Glenn Meade (30 page)

'The same to you. And I never
thought I'd hear myself saying that, Haider. But it seems we're all going to
need more than luck.'

Haider was unmoved. 'You're still
a callous bastard, Kleist.'

Kleist grinned. 'The next time we
meet could well be in hell.

I U make sure to keep the fires
stoked and ready.’

Achmed came back. 'My son's
helping your friend put your things in the truck,' he said to Kleist. 'If you
come with me I'll give you a couple of cans of water and some food.'

'Did you radio
Berlin
when we didn't make the rendezvous?'

Haider asked.

Achmed nodded. 'When I returned
from the airfield. I told them you didn't show up.'

'Send off another signal before
you leave. Explain what happened, just the barest details, and that we're doing
our best to carry on.' Haider slipped the guidebook into his pocket. 'I'll keep
the Baedeker, if you don't mind.'

'As you wish.'

At that moment the kitchen door
was flung open and Rachel stood there, grim-faced. 'I think you'd better come
upstairs.'

When he saw the two bodies, Weaver
wanted to throw up.

Sanson came into the cabin behind
him. 'Jesus Christ.'

When Weaver had recovered, he
knelt and examined the corpses. 'They're both still warm.'

The cabin was in disarray, the
floor scattered with debris. He moved up to the cockpit with Sanson. The
co-pilot was still strapped into his seat, dressed in a jump suit. His face was
grotesque in death, and flies buzzed around a gaping wound in his side.

Sanson searched through the dead
man's clothes and found a set of dog tags around his neck and identity papers
in one of his pockets.

'According to these, he's an
American flight lieutenant.'

Weaver examined the papers. They
looked legitimate. He noticed that a trail of blood led from the pilot's seat
out to the cabin. 'It looks like someone was badly injured.'

They both stepped out into the sun
again. The lieutenant and the driver dismounted and came over. 'Is there
something wrong, sir?'

Sanson was grave as he jerked a
thumb. 'Take a look inside.'

When they reappeared moments
later, the lieutenant said solemnly, 'The two men in the cabin look like they
might be yours, sir. They're wearing British army underwear.'

'I'm well aware of that,' Sanson
replied bitterly. 'Take a walk around outside, see what you can find.’

'Yes, sir.'

While the lieutenant searched
around the wreckage, Sanson lit a cigarette. 'They must be cold-blooded
bastards, whoever shot those lads.' His voice was thick with rage. 'There's no
question we're dealing with German infiltrators. The copilot's papers might
look in order, but you can bet they're excellent forgeries. Well, don't just
stand there, Weaver. Have a look around. See if you can find anything.'

Sanson kicked among the debris,
and Weaver went to look at the tracks in the sand he'd noticed earlier. They
led towards the aircraft and appeared to have been made by a single vehicle,
but the sand was too dry and powdery for any footprints to have been left
behind. Sanson came over and Weaver pointed to the tracks.

'I'll take a guess at what
happened. The two men inside spotted the wreckage and came to investigate. They
were shot for their trouble and their uniforms and vehicle stolen.'

Sanson nodded. 'Which means we're
dealing with at least two men, probably more. And one's wounded - the pilot by
the looks of it.'

He called the lieutenant over and
they consulted the map.

'There aren't that many villages
within a twenty-mile radius,' the lieutenant explained. 'Maybe half a dozen at
most.'

'Have any of them got a doctor or
a hospital?'

'The nearest hospital is in Alex.
But there's the army base at Amiriya, which has a doctor, I believe. And
there's probably another somewhere in the area who looks after the local
villages.'

'How far's Amiriya?'

'About twenty miles, perhaps
less.'

'Get them on the radio and explain
the situation. Find out if anyone sought medical treatment there in the last
few hours, civilian or military. And tell them we need as many men as they have
available to check the villages in the area. I want to know if any local doctor
or anyone with medical knowledge was asked to treat a wounded patient this
morning, especially someone in uniform. Then call up HQ. I want checkpoints on
all roads leading into Alex. We're looking for a stolen vehicle, most likely a
military staff car or Jeep, with a wounded passenger on board.

