The Key to Rebecca - Ken Follett [134]
She was in full flood now, eager to tell all she knew, her resistance quite crushed; she would do anything to make people be nice to her. “He came and told me you had asked him to have the houseboat watched. He said he would censor his surveillance reports if I would arrange a meeting between Alex and Sadat.”
“Alex and whom?”
“Anwar el-Sadat. He’s a captain in the Army.”
“Why did he want to meet Wolff?”
“So the Free Officers could send a message to Rommel.”
Vandam thought: there are elements to this that I never thought of. He said: “Where does Sadat live?”
“Kubri al-Qubbah.”
“The address?”
“I don’t know.”
Vandam said to the woman officer: “Go and find out the exact address of Captain Anwar el-Sadat.”
“Yes, sir.” The woman’s face broke into a smile that was astonish ingly pretty. She went out.
Vandam said: “Wolff kept his radio on your houseboat.”
“Yes.”
“He used a code for his messages.”
“Yes, he had an English novel which he used to make up the code words.”
“Rebecca.”
“Yes.”
“And he had a key to the code.”
“A key?”
“A piece of paper telling him which pages of the book to use.”
She nodded slowly. “Yes, I think he did.”
“The radio, the book and the key have gone. Do you know where?”
“No,” she said. She got scared. “Honestly, no, I don’t know, I’m telling the truth—”
“It’s all right, I believe you. Do you know where Wolff might have gone?”
“He has a house ... Villa les Oliviers.”
“Good idea. Any other suggestions?”
“Abdullah. He might have gone to Abdullah.”
“Yes. Any more?”
“His cousins, in the desert.”
“And where would they be found?”
“No one knows. They’re nomads.”
“Might Wolff know their movements?”
“I suppose he might.”
Vandam sat looking at her for a little while longer. She was no actress: she could not have faked this. She was totally broken down, not only willing but eager to betray her friends and tell all her secrets. She was telling the truth.
“I’ll see you again,” Vandam said, and went out.
The woman officer handed him a slip of paper with Sadat’s address on it, then went into the cell. Vandam hurried to the muster room. Jakes was waiting. “The Navy is lending us a couple of divers,” Jakes said. “They’ll be here in a few minutes.”
“Good.” Vandam lit a cigarette. “I want you to raid Abdullah’s place. I’m going to arrest this Sadat fellow. Send a small team to the Villa les Oliviers, just in case—I don’t suppose they’ll find anything. Has everyone been briefed?”
Jakes nodded. “They know we’re looking for a wireless transmitter, a copy of Rebecca, and a set of coding instructions.”
Vandam looked around, and noticed for the first time that there were Egyptian policemen in the room. “Why have we got bloody Arabs on the team?” he said angrily.
“Protocol, sir,” Jakes replied formally. “Colonel Bogge’s idea.”
Vandam bit back a retort. “After you’ve done Abdullah, meet me at the houseboat.”
“Yes, sir.”
Vandam stubbed his cigarette. “Let’s go.”
They went out into the morning sunshine. A dozen or more jeeps were lined up, their engines idling. Jakes gave instructions to the sergeants in the raiding parties, then nodded to Vandam. The men boarded the jeeps, and the teams pulled out.
Sadat lived in a suburb three miles out of Cairo in the direction of Heliopolis. His home was an ordinary family house in a small garden. Four jeeps roared up outside, and the soldiers immediately surrounded the house and began to search the garden. Vandam rapped on the front door. A dog began to bark loudly. Vandam knocked again. The door was opened.
“Captain Anwar el-Sadat?”
“Yes.”
Sadat was a thin, serious young man of medium height. His curly brown hair was already receding. He wore his captain’s uniform and fez, as if he was about to go out.
“You’re under arrest,” Vandam said, and pushed past him into the house. Another young man appeared in a doorway. “Who is he?” Vandam demanded.
“My brother, Tal’at,” said Sadat.
Vandam looked at Sadat. The Arab was calm and dignified, but he was hiding some tension. He’s afraid, Vandam thought; but he’s not afraid