World War II Thriller Collection (46 page)

“That's my son and his nanny,” Wolff said.

Vandam took Elene's papers and glanced at them. He wanted to take Wolff by the throat and shake him until his bones rattled.
That's my son and his nanny.
You bastard.

He gave Elene her papers. “No need to wake the child,” he said. He looked at the priest sitting next to Wolff, and took the proffered wallet.

Wolff said: “What's this about, Major?”

Vandam looked at him again, and noticed that he had a fresh scratch on his chin, a long one: perhaps Elene had put up some resistance. “Security, sir,” Vandam replied.

The priest said: “I'm going to Assyut, too.”

“I see,” said Vandam. “To the convent?”

“Indeed. You've heard of it, then.”

“The place where the Holy Family stayed after their sojourn in the desert.”

“Quite. Have you been there?”

“Not yet—perhaps I'll make it this time.”

“I hope so,” said the priest.

Vandam handed back the papers. “Thank you.” He backed away, along the aisle to the next row of seats, and continued to examine papers. When he looked up he met Wolff's eyes. Wolff was watching him expressionlessly. Vandam wondered whether he had done anything suspicious. Next time he looked up, Wolff was staring out of the window again.

What was Elene thinking? She must be wondering what I'm up to, Vandam thought. Perhaps she can guess my intentions. It must be hard for her all the same, to sit still and see me walk by without a word. At least now she knows she's not alone.

What was Wolff thinking? Perhaps he was impatient, or gloating, or frightened, or eager . . . No, he was none of those, Vandam realized; he was bored.

He reached the end of the carriage and examined the last of the papers. He was handing them back, about to retrace his steps along the aisle, when he heard a cry that pierced his heart:

“THAT'S MY DAD!”

He looked up. Billy was running along the aisle, toward him, stumbling, swaying from side to side, bumping against the seats, his arms outstretched.

Beyond Billy, Vandam could see Wolff and Elene standing up, watching; Wolff with intensity, Elene with fear. Vandam opened the door behind him, pretending to take no notice of Billy, and backed through it. Billy came flying through. Vandam slammed the door. He took Billy in his arms.

“It's all right,” Vandam said. “It's all right.”

Wolff would be coming to investigate.

“They took me away!” Billy said. “I missed geography and I was really really scared!”

“It's all right now.” Vandam felt he could not leave Billy now; he would have to keep the boy and kill Wolff, he would have to abandon his deception plan and the radio and the key to the code . . . No, it had to be done, it
had
to be done . . . He fought down his instincts. “Listen,” he said. “I'm here, and I'm watching over you, but I have to catch that man, and I don't want him to know who I am. He's the German spy I'm after, do you understand?”

“Yes, yes . . .”

“Listen. Can you pretend you made a mistake? Can you pretend I'm not your father? Can you go back to him?”

Billy stared, openmouthed. He said nothing but his whole expression said
No, no, no!

Vandam said: “This is a real-life tec story, Billy, and we're in it, you and I. You have to go back to that man, and pretend you made a mistake; but remember, I'll be nearby, and together we'll catch the spy. Is that okay? Is it okay?”

Billy said nothing.

The door opened and Wolff came through.

“What's all this?” Wolff said.

Vandam made his face bland and forced a smile. “He seems to have woken up from a dream and mistaken me for his father. We're the same build, you and I . . . You did say you were his father, didn't you?”

Wolff looked at Billy. “What nonsense!” he said brusquely. “Come back to your seat at once.”

Billy stood still.

Vandam put a hand on Billy's shoulder. “Come on, young man,” he said. “Let's go and win the war.”

The old catchphrase did the trick. Billy gave a brave grin. “I'm sorry, sir,” he said. “I must have been dreaming.”

Vandam felt as though his heart would break.

Billy turned away and went back inside the coach. Wolff went after him, and Vandam followed. As they walked along the aisle the train slowed down. Vandam realized they were already approaching the next station, where his motorcycle would be waiting. Billy reached his seat and sat down. Elene was staring at Vandam uncomprehendingly. Billy touched her arm and said: “It's okay, I made a mistake, I must have been dreaming.” She looked at Billy, then at Vandam, and a strange light came into her eyes: she seemed on the point of tears.

Vandam did not want to walk past them. He wanted to sit down, to talk, to do anything to prolong the time he spent with them. Outside the train windows, another dusty little town appeared. Vandam yielded to temptation and paused at the carriage door. “Have a good trip,” he said to Billy.

“Thank you, sir.”

Vandam went out.

The train pulled into the station and stopped. Vandam got off and walked forward along the platform a little way. He stood in the shade of an awning and waited. Nobody else got off, but two or three people boarded the economy coaches. There was a whistle, and the train began to move. Vandam's eye was fixed on the window which he knew to be next to Billy's seat. As the window passed him, he saw Billy's face. Billy raised his hand in a little wave. Vandam waved back, and the face was gone.

Vandam realized he was trembling all over.

He watched the train recede into the hazy distance. When it was almost out of sight he left the station. There outside was his motorcycle, with the young policeman from the last town sitting astride it explaining its mysteries to a small crowd of admirers. Vandam gave him the other half of the pound note. The young man saluted.

Vandam climbed on the motorcycle and started it. He did not know how the policeman was going to get home, and he did not care. He drove out of town on the road south. The sun had passed its zenith, but the heat was still terrific.

Soon Vandam passed the train. He would reach Assyut thirty or forty minutes ahead of it, he calculated. Captain Newman would be there to meet him. Vandam knew in outline what he was going to do thereafter, but the details would have to be improvised as he went along.

He pulled ahead of the train which carried Billy and Elene, the only people he loved. He explained to himself again that he had done the right thing, the best thing for everyone, the best thing for Billy; but in the back of his mind a voice said: Cruel, cruel, cruel.