Number of occupants unknown, but
at least two, and they're probably wearing stolen military uniforms. They're
suspected enemy infiltrators, armed and highly dangerous.'

'Yes, sir.'

'And find out if any patrols or
military personnel have gone missing in the area.'

The lieutenant ran back to the
Jeep.

'We'll make a start on the nearest
villages ourselves,' Sanson told Weaver. 'In this kind of terrain, they haven't
got many places in which to hide. We should find them quickly enough.

Unless they've already made it to
Alex, in which case we'll have our work cut out. What was the name of the
lieutenant's CO back at Alex HQ?'

'Captain Myers.'

'One of us had better go back and
oversee the search from that end, in case we've no luck here.' He nodded to the
wrecked fuselage. 'Let's take another look inside, in case we missed anything.'

They moved into the cabin again.
This time, Weaver noticed that the aircraft's first-aid kit was missing from
its recess, there was more blood on the floor in front of the pilot's seat, and
one of the rudder pedals was mangled. As he came back into the cabin, he caught
sight of a crumpled white scarf discarded on the floor. He picked it up and saw
that the cotton was stained dark with patches of blood.

Sanson came over. 'Find anything,
Weaver?'

He held up the scarf.

When they reached the bedroom,
Haider saw that the sheets were drenched crimson and the old woman was standing
over Falconi, desperately trying to stem a faucet of blood from his injured
leg, but without success. The woman looked totally flustered.

'What the hell's going on?' Haider
demanded.

'She doesn't know what she's
doing,' Rachel said. 'She's only made the bleeding worse, and now it won't
stop.'

'Get away from him,' Haider
ordered the woman in Arabic.

'It wasn't my fault,' she
protested, pointing an accusing finger at Rachel. 'She didn't do as I told her.
She's to blame if he dies.'

'Don't say I didn't warn you,'
Achmed said. 'The old crone's a fool. You can be sure it was her fault.' He
jerked a thumb at his wife. 'Take the stupid bitch downstairs.'

Falconi seemed to become conscious
just then, his eyes opening wide, sweat glistening on his forehead, and he gave
a low moan. Haider saw to his horror that an artery had opened in Falconi's leg
and he was rapidly bleeding to death.

'Give me a towel. Quick!'

Rachel handed one over and felt
for Falconi's pulse, while Haider applied a tourniquet again, tight above the
knee. The bleeding diminished. 'You'd better fetch that doctor,' he told
Achmed. 'We'll just have to worry about the consequences later.'

'But your friends need me to-'

'Get going, now!'

'Jack-'

Haider turned, saw Rachel let go
of Falconi's hand as his head rolled to one side. 'I'm afraid it's too late.
He's dead.'

They were alone downstairs in the
kitchen. Haider lit a cigarette, his hands trembling slightly. 'He was a good
man, Vito. One of the best I knew.'

'Are you all right?' Rachel asked.

He nodded, an edge of bitterness
in his voice. 'It just seems such a bloody waste, this whole damned war. One
death after another, and for what?'

'I - I'm sorry. I only did as the
old woman" told me. She seemed completely lost.'

'I'm not blaming you. I'm sure you
did your best.' He explained their change of plan. 'We're going to try to make
it to Alex alone, just the two of us. Pray we have enough of a head start and
they're not searching for us already.'

Achmed came into the room,
followed by Kleist and Doring.

'The old crone's gone, blaming
everyone but herself. And the mood she's in, you can bet she'll blather
everything to the village.'

'It's probably for the best the
Italian's dead,' Kleist remarked.

'It makes things less
complicated.'

Haider gave him a bitter look, but
ignored the comment and said to Achmed, 'Did you send off the signal?'

'Just now. But in daytime, the
signal strength is never reliable. Let's hope
Berlin
gets the message.'

'Repeat the transmission after you
return, and again tonight, to be absolutely certain. What about my comrade's
body?'

'We can bury him in the desert on
our way.'

Haider said to Kleist, 'Make it
reasonably decent. Don't leave him for the vultures, you hear me?' He crushed
out his cigarette.

