The Key to Rebecca - Ken Follett [144]
Vandam said to the older man: “Call British headquarters in Cairo.” He gave him the number, and the man picked up the phone. Vandam turned to the younger policeman. “Did you see the motorcycle?”
“Yes, yes.” He nodded violently.
“Could you ride it?”
The boy was thrilled by the idea. “I ride it very well.”
“Go out and try it.”
The boy looked doubtfully at his superior, who was shouting into the telephone.
“Go on,” Vandam said.
The boy went out.
The older man held the phone out to Vandam. “This is GHQ.”
Vandam spoke into the phone. “Connect me with Captain Jakes, fast.” He waited.
Jakes’ voice came on the line after a minute or two. “Hello, yes?”
“This is Vandam. I’m in the south, following a hunch.”
“There’s a right panic on here since the brass heard what happened last night—the brigadier’s having kittens and Bogge is running around like a fart in a colander—where in buggeration are you, sir?”
“Never mind where exactly, I won’t be here much longer and I have to work alone at the moment. In order to assure the maximal support of the indigenous constabulary—” He spoke like this so that the policeman would not be able to understand—“I want you to do your Dutch uncle act. Ready?”
“Yes, sir.”
Vandam gave the phone to the gray-haired policeman and stood back. He could guess what Jakes was saying. The policeman unconsciously stood straighter and squared his shoulders as Jakes instructed him, in no uncertain terms, to do everything Vandam wanted and do it fast. “Yes, sir!” the policeman said, several times. Finally he said: “Please be assured, sir and gentleman, that we will do all in our power—” He stopped abruptly. Vandam guessed that Jakes had hung up. The policeman glanced at Vandam, then said, “Good-bye,” to the empty wire.
Vandam went to the window and looked out. The young policeman was driving around and around the square on the motorcycle, hooting the horn and overrevving the engine. A small crowd had gathered to watch him, and a bunch of children were running behind the bike. The boy was grinning from ear to ear. He’ll do, Vandam thought.
“Listen,” he said. “I’m going to get on the Assyut train when it stops here in a few minutes. I’ll get off at the next station. I want your boy to drive my bike to the next station and meet me there. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” said the man. “The train will stop here, then?”
“Doesn’t it usually?”
“The Assyut train does not stop here usually.”
“Then go to the station and tell them to stop it!”
“Yes, sir!” He went out at a run.
Vandam watched him cross the square. He could not hear the train yet. He had time for one more phone call. He picked up the receiver, waited for the operator, then asked for the army base in Assyut. It would be a miracle if the phone system worked properly twice in a row. It did. Assyut answered, and Vandam asked for Captain Newman. There was a long wait while they found him. At last he came on the line.
“This is Vandam. I think I’m on the trail of your knife man.”
“Jolly good show, sir!” said Newman. “Anything I can do?”
“Well, now, listen. We have to go very softly. For all sorts of reasons which I’ll explain to you later, I’m working entirely on my own, and to go after Wolff with a big squad of armed men would be worse than useless.”
“Understood. What do you need from me?”
“I’ll be arriving in Assyut in a couple of hours. I need a taxi, a large galabiya and a small boy. Will you meet me?”
“Of course, no problem. Are you coming by road?”
“I’ll meet you at the city limits, how’s that?”
“Fine.” Vandam heard a distant chuff-chuff-chuff. “I have to go.”
“I’ll be waiting for you.”
Vandam hung up. He put a five-pound note on the table beside the telephone: a little baksheesh never hurt. He went out into the square. Away to the north he could see the approaching smoke of the train. The younger policeman drove up to him on the bike. Vandam said: “I’m getting on the train. You drive the motorcycle to the next station and meet me