Glenn Meade (37 page)

Haider was woken by the sound of
traffic. It was dark outside, a wash of moonlight filtering into the room
through the open shutters. When he put out his hand for Rachel, she wasn't
there.

He reached for the revolver under
the pillow, climbed out of bed, and was about to flick on the light when he saw
her sitting in a cane chair near the window. 'You gave me a fright - for a
moment there, I thought you'd gone.' He relaxed, saw the Baedeker lying open on
her knees. 'What are you doing?'

'Thinking.'

He kissed her forehead. 'I thought
you wanted to sleep.'

'I decided to have a look at the
guidebook. There are a couple of routes we hadn't considered.'

'Such as?'

'The harbour, for one. From there,
we could make it to Rashid and on to
Cairo
.'
She handed him the book. 'See for yourself.'

Haider slipped the revolver into
his trouser belt and turned on the light. He glanced at the book before putting
it aside, shaking his head. 'You can bet Harry and his friends will have the
harbour covered. Besides, it's too slow a route, and there's nowhere to run to
once you're out on the open sea.'

The book says there's an
aerodrome.'

Two, actually. But how do we get
past the guards?’

'You've got a military ID. You
bluff your way in, and we hitch a ride.'

'It's not that easy, Rachel. Even
if we manage to get anywhere near an aircraft, there are all sorts of
complications.

They'd probably want to verify my
military ID before they let us board, or they could already have been alerted
in case we tried something like that.'

'But we can't just sit here and
wait to be caught. We have to do something.' A note of desperation crept into
her voice.

'The desert is still our best bet.
Probably our only one.'

'And how do we steal transport?'

'Leave that to me.' He took her
hand and pulled her up beside him, cupped her face in one of his palms. 'Do you
have any regrets about what happened between us?'

She shook her head, and then he
saw tears at the edges of her eyes. 'Do you want to know the truth?'

'Tell me.'

'I could never make up my mind
between you and Harry.

You see, I loved you both.'

'And now?'

She bit her lip, and seemed
distracted, on the verge of tears again, and then her arms went around his neck
and she pulled him close. When they had kissed, she put her head against his
chest, clutching him tightly. He held her for a long time, until she said,
'It's so quiet up here.'

'Maybe they've forgotten about
us.'

'A while ago I thought I heard
someone out on the landing.

Maybe we should look?'

'Let's hope our friend Safa kept
her end of the bargain. I'd hate to think what might happen if she didn't.'

As Haider went towards the door,
they heard a screech of tyres. He flicked off the bedroom light and crossed to
the window.
Haifa
dozen army trucks had drawn up in the street below, dozens of soldiers climbing
down, unslinging their rifles.

He came away from the window, his
face taut.

'It looks like we've got company.'
He took out his pistol.

'Get dressed, quickly.’

Suddenly they heard banging on the
door, and a voice roared, 'Open up! Military police.'

Haider froze. A split second later
there was more pounding, and another voice shouted, 'Come out with your hands
up - you're surrounded!'

In their panic, it took them a
moment to realise that the noise hadn't come from outside their door, but
through the open window, from one of the landings in the buildings directly
opposite. Haider looked out and Rachel joined him. Soldiers and police were
coming from all directions. A Jeep had pulled up and Harry Weaver was in the back.
He climbed down, accompanied by the British intelligence officer, Sanson, whom
Haider had shot at the station. The man's right hand was heavily bandaged. Both
men raced up the steps of the building across the street.

'What's going on?' Rachel asked.

'Either they've gone to the wrong
address, or it's not us they're after.'

They waited anxiously, then came
the crash of splintering wood from one of the landings opposite, like the sound
of a door being kicked in. Five minutes later they saw Weaver and Sanson come
out of the building. There was a buzz of activity as half a dozen military
policemen followed them out, escorting a tall, blond young man and an Arab
woman. They had their hands on their heads, and were bundled into one of the
trucks and driven off.

Weaver and Sanson stayed outside
on the steps, talking earnestly for several minutes, until Sanson strode over
to his Jeep, climbed in, and it drove away. They saw Harry Weaver remain
behind, looking totally frustrated. He glanced up and down the street, towards
the busy cafe, studying the scene. Then his eyes moved up to the windows of the
buildings around him, as if he were considering something, before he strode
over to a uniformed British captain sitting in another Jeep. He seemed to be
arguing with the officer.

Haider stepped back into the
shadows and pulled Rachel after him. 'I'm afraid Harry looks like he's under
stress. And I didn't like the look on his face - he's up to something.’

'What was all that business about
across the street?'

Haider heard an engine start up
and looked out of the window again. Weaver had climbed back into the Jeep, and
it moved off, its red tail-lights disappearing up the street.

'By the looks of it, they've
arrested the wrong couple.

Harry's gone for now, but if he
decides to search the area, it won't be long before someone knocks on our
door.' He turned back to Rachel. 'As they say in American movies - it's time to
get out of Dodge City.'

'Why the hell weren't all the
brothels checked?' Weaver demanded angrily.

He was in Myers's Jeep, speeding
towards the city centre.

The captain blushed. 'Well, sir,
some of them are popular with our senior brass. It wouldn't do to go barging in
and-'

Weaver cut him off, furious. 'How
many?'

'I - I couldn't rightly say, sir -
probably no more than half a dozen. Besides, a bordello didn't seem a likely
refuge for a couple.'