'We'd better get going.'

They went upstairs to remove
Falconi's body, wrapping him in a couple of filthy grey blankets, then Achmed
led them out to the back yard. When they put the body into the back of the
truck, Achmed's son appeared and opened the yard gates, and Haider and Rachel
climbed into the Jeep.

Achmed got behind the wheel of the
Fiat, beside Kleist and Doring, then leaned out of the driver's window and gave
a wave to Haider. 'Allah go with you, my friends.'

Haider waved back, started the
Jeep, and he and Rachel drove out through the gates.

Achmed watched them disappear in a
flurry of dust and spat out of the window. You poor fools, he thought, None of
you has a hope in hell.

'Well, what are you waiting for?'
Kleist jerked his elbow into the Arab's ribs. 'Move!'

Achmed started the Fiat and pulled
out into the street.

Two thousand miles away that
afternoon, in the forested splendour of the Austrian Alps, a heated meeting was
under way in Hitler's mountain retreat, the Eagle's Lair, attended by a
half-dozen Wehrmacht field marshals, two Kriegsmarine admirals, and Hermann
Goering, the chief of the Luftwaffe. All had arrived specially from
Berlin
and had the
unpleasant task of reporting bad news.

They were in the large,
wood-panelled room used for such meetings. The scene out over the
Tyrol
was beautiful, clear skies and a crisp autumn day,
but everyone's mind was on anything but the splendid view. Field Marshal Gerd
von Rundstedt, Commander-in-Chief of the German Army in the West, had been the
last to speak, and as he summarized the Wehrmacht reports he deliberately
avoided looking at Hitler.

'To outline the main points - our
armies are fighting a vigorous delaying action on the eastern front, west of
the River Dnieper, and also south of
Rome
.'
He gestured with a pointer to the maps, laid out on the large baize table. 'I
can also report that partisan activity in
France
,
Norway
,
Holland
and the Balkans is posing
ever-increasing problems.' He looked across the table at Hitler, whose face was
a mask of displeasure. 'We can overcome all these difficulties, of course, mein
Fiihrer,' von Rundstedt added quickly. 'But it's really a question of manpower
and supplies. The Allies are destroying our supply lines with increasing
regularity, by air and sea. Our resources are stretched to the limit.'

'You say delaying action when you
mean retreat. Our armies are retreating.'

Von Rundstedt saw Hitler's
unforgiving stare and flinched.

'Well… quite so, mein Fiihrer,
but-'

Hitler put up a hand to silence
him, before glaring over at the Kriegsmarine admirals, accusation in his voice.
'Sixty Uboats lost in the last four months. I believe that's a record, is it
not?'

'Again, a question of manpower and
supplies, mein Führer,' one of the admirals replied nervously. 'We're simply becoming
outnumbered since the Americans entered the war. Even our vessels undergoing
repairs are being bombed in the dockyards.'

Hitler stood there, his arms
folded, his face a mask of contempt, as his gaze swiveled to Goering. 'And what
does the Air Marshal have to say about all this? Where are the daring raids he
threatened over
Britain
?
The ring of steel he promised in the skies around
Germany
? Or does the Luftwaffe even
bother to fly these days?'

Goering, his overweight figure
looking ridiculous in his white uniform, cleared his throat. 'We do our best,
mein Fuhrer. But the admiral is right. The opposing forces are becoming
overwhelming. Our resources are stretched so thinly we cannot hope to command
the skies.' He tried desperately to strike a note of optimism. 'But soon we
will have our new V-l rockets and our jet fighters - I'm certain they will give
us the advantage.'

'We are concerned with the
present, not six months from now,' Hitler snorted, brushing aside Gearing's
reply with a contemptuous wave of his hand. 'Excuses. All of you give me
excuses. You say you do your best, but your best isn't good enough.' His voice
rose hysterically as he spat the words with venom. 'Fools! With such
incompetence, what hope do we have if the Allies launch their invasion in the
west? Next time you come here I don't want feeble answers, I want solutions, is
that clear? Now go! You're dismissed, all of you!’

