The Cairo Code (61 page)

“Precisely.”

Salter smiled. “I like it.”

“No more than a dozen of your men ought to be enough. The tower, the barrack quarters, and the entrance are our main concerns. As well as seizing and controlling all communications equipment. There shouldn't be more than half a dozen Royal Egyptian Air Force personnel on duty. I emphasize, I don't want any of them killed—just kept under lock and key and out of harm's way until the aircraft land and our business is completed. Could you handle all that?”

“No sweat. With a dozen of my best men, I could take the Royal Palace.” Salter frowned. “You mind telling me what you'll be doing while me and my lads are playing commandos?”

“Three of my men and I will accompany you to the airfield, to make sure everything goes smoothly. Assuming it does, I'll leave two of them behind, then join you later, before the aircraft land. Among other things, I have a radio link to take care of—I'll be in touch with someone at the point of departure before the aircraft take off—so that way I'll know the arrival time. Obviously, you'll need to bring the trucks to the airfield, to transport the consignment.”

Salter thought for a moment, then nodded. “Sounds all right to me. When do you want to do it?”

Halder smiled. “I want the airfield secured by midnight tonight.”

Salter whistled again. “Blimey! That soon? It's not giving us much time. I'd have to work like the clappers to get everything organized. Why so bloody quick?”

“We've no choice in the matter. We learned this evening the delivery has been brought forward. Which is why I'm agreeing to your demand. We'll need those trucks and the Jeep smartly. I take it you were serious about supplying anything we need?”

“Of course. Why?”

“I'll want a couple of field radios, with a minimum range of ten miles.”

Salter nodded. “There's no problem there. When do you expect the aircraft to land?”

“Sometime between three and four a.m. I'll go over the airfield layout and security, and tell you exactly how I want this done.”

“Just one other thing.” Salter looked across threateningly, pointed the swagger stick at Halder's chest. “You and your friends try to double-cross me, mister, and I'll bury the lot of you. Understand?”

Halder pushed the stick away, met Salter's stare. “I'll keep to my word. Just make sure you keep to yours.” He took a map from his pocket, spread it on the ambulance hood, borrowed the storm lamp from Demiris. “Right, let's go over things so nobody makes any mistakes.”

•  •  •

Twenty minutes later, Halder was back in the motorboat, headed towards the far side of the Nile.

“You think it'll work?” Deacon asked as he maneuvered the tiller.

“There's a fair chance,” Halder replied. “But Salter's going to get one almighty shock when he sees two Dakotas landing and dozens of crack SS paratroops piling out.”

Deacon smiled. “I only hope I'm there to see the bleeder's face when it happens.”

•  •  •

Salter watched from the jetty as the motorboat faded into the watery darkness. He pulled his uniform jacket around his shoulders and lit another cheroot. “Two million quid's worth of gems and gold.” He scratched his head. “Well, I'll be blowed.”

Costas Demiris's face was sweaty with excitement. “It's a real treasure trove, Reggie. In the right quarters, our share could be worth an even bigger fortune. It's the kind of stuff private collectors would give their eye teeth for.”

“True enough. What do you reckon about Deacon's mate?”

“A smooth customer. But he sounded on the level.”

“Too bloody smooth if you ask me. And he gave in to us just like that.” Salter snapped his fingers. “Which makes me suspicious. And he didn't offer to explain what Deacon was doing out at Giza. That's the little bit that baffles me.”

“You think he might try and mess us about?”

“Who knows? Either way, I'm pretty sure it's something our boys can handle.”

Salter's eyes narrowed and he tossed his cheroot into the water. “Deacon's mate definitely had the cut of the military, all right. I wonder who the blighter is.”

“Special forces or commandos, by the looks of him. And you can bet he's not going to like it when he finds out what we've got up our sleeve, Reggie. He's not going to like it one little bit.”

Salter shot a sly look at Demiris and laughed. “No, he won't, will he?”

“You mind telling me what this is about, sir?” The interrogation room at the provost's office was stifling hot, and beads of perspiration were running down Baldy Reed's face. Weaver stood over him. “I thought you were the one who could do that.” He read out the list of stolen items and Reed frowned.

