“Hush!” Sonja said. “Only the postman. Tell me if you like this. ..” “Oh, yes.” Wolff made it through the curtains and looked up. The postman was placing a letter on the top step of the stairs, by the hatch. To Wolff’s horror the postman saw him and called out: “Sabah el-kheir-good morningl” Wolff put a finger to his lips for silence, then lay his cheek against his hand to mime sleep, then pointed to the bedroom. “Your pardon!” the postman whispered. Wolff waved him away. There was no sound from the bedroom. Had the postman’s greeting made Smith suspicious? Probably not, Wolff decided: a postman might well call good morning even if he could see no one, for the fact that the hatch was open indicated that someone was at home. The lovemaking noises in the next room resumed, and Wolff breathed more easily. He sorted through the keys, found the smallest, and tried it in the locks of the case. It worked. He opened the other catch and lifted the lid. Inside was a sheaf of papers in a stiff cardboard folder. Wolff thought: No more menus, please. He opened the folder and looked at the top sheet. He read:
OPERATION ABERDEEN
1. Allied forces Will mount a major counterattack at dawn on 5 June.
2. The attack will be two-pronged …
Wolff looked up from the papers. “My God,” he whispered. “This is itl” He listened. The noises from the bedroom were louder now. He could hear the springs of the bed, and he thought the boat itself was beginning to rock slightly. There was not much time. The report in Smith’s possession was detailed. Wolff was 122 Ken Follett
not sure exactly how the British chain of command worked, but presumably the battles were planned in detail by General Ritchie at desert headquarters then sent to GHQ in Cairo for approval by Auchinleck. Plans for more important battles would be discussed at the morning conferences, which Smith obviously attended in some capacity. Wolff wondered again which department it was that was housed in the unmarked building in the Shari Suleiman Pasha to which Smith returned each afternoon; then he pushed the thought aside. He needed to make notes. He hunted around for pencil and paper, thinking: I should have done this beforehand. He found a writing pad and a red pencil in a drawer. He sat down by the briefcase and read on. The main Allied forces were besieged in an area they called the Cauldron. The June 5 counterattack was intended to be a breakout. It would begin at 0250 with the bombardment, by four regiments of artillery, of the Aslagh Ridge, on Rommel’s eastern flank. The artillery was to soften up the opposition in readiness for the spearhead attack by the infantry of the 10th Indian Brigade. When the Indians had breached the line at Aslagh Ridge, the tanks of the 22nd Armored Brigade would rush through the gap and capture Sidi Muftah while the 9th Indian Brigade followed through and consolidated. Meanwhile the 32nd Army Tank Brigade, with infantry support, would attack Rommel’s northern flank at Sidra Ridge. When he came to the end of the report Wolff realized he had been so absorbed that he had heard, but had not taken notice of, the sound of Major Smith reaching his climax. Now the bed creaked and a pair of feet hit the floor. Wolff tensed. Sonja said: “Darling, pour some champagne.” “Just a minute-” “I want it now.” “I feel a bit silly with me pants off, m’dear.” Wolff thought: Christ, he wants his pants. Sonja said: “I like you undressed. Drink a glass with me before you put your clothes on.” “Your wish is my command.” THE KEY TO REBECCA 123
Wolff relaxed. She may bitch about it, he thought, but she does what I wantl He looked quickly through the rest of the papers, determined that he would not be caught now: Smith was a wonderful find, and it would be a tragedy to kill the goose the first time it laid a golden egg. He noted that the attack would employ four hundred tanks, three hundred and thirty of them with the eastern prong and only seventy with the northern; that Generals Messervy and Briggs were to establish a combined headquarters; and that Auchinleck was demanding-a little peevishly, it seemed-thorough reconnaissance and close cooperation between infantry and tanks. A cork popped loudly as he was writing. He licked his lips, thinking: I could use some of that. He wondered how quickly Smith could drink a glass of champagne. He decided to take no chances. He put the papers back in the folder and the folder back in the case. He closed the lid and keyed the locks. He put the bunch of keys in a pocket of the shorts. He stood up and peeped through the curtain. Smith was sitting up in bed in his army-issue underwear with a glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other, looking pleased with himself. The cigarettes must have been in his shirt pocket: it would have been awkward if they had been in his shorts. At the moment Wolff was within Smith’s field of view. He took his face away from the tiny gap between the curtains, and waited. He heard Sonia say: “Pour me some more, please.” He looked through again. Smith took her glass and turned away to the bottle. His back was now to Wolff. Wolff pushed the shorts through the curtains and put them on the floor. Sonja saw him and raised her eyebrows in alarm. Wolff withdrew his arm. Smith handed Sonja the glass. Wolff got into the cupboard, closed the door and eased himself to the floor. He wondered how long he would have to wait before Smith left. He did not care: he was jubilant. He had struck gold. It was half an hour before he saw, through the peephole, Smith come into the living room, wearing his clothes again. By this time Wolff was feeling very cramped. Sonja foHowed Smith, saying: “Must you go so soon?” 124 Ken Fonett