Authors: Glenn Meade
“From now on he'll have to get used to taking my ordersâso 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 rightâyou 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.”
Halder 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. “Butâhow?”
Halder 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?”
Halder 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.”
Halder glanced towards the jetty. “Can the boatman be trusted?”
“Absolutely.”
Strain and tiredness showed on Halder'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 amiss.”
“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 flicked away his unfinished cigar, and it cartwheeled into the river. “But we can discuss that later. You never told me the woman's name.”
“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 Berlin tonight of your 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 onto 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.”
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 gray 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 Roosevelt there was a spontaneous round of applause from 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, Roosevelt looked pale and sickly. There were a few moments of silence, the only sound the 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, of 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 partyâit'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 to heck with the expense.”
“I think I could go along with that,” Roosevelt answered with a slight grin. 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 Cairo tonight at the British embassy with some very dear old friends, they've got another bloody thing 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 hunted down and dealt withâconsidering 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 pita bread and fresh lime juice. When they had eaten, Halder suggested to Rachel she go up to her room to get some rest. He went out onto the patio, where Deacon and the others sat waiting at the table.
“You mind telling me how you both managed to make it across the desert without getting caught?” Halder 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 Cairo, we ditched it, took the train, and barely made the rendezvous last night.”
Halder's face sagged with distaste as he said to Deacon, “More death. This war gets worse by the day.”
Deacon simply shrugged. “There's no getting away from corpses in a battle, Major.”
“What did Berlin say when you informed them two of 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. Roosevelt arrives at Cairo West airfield just after nine-thirty this morning. My sources 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 authorization. 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.”
Halder 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.”
Halder 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.”
Halder 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.”
Halder stood, exasperated. “It gets even worse. When does this fellow Salter want an answer?”
“Tomorrow night. After that, there'll be trouble.”
Halder 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 archeological caches are sometimes transported to Cairo via the Shabramant airfield. 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.”
Halder 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.”
Halder said to Kleist and Doring, “Take a good look around. Familiarize 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 usâincluding this fellow Salter.”
“Yes, Major.”
After Kleist and Doring had left, Halder 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.”
Halder looked at him in amazement. “Why didn't you make Berlin aware of this?”
“But I did.” Deacon explained what had happened. “You weren't told?”
Halder 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.”
Halder 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 curse 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 Halder 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.”
Halder 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 colored 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 hereâwhich gives plenty of time to see anyone approachingâand leads directly into Cairo. The Mena House and Giza are only five miles away. Naturally, the motorboat will be at your disposal. You can reach the city without having to worry about being stopped and having your papers scrutinizedâthe river patrols don't operate this far south.”