“I think you've got the wrong man, sir.”

“We've got the right man,” Sergeant Morris interrupted. “He's just singing the wrong tune. A friend of yours in the motor pool at Camp Huckstep sang the full ten verses, pointed the finger right up your nose. Claims you were behind the whole thing. So spill, Baldy.”

Reed nervously licked his lips, stared back at Morris. “You're either lying, or joking.”

“It ain't my style. You ought to know that.”

“As God is my bleeding judge—”

“He won't be, it'll be a military court. You're already fingered. So you might as well tell us what you did with the stuff you nicked.”

“I told you, there's been some kind of mistake—”

Weaver lost his patience, grabbed Reed by the lapels. “Listen to me, four German agents are loose in the city and playing a very dangerous game. There's a chance they might have need for the kind of military equipment that's been stolen. Now you can sing dumb all night, but so help me, if you're lying, I'll see you face a firing squad for aiding the enemy.”

Reed blinked at Weaver as if he were mad. “You're—you're not serious?”

“Deadly. Get it into your thick skull.”

Reed turned chalk-white and crumpled, cupping his face in his hands. “The bleeders put me up to it, I swear they did.”

“Who?”

“Reggie Salter and Costas Demiris. Said they'd have my balls for worry beads if I didn't help them.”

Weaver turned to the sergeant. “Who's he talking about?”

“Underworld criminals,” Morris replied. “Deserters who run a stolen-goods and black-market racket. Salter's the mastermind, as nasty a gangster as they come.”

Weaver addressed Reed. “Did they tell you what they wanted the stuff for?”

Reed shook his head. “Salter only mentioned he had some deal going and needed it urgently. That's the honest truth.”

“What
exactly
did he want?”

“The Jeep and trucks, papers for the lot, and the three uniforms.”

“Anything else?”

“Nothing, I swear it.” There was an instant look of fear on Reed's face. “You've got to protect me. If Salter hears I've squealed, he'll skin me alive.”

The sergeant couldn't help smiling. “It's nothing compared to what the army's going to do with you. I've got you at last, mate. And you've nailed yourself to the wall.”

“What d'you mean?”

“No one pointed the finger, Baldy, except yourself. We bluffed about your pals' squealing. And don't go thinking you can retract your admission. I've got an officer as witness.”

Reed's mouth opened, his face a furious red. “You cunning, bleeding—”

“Shut up, Reed,” Weaver interrupted and turned to the sergeant. “Can we pull Salter in and have a word with him?”

“With respect, sir, you might as well try and catch a greased snake. We've been after his hide for over a year now. Tight little number he operates. We reckon he's got about twenty men and a couple of warehouses in the city, but where they are we don't know. Rumor has it he's got armed guards and lookouts posted, not to mention his hand in a few pockets hereabouts to keep him alerted to any trouble coming his way. Sad fact of life, but that's the size of it.”

“We
have
to talk to him and clear this up.”

The sergeant scratched his head. “You mind telling me how, sir?”

Weaver jerked a thumb at Reed. “He's dealt with Salter, he can lead us to him.” He glared at the frightened prisoner. “In return, we drop all the charges. Is that a deal, Reed?”

The Jeep halted two hundred yards from the airfield entrance gates. Salter was in the front seat, dressed in the uniform he'd worn on the jetty, Halder in the seat behind, wearing the captain's outfit and carrying an M3 machine pistol, a couple of field radios beside him.

The darkened road ahead was barely lit by a quarter-moon, the perimeter wire and sentry huts just about visible. Salter tapped ash from his cheroot. “Looks quiet enough. You happy so far?”

“I'll only be that when we've taken the airfield,” Halder answered.

Salter laughed. “I've broken into enough well-guarded storehouses in my day. This ought to be no different.”

“Remember, no shooting if we can help it, otherwise it gives the game away. And I don't want anyone hurt unnecessarily.”

“Would I let you down?” Salter clicked his fingers at the driver. “Get going, Charlie. Pull up in front of the sentry huts.”

