The Cairo Code (43 page)

Weaver tensed and glanced down the queue, trying not to make it obvious. He saw the couple. They looked like European refugees. The sergeant said, “They're a bit far away to get a proper look, but there's definitely a resemblance.”

“You're not certain it's them?”

“Well—no, sir. At this distance I couldn't be sure. And the lady looks like she's wearing a lot of makeup.”

Weaver knew that if it was the wrong couple and they approached them, it could jeopardize everything. Other passengers in the queue would see the incident, and if the real suspects were among them, they might smell trouble and slip out of the queue. Myers and his companion were waiting by the pillar in case that happened, but the queue was so congested and the station so busy, Weaver just hoped the strategy worked. He looked back at the couple. They had moved up in the queue, maybe fifteen feet away, and he avoided looking at them directly. “You still think there's a resemblance?”

“Yes, sir,” the sergeant answered.

“When they get near enough, move closer and try to get a better look. Be as discreet as you can.”

He gave a faint nod to Myers, waiting at the pillar. The captain tossed away his cigarette, said something to his companion, and they both got ready to move. Minutes later, the couple had almost reached the ticket inspector. Weaver saw the man produce a pair of tickets, and gripped the Colt in his pocket.

“Now,” he prompted the sergeant.

While the couple were busy with the inspector, the sergeant stepped closer. As he studied their faces, the woman looked up, saw him, and smiled disarmingly. The sergeant turned, came back, and shook his head. “Sorry about that, sir. It looked like the two I saw, but it's definitely not them.”

“You're
very
sure about that?”

“Certain.”

Weaver felt deflated. He looked over at Myers and shook his head, saw the captain relax.

He glanced at the station clock: 2:05.

Dozens more passengers, many of them Europeans, some military but mostly civilian, were still joining the end of the queue in the final rush to board. Weaver felt on edge and wiped his brow. The boiling afternoon heat that penetrated the packed station was overpowering, and the tension of waiting didn't help. He guessed that if the Germans were out there, they'd try and leave it until the last minute, just before the carriages pulled out.

“Keep your eyes open,” he told the sergeant. “If they're going to try and board, it'll happen soon.”

Halder stepped into the crowded station with Rachel on his arm. He looked around cautiously. The only soldiers he saw were obviously off duty, drinking beer at the Arab food stalls while they waited for their trains, others heading towards the platforms carrying kit bags over their shoulders.

“Everything looks normal enough, but you never can tell.” He led Rachel towards a timetable on a pillar near the ticket booths. “Achmed was right. Two-fifteen. We've got fifteen minutes before the train leaves. Think you could buy us a couple of tickets?”

“What if the train's full?”

Halder smiled. “I think you'll find a little baksheesh will work wonders.” He gave her some money. “Buy returns—they're always less suspicious than singles. And don't worry, I'll be right here, watching.”

He waited as Rachel went to join the ticket queue. He noticed a young man in civilian clothes standing off to one side of the row of busy ticketing counters, idly reading a newspaper. Halder saw him glance over at Rachel a moment before he returned to reading his newspaper. Halder felt uneasy. The man might be military police, or he could simply be waiting for someone. It was hard to tell. He made no attempt to approach Rachel or anyone else in the ticket line, but his presence made Halder feel distinctly unsettled. The platforms were too far away for him to get a good look and see if there were any military checks in progress, and he didn't want to leave Rachel alone. He looked at the station clock. It read five minutes past two.

Rachel came back with the tickets, and Halder said, “Any problems?”

“No. Two returns, like you asked.”

“Right, here goes. Keep your fingers crossed.”

He took her arm again and they walked towards the platforms. There was a long queue waiting in line for just one ticket barrier, which immediately aroused Halder's suspicion. When he looked ahead he noticed two men in civilian clothes standing to one side of the barrier, near the uniformed Arab inspector. As one of the men lifted his Panama hat to wipe his brow, Halder froze. It took a second or two, but he recognized the sergeant from the station that morning.

“
Bad luck. That's all we need.”

