houses and picking pockets in Cairo for thirty years. He had tentacles eVCTywhere: he was a hashish wholesaler, he had influence with politicians, and he owned half the houses in the Birka, including Madame Fahmy’s. He lived in a large crumbling house in the Old City with his four wives. They followed the two officers into the modem city center. Abdullah said: “Do you want one briefcase, or both?” Wolff considered. One was a casual theft; two looked organized. “One,” he said. “Which?” “It doesn’t matter.” Wolff had considered eoing to Abdullah for help after the discovery that the Villa les Oliviers was no longer 3afe. He had decided not to. Abdullah could certainly have hidden Wolff away somewhere-probably in a brothel- -more or less indefinitely. But s soon as he had Wolff conrealed, he would have opened negotiations to sell him to the British. Abdullab divi&d the world in two: his family and the rest. He was utterly loyal to his family and trusted them completely; he would cheat everyone else and expected them to try to cheat him. All business was done on the basis of mutual suspicion. Wolff found this worked qurprisingly well. They came to a busy corner. The two officers crossed the road, dodging the traffic. Wolff was about to follow when Abdullah put a hand on his arm to stop him. .,We’ll do it here,” Abdullah said. Wolff looked around, observing the buildings, the pavement, the road junction and the street vendors. He smiled slowly, and nodded. “It’s perfect,” he said.
They did it the next day. AbdLdlah had indeed chosen the perfect spot for the snatch. It was where a busy side street joined a main road. On the corner was a caf6 with tables outside, reducing the pavement to half its width. Outside the caM, on the side of the main road, was a bus stop. The idea of queueing for the bus had never really caught on in Cairo despite sixtv years of British domination, so those waiting simply milled about on the already crowded pavement. On the side street it was a little clearer, for although the caf6 had tables out here too, there was no bus stop. Abdullah had observed this little short- 62 Ken Follett
comIng, and had put it right by detailing two acrobats to perform on the street there. Wolff sat at the corner table, from where he could see along both the main road and the side street, and worried about the thingr. that might go wrong. The officers might not go back to the barracks today. They might go a different way. They might not be carrying their briefcases. The police might arrive too early and arrest everyone on the scene. The boy might be grabbed by the officers and questioned. Wolff might be grabbed by the officers and questioned. Abdullah might decide he could earn his money with less trouble simply by contacting Major Vandam. and tefling him be could arrest Alex Wolff at the Caf6 Nasif at twelve noon to-day. Wolff was afraid of going to prison. He was more than afraid, he was terrified. T’he thought of it brought him out in a cold sweat under the noonday sun.. He could live without good food and wine and girls, if he had the vast wild emptiness of the desert to console him; and he could forego the freedom of the desert to live in a crowded city if he had the urban luxuries to console him; but he could not lose both. He had never told anyone of this: it was his secret nightmare. The idea of living in a tiny, colorless cell, among the scum of the earth (and aU of them men), eating bad food, never seeing the blue sky or the endless Nile or the open plains . . . panic touched him glancingly even while he contemplated ft. He pushed it out of his mind. It was not going to happen. At eleven forty-five the large, grubby form of Abdullah waddled past the caf6. His expression was vacant but his small black eyes looked around sharply, checking his arrangements. He crossed the road and disappeared from view. At five past twelve Wolff spotted two military caps among the massed heads in the distance. He sat on the edge of his chair. The officers came nearer. T’hey were carrying their briefcases. Across the street a parked car revved its idling engine. A bus drew up to the stop, and Wolff thought: Abdullah THE KEY TO REBECCA 63