“Right, boss.” The driver started up, and as they moved off Halder looked behind. The three Ford trucks were following, Kleist and Doring seated in the cab of the leading vehicle, Hassan driving. In the back were a dozen of Salter's men, all armed and wearing military uniforms. As they drove up towards the gates, Halder saw the sentries step out of their boxes and come alert.

Salter idly tossed his cheroot away and said confidently, “Leave the talking to me.”

The Jeep swung in towards the gates and halted. A warning sign told them to douse their lights and, as the driver did so, Halder saw the two young Egyptian sentries ready their weapons, confusion on their faces at the unexpected arrival of a military cavalcade.

Salter climbed out of the vehicle and strode up to them cockily with a swagger stick in one hand, his papers in the other. “I'm Major Cairns. Direct me to your CO, if you would. I've got some urgent business to discuss.”

It happened quickly. As the bewildered sentries started to examine Salter's papers, a half-dozen men tumbled out of the back of the leading truck and rushed forward. There was a moment of uncertainty as the confused Egyptians tried to ready their weapons, but Salter's men rapidly overpowered them and searched through their pockets for the keys to the gate.

“Find out exactly how many men are on the airfield and where they are,” Salter ordered as he took charge of the keys. “If they don't oblige, break their bleeding arms.”

The two frightened sentries obviously understood, because they needed no persuasion.

“Half a dozen men,” Salter remarked, when he heard the details. “Not much opposition, is it?”

“Let's not count our chickens, Salter, until the job's done,” Halder told him.

“You're a cautious man, Captain.” Salter grinned, and looked as if he was thoroughly enjoying himself. He unlocked the entrance gates and waved the cavalcade in. “Get a move on, sharpish. Leave the vehicles inside the gates for now; we'll go the rest of the way on foot—we don't want the other clowns to hear us coming. Fan out towards the airfield buildings. And two of you get those uniforms off the guards and take their places.”

He plucked a Sten gun from the Jeep as it drove in through the gates while two of his men began to change into the guards' uniforms. “Right,” he said to Halder. “Let's go sort out the rest of them.”

•  •  •

It took less than fifteen minutes to secure the airfield, and without firing a single shot. Salter's men had accounted for all the Egyptians. Halder went along the wooden veranda into the main barrack office. It was a large functional room, with a scratched desk and a couple of rusting filing cabinets. He lifted the telephone to make sure the line had been cut, then removed his cap and watched from the window as the half-dozen disarmed and bewildered Royal Egyptian Air Force men, their hands on their heads, were led past. Salter came in with a couple of his men, looking pleased. “Don't worry about that lot. They'll be locked up in one of the huts and well guarded—we don't want anyone getting away to raise the alarm.” He sat behind the desk, laid down his Sten gun, put up his feet, and looked at Halder.

“Just what the doctor ordered. Well, Captain, I think that about takes care of everything for now. Impressed?”

“You've exceeded expectations, Mr. Salter. Before I leave I'll need to check the runway.”

“What for?”

“To make certain the landing strip is operational, and the field's unobstructed.”

“Fair enough.”

Halder gestured to Kleist and Doring, and with Hassan they went outside to the Jeep and drove in darkness for about three hundred meters past the hangars, until they came to the nearest end of the runway. The landing strip didn't look up to much, the surface rough in places. They drove to the far end, checking for debris, and when they doubled back, Halder raised a hand for the Jeep to stop.

“Not exactly the main runway at Tempelhof, is it? Well, what do you think, Kleist?”

“I've seen worse. I can put down some flashlights to guide the pilots in on the final leg when the time comes. There shouldn't be a problem.”

“Good. So all that remains is to transmit our signal and await the arrival.” Halder checked his watch and had the others synchronize theirs. “Twenty-two thirty hours exactly. If we transmit before midnight, it shouldn't take more than about three hours for Skorzeny's paratroops to get here. That gives us an ETA of oh three hundred hours, give or take. Allow another hour to get them to Giza and through the tunnel, which brings it to oh four hundred approximately.”