He was just about to turn away when he noticed the face of the second man standing next to the sergeant.
“My God,
I don't believe it.”

“What's wrong?” Rachel asked.

Halder's eyes were wild with disbelief, and he didn't reply. Instead, he took a firm hold of Rachel's arm, slipped out of the queue, and pulled her into the crowd.

Halder fought his way through the crowd towards the station food stalls, busy with a group of boisterous Australian soldiers. He bought two beers and they made their way to one of the upright tables. Rachel said, “What's the matter? You look like you've seen a ghost.”

“Don't look now,” Halder said hoarsely. “But there are two men in civilian clothes near the barrier. They're plainclothes military and they're looking for us.”

“How do you know?”

“One of them is the sergeant we sent on a wild-goose chase.”

Rachel was stricken. Halder said, “You'd better prepare yourself for another shock—the second man is Harry Weaver.”

For a moment she looked totally astonished, then she turned round sharply, looking towards the ticket barrier. It was a distance away, and Halder saw her try to focus. “Don't stare. You'll only attract attention,” he warned.

But Rachel was hardly listening. She had noticed the sergeant, standing near the ticket inspector, and from the look on her face she had recognized Harry Weaver instantly. He was looking a little older, and wearing a lightweight linen suit. He was too far away to notice them, preoccupied as he watched the passenger queue.

“Rachel—” Halder's voice brought her back. She was completely stunned.

“I—I can't believe it.”

Halder swallowed a mouthful of beer. “It's certainly a small world, full of surprises. The kind of destiny the ancient Egyptians liked to believe in—meeting again in another life.”

Rachel made to look round again, but Halder caught her hand. “Don't make it obvious. It's Harry, all right, no question.”

“But—what's he doing
here
?”

“A good question. But I suppose it makes some kind of sense. He speaks reasonable Arabic, so it's hardly surprising he's serving in Egypt. At a guess, he's probably military police or army intelligence.” He looked at her. Her face was still confused. “Are you all right?”

“It—it seems so unreal. Seeing him again in these circumstances. I don't know what to think.”

“That makes two of us. And I'm pretty sure Harry would be surprised if he knew.”

Rachel seemed totally bewildered. “You don't think he knows that it's
us
he's looking for?”

“I doubt it. How could he? But as much as I've always loved Harry's company, I don't think we ought to stick around for a chat.” He shook his head, added uneasily, “Whoever would have guessed? Harry and us on different sides of the fence at a time like this. It's a frightening thought, and I'm not sure I like it very much. It makes you wonder if there's someone up there pulling strings and laughing at us.”

Halder guessed she wanted to look back at Weaver one more time, but he reached across the table and gripped her hand. “We're going to leave now. Better drink up—you're going to need some Dutch courage. Seeing as Harry and the sergeant are in plainclothes, you can bet there are others close by, and they're probably covering the exits, which could make things difficult. I spotted a man at the ticket booths earlier who looked suspicious. He's probably one of Harry's comrades.”

Rachel hadn't touched her beer and Halder noticed that her hands were shaking. “Are you sure you'll be OK?”

“I think so.”

“If anyone tries to stop us, let me do the talking. But be ready to move if I tell you.”

“You don't give up easily, do you, Jack?”

“I never could see the point.” He forced a smile, took off his jacket, and loosened his tie. Then he slipped the revolver from his pocket and put it under his jacket.

“What happens if Harry and his friend should come after us?”

Halder's face tightened with anxiety. “Save me the thought. It's bad enough I'm up against the closest friend I ever had. The last thing in the world I'd want is for Harry and me to have to face each other in a showdown. So nice and easy does it, and stay close to me.”

•  •  •

As they moved back into the crowd, Halder squeezed her hand.

“Once we make it outside, we'll try to head back towards the promenade.”

“You mean
if
we make it.”

“Remember that old Arab saying? To survive, you have to laugh in the face of despair. If we look desperate, we're dead. So just try to act perfectly calm and normal, even if we're stopped.” He shot a quick glance back over his shoulder, but there was no sign of Harry Weaver or the sergeant following them. He steered Rachel towards the station exit, looming ahead through the mob of passengers. “This is it. Here we go.”

