The Key to Rebecca - Ken Follett [124]
Next to the kitchen was a small escritoire with a fold-down desk top. Beneath it was a small suitcase. Elene picked up the suitcase. It was heavy. She opened it. There was the radio.
Her heart skipped.
It was an ordinary, plain suitcase, with two catches, a leather handle and reinforced corners. The radio fitted inside exactly, as if it had been designed that way. The recessed lid left a little room on top of the radio, and here there was a book. Its board covers had been torn off to make it fit into the space in the lid. Elene picked up the book and looked inside. She read: “Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.” It was Rebecca.
She flicked the pages of the book. In the middle there was something between the pages. She let the book fall open and a sheet of paper dropped to the floor. She bent down and picked it up. It was a list of numbers and dates, with some words in German. This was surely the key to the code.
She held in her hand what Vandam needed to turn the tide of the war.
Suddenly the responsibility weighed her down.
Without this, she thought, Wolff cannot send messages to Rommel—or if he sends messages in plain language the Germans will suspect their authenticity and also worry that the Allies have overheard them ... Without this, Wolff is useless. With this, Vandam can win the war.
She had to run away, now, taking the key with her.
She remembered that she was stark naked.
She broke out of her trance. Her dress was on the couch, crumpled and wrinkled. She crossed the boat, put down the book and the key to the code, picked up her dress and slipped it over her head.
The bed creaked.
From behind the curtains came the unmistakable sound of someone getting up, someone heavy, it had to be him. Elene stood still, paralyzed. She heard Wolff walk toward the curtains, then away again. She heard the bathroom door.
There was no time to put her panties on. She picked up her bag, her shoes, and the book with the key inside. She heard Wolff come out of the bathroom. She went to the ladder and ran up it, wincing as her bare feet cut into the edges of the narrow wooden steps. Glancing down, she saw Wolff appear between the curtains and glance up at her in astonishment. His eyes went to the suitcase opened on the floor. Elene looked away from him to the hatch. It was secured on the inside with two bolts. She slid them both back. From the comer of her eye she saw Wolff dash to the ladder. She pushed up the hatch and scrambled out. As she stood upright on the deck she saw Wolff scrambling up the ladder. She bent swiftly and lifted the heavy wooden hatch. As Wolff’s right hand grasped the rim of the opening, Elene slammed the hatch down on his fingers with all her might. There was a roar of pain. Elene ran across the deck and down the gangplank.
It was just that: a plank, leading from the deck to the riverbank. She stooped, picked up the end of the plank, and threw it into the river.
Wolff came up through the hatch, his face a mask of pain and fury.
Elene panicked as she saw him come across the deck at a run. She thought: he’s naked, he can’t chase me! He took a flying jump over the rail of the boat.
He can’t make it.
He landed on the very edge of the riverbank, his arms windmilling for balance. With a sudden access of courage Elene ran at him and, while he was still off balance, pushed him backward into the water.
She turned and ran along the towpath.
When she reached the lower end of the pathway that led to the street,