One of the older pilots said: “On his return he would have to account for his diversion-” “He could not come back at all,” Imam said, his expression turning forlorn as swiftly as it had become animated. Sadat said quietly: “He could come back with Rommel.” Imam’s eyes lit up again, and Sadat knew that the young pilot was seeing himself and Rommel marching into Cairo at the head of an army of liberation. Sadat decided that Imam should be the one to take the message. “Let us agree on the text of the message,” Sadat said democratically. Nobody noticed that such a clear decision had not been required on the question of whether a message should be sent at all. “I think we should make four points. One: We are honest Egyptians who have an organization within the Army. Two: Like you, we are fighting the British. Three: We are able to recruit a rebel army to fight on your side. Four: We will organize an uprising against the British in Cairo, if you will in return guarantee the independence and sovereignty of Egypt after the defeat of the British.” He paused. With a frown, he added: “I think perhaps we should offer them some token of our good faith.” There was a silence. Kernel had the answer to this question, too, but it would look better coming from one of the oth ers. Imam rose to the occasion. “We could send some useful military information along with the message.” Kernel now pretended to oppose the idea. “What sort of information could we get? I can’t imapne-” “Aerial photographs of British positions.” “How is that possible?” “We can do it on a routine patrol, with an ordinary camera.” Kemel looked dubious. “What about developing the film?” “Not necessary,” Imam said excitedly. “We can just send the film.” “Just one film?” “As many as we like.” Sadat said: “I think Imam is right.” Once again they were discussing the practicalities of an idea instead of its risks. There was only one more hurdle to jump. Sadat knew from THE KEY TO REBECCA 75
bitter experience that these rebels were terribly brave until the moment came when they really had to stick their necks out. He said: “That leaves only the question of which of us will fly the plane.” As he spoke he looked around the room, letting his eyes rest finally on Imam. After a moment’s hesitation, Imam stood up. Sadat’s eyes blazed with triumph.
Two days later Kernel walked the three miles from central Cairo to the suburb where Sadat lived. As a detective inspector, Kernel had the use of an official car whenever he wanted it, but he rarely used one to go to rebel meetings, for security reasons. In all probabilitv his police colleagues would be sympathetic to the Free Officers Movement; stifl, he was not in a burry to put them to the test. Kernel was fifteen years older than Sadat, yet his attitude to the younger man was one almost of bero worship. Kernel shared Sadat’s cynicism, his realistic understanding of the levers of political power; but Sadat had something more, and that was a burning idealism which gave him unlimited energy and boundless hope. Kernel wondered how to tell him the news. The message to Rommel had been typed out. signed by Sadat and all the leading Free Officers except the absent Nasser and scaled in a big brown envelope. The aerial Photographs of British Positions had been taken. Imam bad taken off in his Gladiator, with Baghdadi following in a second plane. Thev had touched down in the desert to pick up Kernel, who had given the brown envelope to Imam and climbed into Baghdadi’s plane. Imam’s face had been shining with youthful idealism. Kernel thought: How will I break it to Sadat? It was the first time Kernel had flown. The desert, so featureless from ground level, had been an endless mosaic of shapes and patterns: the p2tches of gravel, the dots of vegetation and the carved volcanic hills. Baghdadi said: “You’re going to be cold,” and Kernel thought he was joking-the desert was like a furnace but as the little plane climbed the temperature dropped steadily, and soon he was shivering in his thin cotton shirt. After a while both planes had turned due east, and Bagh- 76 Ken Follett