Glenn Meade (47 page)

Haider followed him down, not
knowing what to expect, his heart pounding as he eased off his holster flap,
ready to shoot the man if he had to. When they reached the lobby, the general
went directly to the security desk, as the officer behind it put down a field
telephone.

'Well, are we in business yet,
Major?' the general asked brusquely.

'On their way, sir. They've just
arrived at the gate.'

The general beckoned Haider with a
finger. 'Follow me, Kowalski.'

Haider anxiously followed the
general out through the lobby and down the short flight of entrance steps. When
the general appeared, the area in front of the hotel buzzed with a sudden
activity, an almost palpable electricity in the air, the white helmeted
sentries bracing themselves, the tank crews jumping down from their turrets and
standing to attention.

Moments later a black Packard and
two Ford sedans swept up the driveway. The general checked his uniform,
adjusted his cap, and said to Haider, 'Captain, have a couple of the men get
the ramp over here and hold it in place. And let's do it very smartly, mind.'

But Haider was barely listening, a
strange excitement flooding his veins. As the cavalcade came closer, he could
hardly believe what he saw. In the rear of the middle car was President
Franklin Delano Roosevelt, wearing a pale linen suit, a blanket draped over his
legs, looking frail and exhausted.

'Captain Kowalski!' The general
barked aloud as the cars moved ever closer. 'Didn't you hear my order, man? Get
that damned ramp securely in place, on the double!'

For a moment, Haider was totally
lost, panic almost setting in, until he suddenly noticed a sloping wooden
contraption on wheels off to his left, two MPs already reacting to the
general's command as they smartly wheeled it into place in front of the steps.
Haider joined them in an instant, relieved that the soldiers seemed to know
exactly what they were doing. 'You heard the general. On the double.'

'Sure, Captain,' one of the men
said drily, as if he were dealing with an idiot superior. 'We got it under
control.'

The general skewered Haider with a
stare. 'Christ almighty, Kowalski. Does it always take you an age to issue a
simple instruction?'

Haider didn't have a chance to
reply, because the ramp was barely in place on the front steps before the
vehicles halted on the gravel. Several young men in suits tumbled out of the
Packard, obviously Secret Service agents, armed with Thompson submachine-guns
and shotguns, as a host of senior uniformed officers carrying briefcases
climbed out of the front and rear cars. With military precision, a number of
the Secret Service men took up positions, and two of them began helping the
President out of the car. Another agent already had the boot open, the
wheelchair appeared, and
Roosevelt
was helped
in, his thin, metal-braced legs lifted into place.

The general saluted. 'Mr
President, sir.'

Haider watched as the Secret
Service men pushed the President's chair smartly up the ramp. When they got to
the top, the wheelchair bumped as it moved on to level ground, and the blanket
slipped from Roosevelt's legs. One of the Secret Service aides started to make
a grab for it, but without thinking Haider reached across and beat him to it.
He handed it back to the aide, who tucked the blanket around the President's
legs.

When it was done, Haider found
himself staring directly into Roosevelt's face. 'That's most kind of you,
Captain,' the President said charmingly.

'Not at all, sir.'

'What's your name, son?'

'Kowalski, sir.'

'Captain Kowalski, I thank you for
your courtesy.'

Haider saluted. 'My pleasure, Mr
President, sir.'

The President's party proceeded
upstairs, four Secret Service men lifting Roosevelt's wheelchair between them,
two on either side, and Haider stood watching, almost in a trance.

The general came over, still
riled, and whispered fiercely under his breath. 'Well, Kowalski, I'm still
waiting for an explanation.

You took your time getting that
ramp into place. What in the hell got into you?'

Haider snapped out of his reverie.
'My - my apologies, sir.

But to tell the truth, it's the
first time I've seen the President in the flesh. I guess I was kind of
awestruck.'

The general appeared to soften,
gave him a forgiving look, then turned to stare at his commander-in-chief being
carried up the staircase. There was real emotion in his voice. 'And well you
should be. Goddammit, but every time I see that pitiful sight I want to weep.
For a man who spends most of his life in constant agony, you'll never hear a
single word of complaint. You know something, Kowalski? If half the men under
my command were as courageous, we'd have won this damned war long ago.'

