-rm afraid so,” he said.”It’s a very awkward time for me, you see.” He hesitated. “To be perfectly frank, I’m not actually supposed to carry this briefcase around with me. I had the very devil of a job to come here at noon.You see, I have to go from GHQ straight to my office. Well, I didn’t do that today-I was desperately afraid I might miss you if I came late. I told my office I was lunching at GHQ, and told the chaps at GHQ I was lunching at my office. However, next time I’ll go to my office, dump the briefcase, and come on here-if that’s all right with you, my little poppet.” Wolff thought: For God’s sake, Sonja, say somethingl She said: “Oh, but, Sandy, my housekeeper comes every afternoon to clean-we wouldn’t be alone.” Smith frowned. “Damn. Well, we’ll just have to meet in the evenings.” “But I have to work-and after my act, I have to stay in the club and talk to the customers. And I couldn’t sit at your table every night: people would gossip.” The cupboard was very hot and stuffy. Wolff was perspiring heavily. Smith said: “Can1 you tell your cleaner not to come?” “But darling, I couldn’t clean the place myself-I wouldn’t know how.” Wolff saw her smile, then she took Smith’s hand and placed it between her legs. “Oh, Sandy, say you’ll come at noon.” It was much more than Smith could withstand. “Of course I will, my darling,” he said. They kissed, and at last Smith left. Wolff listened to the footsteps crossing the deck and descending the gangplank, then he got out of the cupboard. Sonja watched with malicious glee as he stretched his aching limbs. “Sore?” she said with mock sympathy. “It was worth it,” Wolff said. “You were wonderful.” “Did you get what you wanted?” “Better than I could have dreamed.” Wolff cut up bread and sausage for lunch while Sonja took a bath. After lunch he found the English novel and the key to the code, and drafted his signal to Rommel. Sonja went to the racetrack with a crowd of Egyptian friends: Wolff gave her fifty pounds to bet with. TFIE KEY TO REBECCA 125
In the evening she went to the Cha-Cha Club and Wolff sat at home drinking whiskey and reading Arab poetry. As midnight approached, he set up the radio. At exactly 2400 hours, he tapped out his call sign, Sphim A few seconds later Rommel’s desert listening post, or Horch Company, answered. Wolff sent a series of V’s to enable them to tune in exactly, then asked them what his signal strength was. In the middle of the sentence be made a mistake, and sent a series of E’s-for Error-before beginning again. They told him his signal was maximum strength and made GA for Go Ahead. He made a KA to indicate the beginning of his message; then, in code, he began: “Operation Aberdeen. . . .” At the end be added AR for Message Finished and K for Over. They replied with a series of R’s, which meant: “Your message has been received and understood.” Wolff packed away the radio, the core book and the key, then be poured himself another drink. All in all, he thought he had done incredibly well. 10
The signal from the spy was only one of twenty or thirty reports on the desk of von Mellenthin, Rommel’s le-intelligence officer-at seven o’clock on the morning of June 4. There were several other reports from listening units: infantry had been heard talking to tanks au clair; field headquarters had issued instructions in low-grade codes which had been deciphered overnight; and there was other enemy radio traffic which, although indecipherable, nevertheless yielded hints about enemy intentions simply because of its location and frequency. As well as radio reconnaissance there were the reports from the Ics in the field, who got information from captured weapons, the uniforms of enemy dead, interrogation of prisoners and simply looking across the desert and seeing the people they were fighting. Then there was aerial reconnaissance, a situation report from an order-of-battle expert and a summary-just about useless–of Berlin’s current assessment of Allied intentions and strength. Like all field intelligence officers, von Mellenthin despised spy reports. Based on diplomatic gossip, newspaper stories and sheer guesswork, they were wrong at least as often as they were right, which made them effectively useless. He had to admit that this one looked different. The run-of-the-mill secret agent might report: “9th Indian Brigade have been told they will be involved in a major battle in the near future,” or: “Allies planning a breakout from the Cauldron in early June,” or: “Rumors that Auchinleck will be replaced as commander in chief.” But there was nothing indefinite about this report. The spy, whose caU sip was Sphinx, began his message: 126 THE KEY TO REBECCA 127