The Key to Rebecca - Ken Follett [127]
He looked into her eyes. “Do you know, I think I’d take you with me even if I didn’t have a use for you.”
She closed her eyes, humiliated. He turned from her abruptly and returned to his packing.
She put on her clothes.
When he was ready, he took a last look around and said: “Let’s go.”
Elene followed him up onto the deck, wondering what he planned to do about Sonja.
As if he knew what she was thinking, he said: “I hate to disturb Sonja’s beauty sleep.” He grinned. “Get moving.”
They walked along the towpath. Why was he leaving Sonja behind? Elene wondered. She could not figure it out, but she knew it was callous. Wolff was a completely unscrupulous man, she decided; and the thought made her shudder, for she was in his power.
She wondered whether she could kill him.
He carried his case in his left hand and gripped her arm with his right. They turned onto the footpath, walked to the street, and went to his car. He unlocked the door on the driver’s side and made her climb in over the gear stick to the passenger side. He got in beside her and started the car.
It was a miracle the car was still in one piece after being left on the road all night: normally anything detachable would have been stolen, including wheels. He gets all the luck there is, Elene thought.
They drove away. Elene wondered where they were going. Wherever it was, Wolff’s second radio was there, along with another copy of Rebecca and another key to the code. When we get there, I’ll have to try again, she thought wearily. It was all up to her now. Wolff had left the houseboat, so there was nothing Vandam could do even after somebody untied him. Elene, on her own, had to try to stop Wolff from contacting Rommel, and if possible steal the key to the code. The idea was ridiculous, shooting for the moon. All she really wanted was to get away from this evil, dangerous man, to go home, to forget about spies and codes and war, to feel safe again.
She thought of her father, walking to Jerusalem, and she knew she had to try.
Wolff stopped the car. Elene realized where they were. She said: “This is Vandam’s house!”
“Yes.”
She gazed at Wolff, trying to read the expression on his face. She said: “But Vandam isn’t there.”
“No.” Wolff smiled bleakly. “But Billy is.”
24
ANWAR EL-SADAT WAS DELIGHTED WITH THE RADIO.
“It’s a Hallicrafter-Skychallenger,” he told Kernel. “American.” He plugged it in to test it, and pronounced it very powerful.
Kernel explained that he had to broadcast at midnight on the preset wavelength, and that the call sign was Sphinx. He said that Wolff had refused to give him the code, and that they would have to take the risk of broadcasting in clear.
They hid the radio in the oven in the kitchen of the little house.
Kernel left Sadat’s home and drove from Kubri al-Qubbah back to Zamalek. On the way he considered how he was to cover up his role in the events of the night.
His story would have to tally with that of the sergeant whom Vandam had sent for help, so he would have to admit that he had received the phone call. Perhaps he would say that, before alerting the British, he had gone to the houseboat himself to investigate, in case “Major Vandam” was an impostor. What then? He had searched the towpath and the bushes for Vandam, and then he, too, had been knocked on the head. The snag was that he would not have stayed unconscious all these hours. So he would have to say that he had been tied up. Yes, he would say he had been tied up and had just managed to free himself. Then he and Vandam would board the houseboat—and find it empty.
It would serve.
He parked his car and went cautiously down to the towpath. Looking into the shrubbery, he figured out roughly where he had left Vandam. He went into the bushes thirty or forty yards away from that spot. He lay down on the ground and rolled over, to make his clothes dirty, then he rubbed some of