did not want to, for then Smith would know that his case had been opened. Wolff was not afraid of Smith, but he wanted the major to remain oblivious to the real reason for the seduction: if there was valuable material in the case, Wolff wanted to open it regularly. But if he could not open the case, Smith would always be useless. What would happen if he broke the locks? Smith would finish with Sonja, put on his pants, pick up his case and realize it had been opened. He would accuse Sonja. The houseboat would be blown unless Wolff killed Smith. What would be the consequences of killing Smith? Another British soldier murdered, this time in Cairo. There would be a terrific manhunt. Would they be able to connect the killing with Wolff? Had Smith told anyone about Sonja? Who had seen them together in the Cha-Cha Club? Would inquiries lead the British to the houseboat? It would be risky-but the worst of it would be that Wolff would be without a source of information, back at square one. Meanwhile his people were fighting a war out there in the desert, and they needed information. Wolff stood silent in the middle of the living room, racking his brains. He had thought of something, back there, which gave him his answer, and now it had slipped his mind. On the other side of the curtain, Smith was muttering and gro Wolff wondered if he had his pants off yet- His pants off, that was it. He would have the key to his briefcase in his pocket. Wolff peeped between the curtains. Smith and Sonja lay on the bed. She was on her back, eyes closed. He lay beside her, propped up on one elbow, touching her. She was arching her back as if she were enjoying it. As Wolff watched, Smith rolled over, half lying on her, and put his face to her breasts. Smith still had his shorts on. Wolff put his head through the curtains and waved an arm. trying to attract Sonja’s attention. He thought: Look at me, woman! Smith moved his head from one breast to the other. Sonja opened her eyes, glanced at the top of Smitlfs head, stroked his brifflantined hair, and caught Wolff’s eye. He mouthed: Take off his pants. 120 Ken Follett
She frowned, not understanding. Wolff stepped through the curtains and mimed removing pants. Sonja’s face cleared as enlightenment dawned. Wolff stepped back through the curtains and closed them silently, leaving only a tiny gap to look through. He saw Sonja’s hands go to Smith’s shorts and begin to struggle with the buttons of the fly. Smith groaned. Sonja rolled her eyes upward, contemptuous of his credulous passion. Wolff thought: I hope she has the sense to throw the shorts this way. After a minute Smith grew impatient with her fumbling, rolled over, sat up and took them off himself. He dropped them over the end of the bed and turned back to Sonja. The end of the bed was about five feet away from the curtai.n. Wolff got down on the floor and lay flat on his belly. He parted the curtains with his hands and inched his way through, Indian fashion. He heard Smith say: “Oh, God, you’re so beautiful.” Wolff reached the shorts. With one hand he carefully turned the material over until he saw a pocket. He put his hand in the pocket and felt for a key. The pocket was empty. There was the sound of movement from the bed. Smith grunted. Sonja said: “No, lie still.” Wolff thought: Good girl. He turned the shorts over until he found the other pocket. He felt in it. That, too, was empty. There might be more pockets. Wolff grew reckless. He felt the garment, searching for hard lumps that might be metal. There were none. He picked up the shorts- A bunch of keys lay beneath them. Wolff breathed a silent sigh of relief. The keys must have slipped out of the pocket when Smith dropped the shorts on the floor. Wolff picked up the keys and the shorts and began to inch backward through the curtains. Then he heard footsteps on deck. Smith said: “Good God, whars that!” in a highpitched voice. THE KEY TO REBECCA 121