When the humiliated senior
officers shuffled out of the room, Hitler collapsed moodily into a leather armchair.
Moments later his SS aide entered and snapped to attention.

'Reichsfiihrer Himmler and General
Schellenberg are here to see you urgently, mein Führer.'

Hitler's face was ashen with fury.
'No doubt with more bad news.' He stood, wiped spittle from his lips. 'Very
well, send them in.'

Himmler entered, followed by
Schellenberg. Both men gave the Nazi salute, and Hitler waved for them to be
seated.

'I see you still can't manage to
wipe that grin off your face, Walter,' Hitler commented. 'I never quite know
whether you come bearing good news or bad.'

'A terrible affliction, mein Führer.'
Schellenberg's smile widened despite himself. 'But the ladies seem to find it
attractive.'

Hitler didn't look amused, still
in a foul mood as he turned his attention to Himmler.

'Well, what is it you wish to
discuss?'

'Mein Fuhrer, we have news
concerning Operation Sphinx.'

Hitler brightened a little, the
dark clouds temporarily forgotten.

'Our one hope in this entire mess.
Well, is it good news you bring, or like my generals have you come with bad
tidings? I warn you, I'm in no mood for the latter.'

Himmler delicately adjusted the
pince-nez glasses on the bridge of his nose. 'The aircraft carrying our agents
was intercepted and attacked by an Allied fighter, before crashing on Egyptian
soil early this morning.'

Hitler's face darkened, but
Himmler carried on quickly, anxious to dispel the gloom.

'However, as we prepared to depart
Berlin
to
bring you word, we received another signal from our agent in Abu Sammar. It
appears that the flight crew were killed. But Haider and the others survived
without injury and managed to make contact.'

Hitler stood abruptly, paced the
room with growing anger.

'More disaster! Does it ever end?’

'Perhaps not entirely a disaster,
mein Fiihrer,' Himmler suggested. 'It seems Haider is intent on proceeding with
the operation.'

Hitler turned on him. 'And what
about the Allies? They're not fools. Once they discover what's happened, no doubt
they'll do their utmost to hunt our people down.'

'Even so,' Himmler offered
reassuringly, 'that assumes they would be immediately aware of our exact
intentions, something which is highly unlikely. We used an American Dakota,
which should help confuse matters for a time - it's not unknown for the Allies
to shoot down their own aircraft in error, no more than it is for us. And if
Haider is intent on carrying on, he's obviously convinced there's still a
chance he can reach
Cairo
.'

Hitler sighed, crossed to the
panoramic window. 'It doesn't augur well and I still don't like it. Have you
informed Canaris?'

'He's aware of the loss of the
aircraft, but not the latest news.

Walther will let him know when we
return to
Berlin
.'

Hitler's face twisted in contempt.
'I don't trust the man. I'm convinced he's spreading rumours behind my back,
that the war is lost and I'm insane. If he is, he'll pay dearly.'

He looked over at Schellenberg.
'Still, this man Haider of his seems an able fellow.'

'One of the Abwehr's best, and an
excellent choice for our purposes. If anyone can accomplish what we intend,
Haider's the one to do it.'

'And what news of the Jew,
Roosevelt?'

'It's likely he'll arrive in
Cairo
within the next
twenty-four hours. Our agent in Oran reliably reported that the Iowa docked off
the Algerian coast just after oh seven hundred hours, yesterday morning.'» 'And
yet our U-boats failed to destroy the vessel en route,' Hitler said bitterly.

Himmler had already broken the news
of that particular failure the previous evening.

'Our wolf packs tried repeatedly
to intercept the
Iowa
,
mein Fiihrer. But the convoy was so heavily armed and altered course so
frequently it proved impossible to get anywhere near the vessel.’

Hitler stood at the broad window
for several moments, looking out at the mountains, hands clasped behind his
back, rocking up and down on the balls of his feet, as if considering the
situation. After a while he turned to Himmler. 'So, Sphinx, such as it is, remains
our last hope.'