The walk towards the exit seemed to take an eternity. Bodies milled past them in either direction, and as they pushed their way through, Halder anxiously watched the crowd for any sign of danger, but they reached the exit doors without anyone stopping them. He paused before they stepped out, trying to scan the busy square outside the station. Buses were lined up on the curb, but he didn't see any parked military vehicles. The pavement was too packed to get a proper look, but he noticed no one who looked as if he might be plainclothes military or police. The two Egyptian traffic cops he'd seen earlier were still there, chatting and smoking, totally uninterested in anything happening around them. Directly across the square was a maze of back alleyways, the entrance to a teeming bazaar.

“That's where we're headed,” he told Rachel. “Everything seems normal enough. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

Halder tightened his grip on the revolver under his jacket. “Keep your fingers crossed. And remember, if anyone stops us, let me handle it.”

They pushed into the crowds pouring through the station's massive floor-to-ceiling doors, and stepped out on to Ramleh Square. Out of the corner of his eye, Halder noticed a tall, well-built man in civilian clothes near the station wall. He had a patch over his left eye and a livid scar on his jaw. Halder knew instinctively that the man was watching the crowds entering and leaving the station, and he saw him stare over in their direction. He felt his pulse race; he had no option but to keep moving.

They'd hardly gone a dozen paces when a voice said from behind, “Excuse me, sir, madam.”

Halder turned. His heart sank. It was the man with the eye patch.

Weaver was getting frustrated. So far, the sergeant had spotted no one else resembling the man and woman. The train for Cairo was ready to leave the platform, whistles sounding and the flag men moving up and down the carriages, slamming doors. As the ticket inspector hurried the last passenger through, the sergeant said, “We're not having much luck, are we, sir?”

“I guess not.” Weaver called Myers over. “The couple still might turn up. You'd better keep the men posted. When does the train for Port Said leave?”

“In an hour, sir. And the next one for Cairo at six.”

“Tell your men to take turns having a break, but to keep watching the local arrivals and departures.”

“You want me to tell Lieutenant Colonel Sanson, sir?”

Weaver shook his head and loosened his tie, feeling totally despondent. The station was stifling hot and he needed air, and a break from the milling crowds. “No, I'll tell him myself.”

•  •  •

Halder was trying to decide whether to shoot the man with the eye patch when another burly figure in plainclothes joined him. He spotted a third man in civilian clothes positioned near the entrance, watching the proceedings as he had his shoes polished by a shoeshine boy. He guessed the men were military police or intelligence. The bazaar was only fifty meters across the square, but too far to make a run for it without the risk of being shot.

“May I see your papers, sir?” the man with the eye patch said briskly. His comrade stood beside him, a bulge under his open jacket, one hand on his waistband, ready to move.

Halder tried to look affronted as he regarded the two men. “Who the devil are you?”

“Lieutenant Colonel Sanson, military intelligence.” Eye Patch showed his ID.

Halder said calmly, “Well, in that case, sure.” He handed over his ID wallet.

Sanson said, “You, too, madam, if you don't mind.”

Rachel fumbled in her bag and offered her papers. Sanson scrutinized both sets of documents, as carefully as a bank clerk might study bills he believed to be counterfeit, taking his time as he studied the photographs, then rubbing his thumb on the print. Finally, he looked up, and Halder saw the suspicion in his face. “Were you about to board a train, sir?”

“Why do you ask?” Halder sounded irritated.

“I noticed you both enter the station ten minutes ago. Now you've come out again. I wondered if there was any reason you might have changed your mind about traveling.”

“Listen, buddy, we got
off
the train from Cairo earlier. My lady friend here realized she mislaid one of her bags. Now it turns out it's been lost, and we'll be lucky to get the darned thing back.” Halder tried to sound suitably upset. “But that's the Egyptian rail service for you. Pretty useless.”