Weaver gritted his teeth in
frustration. Sanson had gone to oversee the checkpoints. The couple they'd
arrested had turned out to be a German deserter who'd escaped from a POW camp,
and a prostitute he'd befriended. Weaver had stood in the street afterwards,
looking up at the shabby buildings. The red-light district was an ideal hiding
place, a maze of back alleyways, seething with European refugees lodging in its
run-down hotels and flophouses. Which was why, when he strode back to Myers,
he'd asked if every hotel and brothel in the area had been checked, just to be
certain.

'No, sir,' Myers had reluctantly
admitted.

Now that Weaver had heard the
explanation, he exploded.

'Stop the damned car,' he ordered
the driver. The man pulled into the kerb and Weaver rounded angrily on the
captain. 'Find out exactly how many were ignored, and damned fast. Get on the
radio. And I don't give a fig how many generals are caught with their pants
down.'

'Yes - yes, sir.' Myers switched
on the radio, picked up the hand mike, put the receiver to his ear, and spoke
for several minutes on the crackling set. 'There are only five we didn't
search, sir.'

'Where the hell are they?' Weaver
demanded.

'One's near the docks area,
another's back at the Corniche.

The other three are in the suburbs
of San Stefano and Sidi Bishr.

Most of them are high-class
establishments with European girls.'

Myers blushed again. 'I'd still
suggest we don't go kicking in any doors, sir. It could upset any brass who
might be visiting, and there'll be hell to pay.'

'That's my worry, not yours. We'll
take the docks and Corniche first, they're the nearest.' Weaver tapped the
driver on the shoulder. 'Get moving.’

Hassan sweated as he drove the
Packard through the narrow streets. He'd lost Weaver twice as the army vehicles
sped towards the city, then found him again in the suburbs. Five minutes later
he saw Weaver's driver enter the red-light area, and turn down a back street
lined with military trucks, troops everywhere. Hassan pulled a sharp left into
the kerb and hit the brakes.

It appeared that some sort of raid
was in progress. Dozens of soldiers and police had cordoned off the street.
Weaver and the officer with the eye patch disappeared into a building, and came
out a short time later, followed by a group of MPs guarding a man and a woman
with their hands on their heads. The couple were bundled into the back of a
truck and driven off.

Hassan swore. They had obviously found
two of the Germans.

He saw Weaver walk back towards
the Jeep and argue with a captain. Hassan was trying to figure out what was
going on when an Egyptian policeman came over.

You'll have to move on, sir.'

'What's happening here, Officer?'

The policeman took in Hassan's
suit, the American car, and seemed to consider that he was someone of
importance. He saluted. 'We caught a German deserter,' he said proudly.

Hassan frowned. 'It seems a lot of
fuss for a deserter.'

The policeman simply shrugged.
'I'm afraid you'll have to move on, sir.'

Hassan saw Weaver climb into his
Jeep again and drive off in a different direction to the truck. He couldn't
understand what was going on. If they had found two of the Germans, why hadn't
Weaver followed the prisoners? He started the car and tried one last time with
the policeman. 'Who was the woman you arrested?'

'The deserter's girlfriend. A
local sharmoota. Move on now, sir.'

A prostitute. Hassan grinned and
understood. No wonder Weaver looked angry. The army had obviously got the wrong
couple. He reversed out of the alley, shifted into forward gear, and drove
after Weaver's Jeep.

Gabrielle Pirou wrung her hands in
despair, feeling more perplexed by the minute.

She glanced anxiously at the
telephone on her desk. The man and woman upstairs had to be the couple the army
was looking for, she had convinced herself of that. She had hoped they would
simply leave quietly, and save her the trouble of calling the military police,
but so far that hadn't happened.

When she'd crept upstairs to
check, the door was locked from the inside. A raid would have been embarrassing
for her clients, and disastrous for business. But the last customer had
departed out of the back door more than an hour ago, and she'd given the girls
the rest of the evening off.

She couldn't wait any longer for
the pair to leave, and the last thing she wanted was to risk a confrontation.
Trembling, she reached for the receiver and dialed the number of Military
Police HQ.

A man's voice answered. 'Provost's
office. Sergeant-Major Squires speaking.'

'I - I have some information that
might interest you,'

Gabrielle offered.

'Who's speaking?'

Gabrielle gave her name and
address, told the sergeant-major about the couple and gave their descriptions.
There was a long silence, and then she heard the excitement in the man's voice.

'Your address again?'

Gabrielle told him, and said
anxiously, 'How long before your men arrive?'

'They'll be there within ten
minutes, lady. But don't do anything foolish. If it's the pair we're looking
for, they're armed and highly dangerous. Just stay on the line,' the
sergeant-major said reassuringly. 'I'll be right here until they arrive.'

The poodle yapped at her feet and
Gabrielle's heart skipped with fright. 'Donny - please.'

'Is everything all right, miss?'
the voice asked.

'Yes - fine.'

Ten minutes. It would be an
eternity. And she certainly didn't like the armed and highly dangerous bit. The
best thing she could do would be to exit quietly through the back door, and
leave everything to the proper authorities. She was about to speak into the
receiver, to tell the sergeant-major her plans, when she heard a soft click and
looked round as the parlour door opened.

The couple stood there. The man
had a gun in his hand.

'You've been a naughty girl,
madame. Now, please put down the telephone and do exactly as I say.'

As Weaver sped towards the
seafront, the radio crackled on the back seat. He swung round and saw the radio
operator slip on his earphones and speak into the mike. A moment later the man
looked up. 'Message for you, sir. There's been a phone call to the Provost's
office. Some lady claims the couple we're looking for are on her premises.'