'Yes, sir.' Haider saw his chance,
said to the general casually, 'Will Prime Minister Churchill be returning
tonight, sir?'

The general raised an eye and
laughed. 'Where in tarnation have you been, Captain? Don't you know the man's a
night owl? He's attending a party in
Cairo
.
At a guess, we'll be lucky to see his face before dawn.'

'Of course, sir.'

'That'll be all, Kowalski.
Dismissed. And try to keep your wits about you in future.' Haider saluted,
watched as the general followed the President's party upstairs. When it reached
the top, the Secret Service men put down the wheelchair, and he had a perfect
view of the back of
Roosevelt
's head. A cold
sweat broke out on Haider's face, and he was almost smothered by a powerful
anger. Ten yards away was the man ultimately responsible for maiming his son
and killing his father, and for a moment he stood there, teetering on the
brink, one hand resting on his holster flap.

Then the party disappeared
upstairs. Without regard for his own safety, Haider followed, all reason
evaporated, feeling his anger swell as he bounded up the steps two at a time.
When he reached the top, he was just in time to see
Roosevelt
being wheeled down a corridor, towards the door with the MPs outside. As the
Secret Service men began to move the President inside, a gap opened among the
clutter of aides, and Haider was presented with a clear shot.

One bullet and it would be over.

He casually opened his holster
flap, mesmerised by the situation, but then cold reason took hold. 'Damn it,
Haider,' he told himself. 'You must be mad.'

He stood there, unable to decide
if it was conscience about shooting a man in a wheelchair pricking him, or the
simple fact that if he fired he'd be committing certain suicide.

Suddenly one of the Secret Service
men looked back, and their eyes locked. Haider caught the cold stare, offered
the man a salute, then moved off quickly, the spell broken but his anger
undiminished, as he made his way back downstairs towards the kitchen.

Twenty minutes later he crawled
out of the tomb, Kleist behind him. They had both changed out of uniform, and
Deacon and Rachel looked relieved.

'Jack - thank God you're back.'
She moved into his arms, and Haider said, 'You'd better get back to the car.
We've overstayed our welcome here as it is. I'll be along in a moment.

Kleist, take her back. We'll leave
the rest of the tools and lamps here for now.'

Kleist helped her climb up out of
the tomb recess, and then they were gone into the darkness.

'For a while there I was worried
you "wouldn't make it back.'

Deacon dabbed his brow with a
handkerchief. 'What kept you?

You've been gone over an hour.'

Haider busied himself stashing the
remaining tools and lamps in the mouth of the shaft.

'There was work to be done. We had
to open up the tunnel exit.'

'Well, what's the verdict?' Deacon
asked expectantly.

When Haider had finished hiding
the equipment, he told him everything. Deacon's amazement was obvious. 'You
actually saw the great man?'

'He was as close to me as you are.
Not only that, I know exactly where he's being quartered.'

'Excellent!' Deacon radiated
excitement. 'You've excelled yourself, Major. Well done.'

'Save the congratulations. It's
not over yet. We'll have our work cut out widening the tomb shafts and the
exit. That's solid rock we're talking about.'

'Is there a risk somebody might
spot the opening you made?'

'It's somewhat protected, and in a
hollow, but I took the precaution of covering it over with some bushes as best
I could when I climbed back into the shaft.'

'Whatever extra tools you need, I
can assure you you'll have them.' Deacon's face clouded. 'Such a pity about
that pig Churchill. You think there's a chance he might return?'

'The general didn't seem to hold
out much hope. Apparently, old Winston likes his socialising and late nights.'

'So I've heard, though what a
triumph it would be to get both. Still, at least we definitely have the main
target in our sights. And with Churchill out of the way, we'll have to
intensify our efforts to get
Roosevelt
. But
there's a more pressing problem, or have you forgotten about Salter's
ultimatum?

