how he got legitimate Egyptian papers in the name of Alex Wolff. Also in the records was a will which gave Achmed, or Alex, a share of Gamal’s fortune, plus the house. Interviews with all surviving Rahmhas had produced nothing. Acbmed had disappeared two years ago and had not been beard from since. The interviewer had come back with the impression that the adopted son of the family was not much missed. Vandam. was convinced that when Achmed disappeared he bad gone to Germany. There was another branch of the Rahmha family, but they were nomads, and no one knew where they could be found. No doubt, Vandam thought, they had helped Wolff somehow with his reentry into Egypt. Vandarn understood that now. Wolff could not have come into the country through Alexandria. Security was tight at the port: his entry would have been noted, he would have been investigated, and sooner or later the investigation would have revealed his German antecedents, whereupon he would have been interned. By coming from the south he had hoped to get in unobserved and resume his former status as a born-andbred Egyptian. It had been a piece of luck for the British that Wolff had run into trouble in Assyut. It seemed to Vandarn that that was the last piece of luck they had had. He sat in his office, smoking one cigarette after another, worrying about Wolff. The man was no low-grade collector of gossip and rumor. He was not content, as other agents were, to send in reports based on the number of soldiers he saw in the street and the shortage of motor spares. The briefcase theft proved he was after top-level stuff, and he was capable of devising ingenious ways of getting it. If he stayed at large long enough he would succeed sooner or later. Vandam paced the room-from the coat stand to the desk, around the desk for a look out of the window, around the other side of the desk, and back to the coat stand. The spy had his problems, too. He had to explain himself to inquisitive neighbors, conccal his radio somewhere, move about the city and find informants. He could run out of THE KEY TO REBECCA 95
money, his radio could break down, his informants could betray him or someone could quite accidentally discover his secret. One way or another, traces of the spy had to appear. The cleverer he was, the longer it would take. Vandarr was convinced that Abdullah, the thief, was involved with Wolff. After Bogge refused to have Abdullah arrested, Vandarn bad offered a large sum of money for Wolff’s whereabouts- Abdullah still claimed to know nothing of anyone called Wolff, but the light of greed had flickered in his eyes. Abdullah might not know where Wolff could be foundWolff was surely careful enough to take that precaution with a notoriously dishonest man-but perhaps Abdullah could find out. Vandam, had made it clear that the money was still on offer. Then again, once Abdullah bad the information he might simply go to Wolff, tell him of Vandani’s offer and invite him to bid higher. Vandam. paced the room. Something to do with style. Sneakina in; murder with a knife; melting away; and . . . Something else went with all that. Something Vandam. knew about, something he had read in a report or been told in a briefing. Wolff might almost have been a man Vandam had known, long ago, but could no longer bring to mind. Style. The phone rang. He picked it up. “Major Vandarn.” “Oh, hello, this is Major Calder in the paymasteesoffice.” Vandam tensed. “Yes?” You sent us a note, a couple of weeks ago, to look out for forged sterling. Well, we’ve found some.” That was it-that was the trace. “Good!” Vandam said. “Rather a lot, actually,” the voice continued. Vandarn said: “I need to see it as soon as possible.” “It’s on its way. I’m sending a chap round-he should be there soon.” “Do you know who paid it in?” “There’s been more than one lot, actually, but we’ve got some names for you.” “Marvelous. I’ll ring you back when rve seen the notes. Did you say Calder?” 96 Ken Follett