spy, something at which you have not so far been entirely successful, am I right?” .”Yes, sir.” “I’ll be taking charge of tonight’s operation myself, to ensure that there are no further foul-ups. Let me have your proposals this afternoon, and we’ll go over them together-” There was a, knock at the door and the brigadier walked in. Van&m and Bogge stood up. Bogge said: “Good morning, sir.” “At ease, gentlemen,” the brigadier said. “I’ve been looking for you, Vandam.” Bogge said: “We were just working on an idea we had for a deception plan–P “Yes, I saw the memo.” “Ah, Vandam sent you a copy,” Bogge said. Vandam did not look at Bogge, but he knew the lieutenant colonel was furious wi* him. “Yes. indeed,” said the brigadier. He turned to Vandam. “You’re supposed to be catching spies, Major, not advising generals on strategy, Perhaps if you spent less time telling us how to win the war you might be a better security officer.” Vandam’s heart sank. Bogge said: “I was just saying–~’ The brigadier interrupted him. “However, since you have done this, and since it’s such a splendid plan, I want you to come with me and sell it to Auchinleck. You can spare him, Bogge, can’t you?” “Of course, sir,” Bogge said through clenched teeth. “All right, Vandam. The conference will be starting any minute, Let’s go.” Vandam followed the brigadier out and shut the door very softly on Bogge.
On the day that Wolff was to see Elene again, Major Smith came to the houseboat at lunchtime. The information he brought with him was the most valuable yet. Wolff and Sonja went through their now-familiar routine. Wolff felt like an actor in a French farce, who has to hide in the same stage wardrobe night after night. Sonja and Smith, following the script, began on the couch and moved into the 236 Ken Follett
bedroom. When Wolff emerged from the cupboard the curtains were closed, and there on the floor were Smith’s briefcase, his shoes and his shorts with the key ring poking out of the pocket. Wolff opened the briefcase and began to read. Once again Smith had come to the houseboat straight from the morning conference at GHQ at which Auchinleck and his staff discussed Allied strategy and decided what to do. After a few minutes’ reading Wolff realized that what he held in his hand was a complete rundown of the Allies’ lastditch defense on the El Alamein Line. The line consisted of artillery on the ridges, tanks on the level ground and minefields all along. The Alam Halfa ridge, five miles behind the center of the line, was also heavily fortified. Wolff noted that the southern end of the line was weaker, both in troops and mines. Smith’s briefcase also contained an enemy-position paper. Allied Intelligence thought Rommel would probably try to break through the line at the southern end, but noted that the northern end was possible. Beneath this, written in pencil in what was presumably Smith’s handwriting, was a note which Wolff found more exciting than all the rest of the stuff put together. It read: “Major Vandarn proposes deception plan. Encourage Rommel to break through at southern end, lure him toward Alam Halfa, catch him in quicksand, then nutcracker. Plan accepted by Auk.” “Auk” was Auchinleck, no doubt. What a discovery this was! Not only did Wolff hold in his hand the details of the Allied defense line-he also knew what they expected Rommel to do, and he knew their deception plan. And the deception plan was Vandam’s! This would be remembered as the greatest espionage coup of the century. Wolff himself would be responsible for assuring Rommel’s victory in North Africa. They should make me King of Egypt for this, he thought, and he smiled. He looked up and saw Smith standing between the curtains, staring down at him. Smith roared: “Who the devil are you?” Wolff realized angrily that he had not been paying atten- THE KEY TO REBECCA 237
tion to the noises from the bedroom. Something had gone wrong, the script had not been followed, there had been no champagne-cork warning. He had been totally absorbed in the strategic appreciation. The endless names of divisions and brigades, the numbers of men and tanks, the quantities of fuel and supplies, the ridges and depressions and quicksands had monopolized his attention to the exclusion of local sounds. He was suddenly terribly afraid that he might be thwarted in his moment of triumph. Smitl, said: “That’s my bloody briefcase!” He took a step forward. Wolff reached out, caught Smith’s foot, and heaved sideways. The major toppled over and hit the floor with a heavy thud. Sonja screamed. Wolff and Smith both scrambled to their feet. Smith was a small, thin man, ten years older than Wolff and in poor shape. He stepped backward, fear showing in his face. He bumped into a shelf, glanced sideways, saw a cutglass fruit bowl on the shelf, picked it up and hurled it at Wolff. It missed, fell into the kitchen sink, and shattered loudly. The noise, Wolff thought: if he makes any more noise people will come to investigate. He moved toward Smith. Smith, with his back to the wall, yelled: “Help!” Wolff hit him once, on the point of the jaw, and he coIlapsed, sliding down the wall to sit, unconscious, on the floor. Sonja came out and stared at him. Wolff rubbed his knuckles. “It’s the first time I’ve ever done that,” he said. ‘IA(bat?” “Hit somebody on the chin and knocked him out. I thought only boxers could do that.” “Never mind that, what are we going to do about bim?” “I don’t know.” Wolff considered the possibilities. To kill Smith would be dangerous, for the death of an officer-and the disappearance of his briefcase-would now cause a terrific rumpus throughout the city. There would be the problem of what to do with the body. And Smith would bring home no more secrets. Smith groaned and stirred. 238 Ken Follett