World War II Thriller Collection (36 page)

“Because sometimes you
should
panic, fool,” she said softly. “Sometimes you should show that you are frightened, or obsessed, or crazy for something. It's human, and it's a sign that you care. When you're so calm all the time we think it's because you don't give a damn.”

Vandam said: “Well, people should know better. Lovers should know better, and so should friends, and bosses if they're any good.” He said this honestly, but in the back of his mind he realized that there was indeed an element of ruthlessness, of coldheartedness, in his famous equanimity.

“And if they don't know better . . . ?” She had stopped crying now.

“I should be different? No.” He wanted to be honest with her now. He could have told her a lie to make her happy: Yes, you're right, I'll try to be different. But what was the point? If he could not be
himself
with her, it was all worthless, he would be manipulating her the way all men had manipulated her, the way he manipulated people he did not love. So he told her the truth. “You see, this is the way I win. I mean, win everything . . . the game of life—so to speak.” He gave a wry grin. “I am detached. I look at everything from a distance. I
do
care, but I refuse to do pointless things, symbolic gestures, empty fits of rage. Either we love each other or we don't, and all the flowers in the world won't make any difference. But the work I did today could affect whether we live or die. I
did
think of you, all day; but each time I thought of you, I turned my mind to more urgent things. I work efficiently, I set priorities and I don't worry about you when I know you're okay. Can you imagine yourself getting used to that?”

She gave him a watery smile. “I'll try.”

And all the time, in the back of his mind, he was thinking: For how long? Do I want this woman forever? What if I don't?

He pushed the thought down. Right now it was low priority. “What I want to say, after all that, is: Forget about tonight, don't go, we'll manage without you. But I can't. We need you, and it's terribly important.”

“That's okay, I understand.”

“But first of all, may I kiss you hello?”

“Yes, please.”

Kneeling beside the arm of her chair, he took her face in his big hand, and kissed her lips. Her mouth was soft and yielding, and slightly moist. He savored the feel and the taste of her. Never had he felt like this, as though he could go on kissing, just so, all night and never get tired.

Eventually she drew back, took a deep breath, and said: “My, my, I do believe you mean it.”

“You may be sure of that.”

She laughed. “When you said that, you were the old Major Vandam for a moment—the one I used to know before I knew you.”

“And your ‘My, my,' in that provocative voice was the old Elene.”

“Brief me, Major.”

“I'll have to get out of kissing distance.”

“Sit over there and cross your legs. Anyway, what were you doing today?”

Vandam crossed the room to the drinks cupboard and found the gin. “A major in Intelligence has disappeared—along with a briefcase full of secrets.”

“Wolff?”

“Could be. It turns out that this major has been disappearing at lunchtime, a couple of times a week, and nobody knows where he's been going. I've a hunch that he might have been meeting Wolff.”

“So why would he disappear?”

Vandam shrugged. “Something went wrong.”

“What was in his briefcase today?”

Vandam wondered how much to tell her. “A rundown of our defenses which was so complete that we think it could alter the result of the next battle.” Smith had also been in possession of Vandam's proposed deception plan, but Vandam did not tell Elene this: he trusted her all the way, but he also had security instincts. He finished: “So, we'd better catch Wolff tonight.”

“But it might be too late already!”

“No. We found the decrypt of one of Wolff's signals, a while back. It was timed at midnight. Spies have a set time for reporting, generally the same time every day. At other times their masters won't be listening—at least, not on the right wavelength—so even if they do signal nobody picks it up. Therefore, I think Wolff will send this information tonight at midnight unless I catch him first.” He hesitated, then changed his mind about security and decided she ought to know the full importance of what she was doing. “There's something else. He's using a code based on a novel called
Rebecca
. I've got a copy of the novel. If I can get the key to the code—”

“What's that?”

“Just a piece of paper telling him how to use the book to encode signals.”

“Go on.”