THE TRAIN ENTERED THE STATION AND STOPPED. ELENE SAW A SIGN WHICH SAID, in Arabic and English, ASSYUT. She realized with a shock that they had arrived.

It had been an enormous relief to see Vandam's kind, worried face on the train. For a while she had been euphoric: surely, she had felt, it was all over. She had watched his pantomime with the papers, expecting him at any moment to pull a gun, reveal his identity, or attack Wolff. Gradually she had realized that it would not be that simple. She had been astonished, and rather horrified, at the icy nerve with which Vandam had sent his own son back to Wolff; and the courage of Billy himself had seemed incredible. Her spirits had plunged farther when she saw Vandam on the station platform, waving as the train pulled out. What game was he playing?

Of course, the
Rebecca
code was still on his mind. He must have some scheme to rescue her and Billy and also get the key to the code. She wished she knew how. Fortunately Billy did not seem to be troubled by such thoughts: his father had the situation under control, and apparently the boy did not even entertain the idea that his father's schemes could fail. He had perked up, taking an interest in the countryside through which the train was passing, and had even asked Wolff where he got his knife. Elene wished she had as much faith in William Vandam.

Wolff was also in good spirits. The incident with Billy had scared him, and he had looked at Vandam with hostility and anxiety; but he seemed reassured when Vandam got off the train. After that his mood had oscillated between boredom and nervous excitement, and now, arriving in Assyut, the excitement became dominant. Some kind of change had occurred in Wolff in the last twenty-four hours, she thought. When she first met him he had been a very poised, suave man. His face had rarely shown any spontaneous emotion other than a faint arrogance, his features had been generally rather still, his movements had been almost languid. Now all that had gone. He fidgeted, he looked about him restlessly, and every few seconds the corner of his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly, as if he were about to grin, or perhaps to grimace, at his thoughts. The poise which had once seemed to be part of his deepest nature now turned out to be a cracked façade. She guessed this was because his fight with Vandam had become vicious. What had begun as a deadly game had turned into a deadly battle. It was curious that Wolff, the ruthless one, was getting desperate while Vandam just got cooler.

Elene thought: Just so long as he doesn't get too damn cool.

Wolff stood up and took his case from the luggage rack. Elene and Billy followed him from the train and onto the platform. This town was bigger and busier than the others they had passed through, and the station was crowded. As they stepped down from the train they were jostled by people trying to get on. Wolff, a head higher than most of the people, looked around for the exit, spotted it, and began to carve a path through the throng. Suddenly a dirty boy in bare feet and green striped pajamas snatched Wolff's case, shouting: “I get taxi! I get taxi!” Wolff would not let go of the case, but neither would the boy. Wolff gave a good-humored shrug, touched with embarrassment, and let the boy pull him to the gate.

They showed their tickets and went out into the square. It was late afternoon, but here in the south the sun was still very hot. The square was lined with quite tall buildings, one of them called the Grand Hotel. Outside the station was a row of horse-drawn cabs. Elene looked around, half expecting a detachment of soldiery ready to arrest Wolff. There was no sign of Vandam. Wolff told the Arab boy: “Motor taxi, I want a motor taxi.” There was one such car, an old Morris parked a few yards behind the horse cabs. The boy led them to it.

“Get in the front,” Wolff told Elene. He gave the boy a coin and got into the back of the car with Billy. The driver wore dark glasses and an Arab headdress to keep the sun off. “Go south, toward the convent,” Wolff told the driver in Arabic.

“Okay,” the driver said.

Elene's heart missed a beat. She knew that voice. She stared at the driver. It was Vandam.

Vandam drove away from the station, thinking: So far, so good—except for the Arabic. It had not occurred to him that Wolff would speak to a taxi driver in Arabic. Vandam's knowledge of the language was rudimentary, but he was able to give—and therefore to understand—directions. He could reply in monosyllables, or grunts, or even in English, for those Arabs who spoke a little English were always keen to use it, even when addressed by a European in Arabic. He would be all right as long as Wolff did not want to discuss the weather and the crops.

Captain Newman had come through with everything Vandam had asked for, including discretion. He had even loaned Vandam his revolver, a six-shot Enfield .380 which was now in the pocket of Vandam's trousers beneath his borrowed galabiya. While waiting for the train Vandam had studied Newman's map of Assyut and the surrounding area, so he had some idea of how to find the southbound road out of the city. He drove through the souk, honking his horn more or less continually in the Egyptian fashion, steering dangerously close to the great wooden wheels of the carts, nudging sheep out of the way with his fenders. From the buildings on either side shops, cafés and workshops spilled out into the street. The unpaved road was surfaced with dust, rubbish and dung. Glancing into his rear-view mirror Vandam saw that four or five children were riding his back bumper.

Wolff said something, and this time Vandam did not understand. He pretended not to have heard. Wolff repeated it. Vandam caught the word for petrol. Wolff was pointing to a garage. Vandam tapped the gauge on the dashboard, which showed a full tank. “Kifaya,” he said. “Enough.” Wolff seemed to accept that.

Pretending to adjust his mirror, Vandam stole a glance at Billy, wondering if he had recognized his father. Billy was staring at the back of Vandam's head with an expression of delight. Vandam thought: Don't give the game away, for God's sake!

They left the town behind and headed south on a straight desert road. On their left were the irrigated fields and groves of trees; on their right, the wall of granite cliffs, colored beige by a layer of dusty sand. The atmosphere in the car was peculiar. Vandam could sense Elene's tension, Billy's euphoria and Wolff's impatience. He himself was very edgy. How much of all that was getting through to Wolff? The spy needed only to take one good look at the taxi driver to realize he was the man who had inspected papers on the train. Vandam hoped Wolff was preoccupied with thoughts of his radio.