Gazette,
but they hadn't shown up. He'd gone back to the café three hours later, before the second train arrived, but with the same result. The next wasn't due until after four, and Deacon had decided to return to the club, a terrible feeling of doom in the pit of his stomach.

As he paced the room, his anxiety deepened. Something had gone drastically wrong, and now that he knew what it was, his nerves were even more on edge. In desperation, he had telephoned the Royal Egyptian Air Force Headquarters and asked for Captain Omar Rahman. The captain had contacts in all the right places, police and army, and ten minutes later he returned his call, this time from a public coin box. Another call half an hour later and Deacon had the information he had been dreading. The army and police were looking for a man and a woman, suspected German infiltrators, whose aircraft had crashed in the desert south of Alex. A massive search was about to get under way.

“They're sealing up Alex as tight as a tomb,” Omar told him. “That's all I can find out, my friend. But it sounds serious.”

Where the other two Germans had vanished to, Deacon hadn't a clue, and he didn't dare inquire, but the information confirmed his worst fears. He'd suspected all along that Berlin had put the operation together too hastily. Now the whole thing was a terrible mess. A man and a woman, Omar had said. There were supposed to be four people: three men and a woman. What had happened to the other two? There had to be
something
he could do to try to rescue the situation. But if the four had split up and gone in different directions, it wouldn't help matters, and time was against him. How could he even hope to find them before the police and army, let alone get them out of Alex? And if they couldn't make it to the boat at Rashid, they'd almost certainly be caught.

For several minutes Deacon stood at the porthole, his brain working feverishly until he made up his mind what to do, then he crossed to the wall and pulled a tasseled cord.

His manservant appeared. “Effendi?”

Deacon tugged on his Panama hat, picked up the keys to the Packard. “I'll be gone for an hour, perhaps less. Stand by the phone. If anyone calls looking for me, take their message and tell them I'll call them back.”

“It seems they might have been two British officers, missing from the army base at Amiriya. A Captain Jameson and a Lieutenant Grey.”

As Captain Myers put down the telephone, Weaver sighed. He was in Myers's office at Alex Military HQ, while Sanson carried on the desert search.

“That was their CO I just spoke with,” Myers added. “He reported them missing an hour ago. They didn't show up for duty this morning, and he thought they might have got into trouble during the sandstorm.”

“What else did you learn?”

Myers glanced at the information he'd jotted in his notebook. “The lieutenant was twenty-one. He'd only been commissioned and posted to Egypt a month ago. He and the captain went to a card game hosted by some military friends in Hammam yesterday evening.” He looked up. “They were probably caught in the storm, all right, but somehow stumbled on the crash site. The poor chaps walked right into trouble.” Myers hesitated. “I trust Lieutenant Lucas has been of help? Sorry I couldn't meet you this morning, but I had a staff meeting to attend.”

“Sure,” Weaver said distractedly. He studied the wall map and found Amiriya. Myers came round from his desk—a small, barrel-chested man, quick on his feet, with a crisp English accent. “You said you'd like to know what routes these intruder chappies might try and use to escape. That's assuming they don't stick around Alex.”

“I don't think we can assume anything, except that they're armed and highly dangerous. But if I was them I'd be trying to lose myself in the biggest city I could find, either here or Cairo.”

Myers pointed to a map of the city. “We've got the main railway and tram station, right here in the center of town. It's called the Ramleh. The trains run to Cairo four times a day: morning, afternoon, evening, and the last one at midnight. There's also the main road, which can take about four hours by car or public bus. The buses for Cairo leave four times a day from the railway station. As does public transport for all other major destinations—Port Said, Rashid, and so on.”

“Are there any other routes?”

The captain scratched his jaw. “There's always open desert, of course, which avoids the main roads. But trying to cross terrain like that would be suicidal. Far too many minefields still around that haven't been dealt with, and the journey's slow and difficult. You mind me asking what you think these infiltrators are up to, sir? The nearest German lines are in Italy, and the war's been over in this neck of the woods for months. It seems rather odd.”

“We don't know,” Weaver lied. “But it's imperative we find them.”

Myers shrugged. “The problem is we don't have any idea what they look like, and
exactly
how many there are. You say at least two people, possibly more.”

Weaver nodded. “Most likely they're German, but don't discount their being Egyptian, or disguised as Arabs.”

“It's all very vague, and that's going to make things difficult. But I can have the rail and bus stations watched, and the main roads. I'll ask the local police to help. We'll see what turns up.”

“Remember, they're dangerous and on the run. If they spot troops and police all over the place, there could be trouble. So I want a plainclothes presence at the stations, not uniforms, and tell the men to be extra careful. I don't want the shoot-out at the OK Corral and bodies piled on the streets. What about the desert route?”

“Sir?”

“How can we cover that way of escape?”

“It's really too vast an area for us to mount effective patrols. But I can try and get a spotter plane up.”

“Then do it. How many airfields are there in Alex?”

“Two main ones, and two more minor airfields towards Port Said.” Myers shook his head, knowingly. “They're strictly for military use and security's tight. They'd never get past the gates, let alone board an aircraft without the right travel permit and passes.”

“Still, you'd better alert them just in case. Are there
any
other ways out of the city?”

Myers pointed to the map again. “From the harbor. But it's hardly an ideal choice, even if they managed to steal or get on board a boat. The route's too slow, and where can they go? Our naval patrols carry out spot checks on all civilian vessels in this part of the Med.”

“Even so, you'd better detail some men to keep watch on the port.”

The captain raised his eyes in mild protest. “That's an
awful
lot of manpower, sir. We'd have to stretch things a bit thin to cover everything.”

“Just do it, Captain. And I'll want transport and a driver. The main railway station is the most likely way out of town, so I'd like to keep it under close watch. And I want all the hotels and pensions in the city checked for new customers, especially anyone who's arrived within the last three hours.”