“If I can get the key to the
Rebecca
code, I can impersonate Wolff over the radio and send false information to Rommel. It could turn the tables completely—it could save Egypt. But I must have the key.”

“All right. What's tonight's plan?”

“It's the same as before, only more so. I'll be in the restaurant with Jakes, and we'll both have pistols.”

Her eyes widened. “You've got a gun?”

“I haven't got it now. Jakes is bringing it to the restaurant. Anyway, there will be two other men in the restaurant, and six more outside on the pavement, trying to look inconspicuous. There will also be civilian cars ready to block all exits from the street at the sound of a whistle. No matter what Wolff does tonight, if he wants to see you he's going to be caught.”

There was a knock at the apartment door.

Vandam said: “What's that?”

“The door—”

“Yes, I know, are you expecting someone? Or something?”

“No, of course not, it's almost time for me to leave.”

Vandam frowned. Alarm bells were sounding. “I don't like this. Don't answer.”

“All right,” Elene said. Then she changed her mind. “I have to answer. It might be my father. Or news of him.”

“Okay, answer it.”

Elene went out of the living room. Vandam sat listening. The knock came again, then she opened the door.

Vandam heard her say: “Alex!”

Vandam whispered: “Christ!”

He heard Wolff's voice. “You're all ready. How delightful.” It was a deep, confident voice, the drawled English spoken with only the faintest trace of an unidentifiable accent.

Elene said: “Of course . . .”

“I know. May I come in?”

Vandam leaped over the back of the sofa and lay on the floor behind it.

Elene said: “Of course . . .”

Wolff's voice came closer. “My dear, you look exquisite tonight.”

Vandam thought: Smooth bastard.

The front door slammed shut.

Wolff said: “This way?”

“Um . . . yes . . .”

Vandam heard the two of them enter the room. Wolff said: “What a lovely apartment. Mikis Aristopoulos must pay you well.”

“Oh, I don't work there regularly. He's a distant relation, it's family, I help out.”

“Uncle. He must be your uncle.”

“Oh . . . great-uncle, second cousin, something. He calls me his niece for simplicity.”

“Well. These are for you.”

“Oh, flowers. Thank you.”

Vandam thought: Fuck that.

Wolff said: “May I sit down?”

“Of, course.”

Vandam felt the sofa shift as Wolff lowered his weight onto it. Wolff was a big man. Vandam remembered grappling with him in the alley. He also remembered the knife, and his hand went to the wound on his cheek. He thought: What can I do?

He could jump Wolff now. The spy was here, practically in his hands! They were about the same weight, and evenly matched—except for the knife. Wolff had had the knife that night when he had been dining with Sonja, so presumably he took it everywhere with him, and had it now.

If they fought, and Wolff had the advantage of the knife, Wolff would win. It had happened before, in the alley. Vandam touched his cheek again.

He thought: Why didn't I bring the gun here?

If they fought, and Wolff won, what would happen then? Seeing Vandam in Elene's apartment, Wolff would know she had been trying to trap him. What would he do to her? In Istanbul, in a similar situation, he had slit the girl's throat.

Vandam blinked to shut out the awful image.

Wolff said: “I see you were having a drink before I arrived. May I join you?”

“Of course,” Elene said again. “What would you like?”

“What's that?” Wolff sniffed. “Oh, a little gin would be very nice.”

Vandam thought: That was my drink. Thank God Elene didn't have a drink as well—two glasses would have given the game away. He heard ice clink.

“Cheers!” Wolff said.

“Cheers.”

“You don't seem to like it.”

“The ice has melted.”

Vandam knew why she had made a face when she sipped his drink: it had been straight gin. She was coping so well with the situation, he thought. What did she think he, Vandam, was planning to do? She must have guessed by now where he was hiding. She would be trying desperately not to look in this direction. Poor Elene! Once again she had got more than she bargained for.

Vandam hoped she would be passive, take the line of least resistance and trust him.