Even if Colonel Skorzeny and his
men manage to land safely, without the trucks we've no way of transporting them
from the airfield to here.'

Haider smiled. 'Ah, now there I
may have an idea. A little bit of deception that just might do the trick. If
Salter wants a piece of the action perhaps we shouldn't disappoint him.'

'What do you mean?'

'Can you arrange for us to meet
him within the next couple of hours? Somewhere safe, obviously, where there's
no risk of having to go anywhere near a checkpoint.'

'I think so.' Deacon's eyebrows
furrowed. 'But what's the idea?'

Haider explained, and when he had
finished, Deacon looked at him in amazement, then rubbed his hands and laughed.
'You know, that's quite brilliant, Major. Simple, but brilliant. I wonder why I
didn't think of it myself. You're a genius.'

'Hardly. But if it works, it might
just solve our problems.'

'There's just one other thing that
bothers me. How do our paratroops get safely across the lawns and into the
hotel building?

Not the way you got in, surely?
Granted, Skorzeny's men will be wearing American uniforms, but after your
little foray into the hotel, they'll be checking papers at the kitchen
entrance, like you told them to.'

Haider nodded. 'True enough, but
on the way back to the tunnel I took the time to count off the rooms on the
first floor - it appears the one Roosevelt's staying in has a large balcony
area.

It could prove a direct way of
entering his quarters, if the guards in the immediate area could be silenced
somehow. After that, a full-frontal assault on the room might be the best
course of action, swift and brutal, the kind of thing Skorzeny excels at. But
that's up to the colonel to decide, not me, and no doubt he'll have his own
ideas after I fill him in on the situation once he lands. The main thing is
we've discovered exactly where
Roosevelt
is
located. Not only that, we have a secure way of entering the grounds. All in
all, a good night's work.'

Deacon smiled in the darkness.
'You know, I'm even beginning to think we might actually have a chance of
pulling this off. Assuming we can solve the tricky problem of Salter, when do
we signal
Berlin
to send in Skorzeny's troops?'

Haider got a foothold in one of
the limestone blocks, was about to climb out of the recess when he looked back
solemnly.

'I think we can safely assume
Roosevelt has retired for the evening. We just may get lucky and Churchill will
return, but as you rightly say, at least we've got our main target in our
sights, so from now on Roosevelt's our priority. And all things considered, the
Allies are already on our backs, which means we've got to take whatever
opportunity we've got and move fast. So it's really got to be tonight, don't
you agree?'

Baldy Reed lay naked on the bed,
watching appreciatively as the young Arab girl undressed in front of him. She
was no more than eighteen, with large breasts and a full figure, one of the
best the brothel near the Rameses station could offer. He grinned in
anticipation of the pleasure to come, finished smoking and stubbed his
cigarette out in the beer bottle by the bed. 'Get a move on, darling. I haven't
got all bleeding night.'

The girl finished undressing, came
over to lie beside him.

Reed had started to run his hands
over her breasts when there was a knock on the door. 'Who the fuck is that?'

The girl looked bewildered, and
Reed got off the bed angrily. 'A man can't even dip his wick in bloody peace.'
As he crossed the room to open the door, it burst in on its hinges and a couple
of uniforms barged in.

'Baldy, old son, and about time.
We've scoured half the city looking for you.' Morris glanced over Reed's
shoulder at the girl. 'I see you're doing your bit to socialise with the
natives?'

Reed recognized the military
police sergeant instantly, but the American officer didn't look familiar. 'Get
your clothes on, miss,' Weaver ordered the girl in Arabic, and gestured to the
door. She hastily dragged her clothes on and left.

'What the bleeding hell's going
on?' Reed demanded. 'Since when is it against the law for a man to enjoy
'imself?’

The American jerked a thumb. 'Get
yours on too, Sergeant.

We need to talk.'

The decaying jetty on the
Nile
's eastern banks looked deserted in the darkness as
Haider and Deacon came alongside in the motorboat. Haider tied the ropes. As
they went up the wooden steps they saw a military ambulance parked at the shore
end, the telltale red cross painted on the side.