'At the best of times, a mission
like this is bound to be fraught with difficulties. And the problems we've
encountered don't help matters. But I'm convinced there's still a reasonable
chance Haider can achieve his objective.'

Hitler banged a fist into his open
palm and his voice rose to a scream. 'A reasonable chance isn't good enough. If
the Allied invasion is agreed, then the war is lost. Roosevelt's death would
give
Germany
the most precious advantage of all - time. It will give our industry a full
year. With that year we can win the war.

That is why this mission can't
fail. I want immediate reports from now on - any information concerning
Sphinx's progress, I'm to be informed at once.'

'With respect, mein Fiihrer,' Schellenberg
interrupted quietly, 'even if Haider disappoints us, we may still have an ace
up our sleeve.'

Hitler wiped spittle from his lips
and looked across knowingly.

'And you'd better pray to God this
ace of yours works.

Dismissed.'

El Hauwariya,

Haider halted the Jeep outside the
whitewashed railway station.

They hadn't encountered any
checkpoints during the fifty minute trip across the desert, and as they drove
into El Hauwariya no one seemed to pay them much attention. The landscape
around was flat and endless, the desert on three sides, the turquoise
Mediterranean
in the very far distance. The village was
larger and more bustling than Abu Sammar, but just as shabby, with badly paved
roads and a couple of small decrepit hotels, and there was a lively camel
market in progress in the crowded main square as they drove past. The station
looked quiet enough, but as Haider pulled up he noticed a military police Jeep
parked further along the kerb. 'Not very promising.

You'd better wait here while I
have a look.'

'Can't I go with you?'

'Best not, in case there's
trouble. Besides, an army officer on his own shouldn't attract much attention,
but with a pretty woman on his arm people are bound to notice.' He smiled and
stepped out of the driver's seat, then adjusted the belt of his holstered
revolver. 'Try not to look too worried. And if anyone asks, tell them your
boyfriend's gone inside.'

The station was busy, dozens of
people waiting around on the platform, mostly Arab peasants in worn djellabas,
but as Haider started to approach the ticket desk window, he saw two armed
British military policemen, with red hat bands and white ankle leggings,
standing off to one side. One of them, a corporal, carried a Sten gun. The
sergeant with him was scrutinising passengers as they passed through the ticket
barrier. Haider pretended to check a time table pasted on the wall, but before
he had a chance to leave, the sergeant came over and saluted.

'Morning, sir. May I enquire if
you're travelling?'

Haider frowned, returned the
salute, and mimicked a perfect upper-class English accent. 'Why, Sergeant?
Whatever's the matter?'

The man looked him up and down,
reluctant to offer an explanation. 'Well, Sergeant, I asked you a question.'

'There's been an incident not far
from here, sir,' the sergeant said. 'A couple of British soldiers were murdered
by enemy agents.'

'Good Lord.' Haider noticed the
second MP glance over in his direction as he checked the papers of an Arab
couple passing through the ticket barrier.

'I'm afraid you still didn't
answer my question, sir,' the sergeant persisted. 'Are you travelling?'

Haider shook his head. 'Afraid
not. I'm meeting someone.

But I think I got the damned times
mixed up. It's the next train.’

'I'm sorry, sir, but I'll still
have to ask to see your papers.'

'Of course, I quite understand.'
Haider fished in his pocket, pretending to look for his ID, but really trying
to gauge whether he could manage to shoot both MPs if it came to it. 'Do you
know the names of the two chaps who were killed? I might have known them.'

'I'm afraid not yet, sir. But I'm
sure we will, soon enough.'

Haider presented his ID, and
before the sergeant could get a thorough look at the photograph, he held out
his hand for him to give it back. The man made no move to return the document.
He looked up, the watchful eyes under the peaked cap staring into Haider's
face. 'Captain Jameson, is it, sir?'

'Of course.'

'There's a problem with this ID.'

Haider felt his heart sink. 'What
sort of problem?'

'It's out of date by a week, sir.'
The sergeant waited for an explanation.

Haider promptly took back the ID
and examined it. 'You're absolutely right. You've got me there, I'm afraid.
Must have slipped my mind. What can I say?'