Did Wolff still plan to go to the Oasis Restaurant? Perhaps he did. If only I could be sure of that, Vandam thought, I could leave it all to Jakes.

Wolff said: “You seem nervous, Elene. Did I confuse your plans by coming here? If you want to go and finish getting ready, or something—not that you look a whit less than perfect right now—just leave me here with the gin bottle.”

“No, no . . . Well, we did say we'd meet at the restaurant . . .”

“And here I am, altering everything at the last minute again. To be truthful, I'm bored with restaurants, and yet they are, so to speak, the conventional meeting place; so I arrange to have dinner with people, then when the time comes I can't face it, and I think of something else to do.”

So they're not going to the Oasis, Vandam thought. Damn.

Elene said: “What do you want to do?”

“May I surprise you again?”

Vandam thought: Make him tell you!

Elene said: “All right.”

Vandam groaned inwardly. If Wolff would reveal where they were going, Vandam could contact Jakes and have the whole ambush moved to the new venue. Elene was not thinking the right way. It was understandable: she sounded terrified.

Wolff said: “Shall we go?”

“All right.”

The sofa creaked as Wolff got up. Vandam thought: I could go for him now!

Too risky.

He heard them leave the room. He stayed where he was for a moment. He heard Wolff, in the hallway, say: “After you.” Then the front door was slammed shut.

Vandam stood up. He would have to follow them, and take the first available opportunity of calling GHQ and contacting Jakes. Elene did not have a telephone, not many people did in Cairo. Even if she had there was no time now. He went to the front door and listened. He heard nothing. He opened it a fraction: they had gone. He went out, closed the door and hurried along the corridor and down the stairs.

As he stepped out of the building he saw them on the other side of the road. Wolff was holding open a car door for Elene to get in. It was not a taxi: Wolff must have rented, borrowed or stolen a car for the evening. Wolff closed the door on Elene and walked around to the driver's side. Elene looked out of the window and caught Vandam's eye. She stared at him. He looked away from her, afraid to make any kind of gesture in case Wolff should see it.

Vandam walked to his motorcycle, climbed on and started the engine.

Wolff's car pulled away, and Vandam followed.

The city traffic was still heavy. Vandam was able to keep five or six cars between himself and Wolff without risking losing Wolff. It was dusk, but few cars had their lights on.

Vandam wondered where Wolff was going. They were sure to stop somewhere, unless the man intended to drive around all night. If only they would stop someplace where there was a telephone . . .

They headed out of the city, toward Giza. Darkness fell and Wolff illuminated the lights of the car. Vandam left his motorcycle lights off, so that Wolff would not be able to see that he was being followed.

It was a nightmare ride. Even in daylight, in the city, riding a motorcycle was a little hair-raising: the roads were strewn with bumps, potholes and treacherous patches of oil, and Vandam found he had to watch the surface as much as the traffic. The desert road was worse, and yet he now had to drive without lights and keep an eye on the car ahead. Three or four times he almost came off the bike.

He was cold. Not anticipating this ride, he had worn only a short-sleeved uniform shirt, and at speed the wind cut through it. How far was Wolff planning to go?

The pyramids loomed ahead.

Vandam thought: No phone there.

Wolff's car slowed down. They were going to picnic by the pyramids. Vandam cut the motorcycle engine and coasted to a halt. Before Wolff had a chance to get out of the car, Vandam wheeled his bike off the road onto the sand. The desert was not level, except when seen from a distance, and he found a rocky hump behind which to lay down the motorcycle. He lay in the sand beside the hump and watched the car.

Nothing happened.

The car stayed still, its engine off, its interior dark. What were they doing in there? Vandam was seized by jealousy. He told himself not to be stupid—they were eating, that was all. Elene had told him about the last picnic: the smoked salmon, the cold chicken, the champagne. You could not kiss a girl with a mouthful of fish. Still, their fingers would touch as he handed her the wine . . .