A solid-looking man stood guard,
wearing a British uniform and armed with a Sten gun. Two other men waited
beside him, dressed as officers, one of them swarthy and carrying a storm lamp,
the other smoking a cheroot, small and vicious-looking, his uniform jacket
draped casually over his shoulders, a swagger stick under his arm.

'The one smoking the cheroot is
Salter,' Deacon told Haider.

'The other's Costas Demiris, his
partner, another deserter and all-round slimeball.'

'What's the idea of the ambulance
and uniforms?'

'Just one of the ways Salter moves
about with impunity. He's got a barrel-load of disguises and forged papers that
any intelligence service would die for.'

'Let's go meet him.'

They moved down the boardwalk.
Salter had a grin on his face. 'So, you must be
Harvey
's mystery man. Reggie Salter's the
name.' He thrust out a hand. 'I didn't catch yours?'

'That's entirely irrelevant,' said
Haider, and ignored the offered handshake.

'Have it your way.' Salter
shrugged. 'I take it
Harvey
's
filled you in on my little offer?'

'It seems you've left us with no
option but to accept, Mr Salter. We need those vehicles badly.'

Salter's grin widened in triumph.
'Supply and demand, ain't it the curse of this wicked old world? Now that the
awkward bit's out of the way, you mind telling me what you have in mind?’

'A robbery, Mr Salter. Pure and
simple. There's a valuable cargo on board two Dakota aircraft due to land at
Shabramant airfield.'

Salter beamed. 'What did I tell
you, Costas?' He looked back at Haider, drew fiercely on his cheroot, the
expression on his face unconcealed greed. 'So what's this cargo worth?'

'It hasn't got a worth, not as
such. It's priceless. Artifacts of gems and gold, mostly. But if you insist on
assessing its monetary value - assuming the gold was melted down and the gems
cut up - a conservative estimate would probably be two million.

Pounds sterling, not dollars.'

Salter whistled. 'Jesus Christ.'

'Ten per cent makes that two
hundred thousand. That's a lot of money coming your way, Mr Salter. The
question is, are you worth it?'

'Oh, I'm worth it, old son,'
Salter answered excitedly. 'Don't fret about that. Anything you need done, or
in the line of equipment and men, you've only got to ask. So how do me and
Costas here get our cut?'

'We can discuss that later, when
we go over details.'

'You mind telling me who's
involved?'

'Five of us, including Deacon
here.'

'Military backgrounds?'

'You might say that.'

'I thought you had the look of it
about you. So what's the deal?'

'Now that you're to be counted in,
you'll have to earn your share. Are you prepared for that?'

'For two hundred grand? Listen,
Mister Whoever-you-are, for that kind of dosh I think you can safely assume
I'll give this job my undivided attention.'

'Good, then let's get straight down
to business. I want you and your men to secure the airfield.'

Salter frowned. 'What do you
mean?'

'I want control of the airbase. No
one goes in or out without my say-so, but at the same time, no one outside must
know what's happened. It has to be done without shooting. We don't want the
army or police alerted.’

'I get the drift. We take over the
airfield and nab the stuff when it arrives. What are the trucks and Jeep for,
an escort afterwards?'

'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. We estimate there shouldn't be more than half a dozen
Royal Egyptian Air Force personnel on duty. I emphasise, 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?'

Haider 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?'

'Some time 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 Haider's chest. 'You
and your friends try to double-cross me, mister, and I'll bury the lot of you.
Understand?'

Haider 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 bonnet, borrowed the
storm lamp from Demiris. 'Right, let's go over things very carefully, so nobody
makes any stupid mistakes.'

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

'You think it'll work?' Deacon
asked as he manoeuvred the tiller.

'There's a fair chance,' Haider
replied. 'But Salter's going to get one hell of a shock when he sees two
Dakotas
landing and a hundred crack SS paratroops piling
out.'

Deacon smiled. 'I only hope I'm
there to see the bastard'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 bio wed.'

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 fuck he is.'

'Special forces or commandos
probably, 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?'