ing? The rebels needed Wolff to help them get in touch with Rommel. Were they hiding Wolff somewhere? Vandam said: “Which is your room, Captain?” Sadat pointed. Vandam went into the room. It was a simple bedroom, with a mattress on the floor and a galabiya hanging from a book. Vandam pointed to two British soldiers and an Egyptian policeman, and said: “All right, go ahead.” They began to search the room. “What is the meaning of this?” Sadat said quietly. “You know Alex Wolff,” Vandam said. 19 ‘No. “He also calls himself Achmed Rahmha, but be’s a European.” “I’ve never beard of him.” Clearly Sadat was a fairly tough personality, not the kind to break down and confess everything just because a few burly soldiers started messing up his house. Vandam pointed across the hall. “What’s that room?” “My study-” Vandam went to the door. Sadat said: “But the women of the family are in there, you must let me warn them-” “They know we’re here. Open the door.” Vandam let Sadat enter the room first. There were no women inside, but a back door was open as if someone had just stepped out. That was okay: the garden was full of soldiers, no one would escape. Vandam saw an army pistol on the desk holding down some sheets of paper covered with Arabic script. He went to the bookshelf and examined the books: Rebecca was not there. A shout came from another part of the house: “Major Vandaml” Vandam followed the sound into the kitchen. A sergeant MP was standing beside the oven, with the house dog yapping at his booted feet. The oven door stood open, and the sergeant lifted out a suitcase-radio. Vandam looked at Sadat, who had followed him into the kitchen. The Arab’s face was twisted with bitterness and disappointment. So this was the deal they had done: they warned Wolff, and in exchange they got his radio. Did that THE KEY TO REBECCA 297
mean he had another? Or had Wolff arranged to come here, to Sadat’s house, to broadcast? Vandam spoke to his sergeant. “Well done. Take Captain Sadat to GHQ.” “I protest,” Sadat said. “The law states that officers in the Egyptiar. Army may be detained only in the officers’ mess and must be guarded by a fellow officer.” The senior Egyptian policeman was standing nearby. “This is correct,” he said. Once again Vandam cursed Bogge for bringing the Egyptians into this. “The law also states that spies are to be shot,” he told Sadat. He turned to the sergeant. “Send out my driver. Finish searching the house. Then have Sadat charged with espionage.” He looked again at Sadat. The bitterness and disappointment had gone from his face, to be replaced by a calculating look. He’s figuring out bow to make the most of all this, Vandam thought: he’s preparing to play martyr. He’s very adaptable–he should be a politician. Vandam left the house and went out to the jeep. A few moments later his driver came running out and jumped into the seat beside him. Vandam said: “To Zamalck.” “Yes, sir.” The driver started the jeep and pulled away. When Vandam reached the houseboat the divers had done their work and were standing on the towpath getting out of their gear. Two soldiers were hauling something extremely grisly out of the Nile. The divers had attached ropes to the body they had found on the bottom and then washed their hands of the affair. Jakes came over to Vandam. “Look at this, sir.” He handed him a waterlogged book. The board covers had been torn off. Vandam examined the book: it was Rebecca. The radio went to Sadat; the code book went into the river. Vandarn remembered the ashtray full of charred paper in the houseboat: had Wolff burned the key to the code? Why had he gotten rid of the radio, the book and the key, when he had a vital message to send to Rommel? The conclusion was inescapable: he had another radio, book and key hidden away somewhere. The soldiers got the body on to the bank and then stepped back as if they wanted nothing more to do with it. Vandam 298 Ken Follett