She found a bottle of scotch whiskey, poured some into a glass, and added water. As she was tasting it she heard footsteps on the gangplank. Without thinking she called: “Achmed . . . T’ Then she realized the step was not his, it was too light and quick. She stood at the foot of the ladder in her nightdress, with the drink in her hand. The hatch was lifted and an Arab face looked in. 4.Sonia?”
“You were expecting someone else, I think.” The man climbed down the ladder. Sonja watched him, thinking: What now? He stepped off the ladder and stood in front of her. He was a small man with a handsome face and quick, neat movements. He wore European clothes: dark trousers, polished black shoes and a short-sleeved white shirt. “I am Detective Superintendent Kernel, and I am honored to meet you.” He held out his hand. Sonja turned away, walked across to the divan and sat down. She thought she had dealt with the police. Now the Egyptians wanted to get in on the act. It would probably come down to a bribe in the end, she reassured herself. She sipped her drink, staring at Kernel. Finally she said: “What do you want?” Kernel sat down uninvited. “I am interested in your friend, Alex Wolff.” “He’s not my friend.” Kernel ignored that. “ne British have told me two things about Mr. Wolff: one, that he knifed a soldier in Assyut; two, that he tried to pass counterfeit English banknotes in a restaurant in Cairo. Already the story is a little curious. Why was he in Assyut? Why did he kill the soldier? And where did he get the forged money?” “I don’t know anything about the man,” said Sonja, hoping he would not come home right now. “I do, though,” said Kernel. “I have other information that the British may or may not possess. I know who Alex Wolff is. His stepfather was a lawyer, here in Cairo. His mother was German. I know, too, that Wolff is a nationalist. I know that he used to be your lover. And I know that you are a nationalist.” Sonja had gone cold. She sat stffl, her drink untouched, THE KEY TO REBECCA 177
watching the sly detective unreel the evidence against her. She said nothing. Kemel went on: “Where did he get the forged money? Not in Egypt. I don’t think there is a printer in Egypt capable of doing the work; and if there were, I think he would make Egyptian currency. Therefore the money came from Europe. Now Wolff, also known as Achmed Rahniha, quietly disap. peared a couple of years ago. Where did he go? Europe? He came back-via Assyut. Why? Did he want to sneak into the country unnoticed? Perhaps he teamed up with an English counterfeiting gang, and has now returned with his share of the profits; but I don’t think so, for he is not a poor man, nor is he a criminal. So, there is a mystery.” He knows, Sonja thought. Dear God, he knows. “Now the British have asked me to put a watch on this houseboat, and tell them of everyone who comes and goes here. Wolff will come here, they hope; and then they will arrest him; and then they will have the answers. Unless I solve the puzzle first.” A watch on the boat! He could never come back. But-but why, she thought, is Kernel telling me? “The key, I think, lies in Wolffs nature: he is both a Ger. man and an Egyptian.” Kemel stood up, and crossed the floor to sit beside Sonja and look into her face. “I think he is fighting in this war. I think he is fighting for Germany and for Egypt. I think the forged money comes from the Germans. I think Wolff is a spy.” Sonja thought: But you don’t know where to find him. That’s why you’re here. Kemel was staring at her. She looked away, afraid that he might read her thoughts in her face. Kernel said: “If he is a spy, I can catch him. Or I can save him.” Sonja jerked her head around to look at him. “What does that meanT’ “I want to meet him. Secretly.” “But why?” Kemel smiled his sly, knowing smile. “Sonja, you are not the only one who wants Egypt to be free. There are many of us. We want to see the British defeated, and we are not fastidious about who does the defeating. We want to work with 178 Ken Follett