The Key to Rebecca - Ken Follett [45]
The cleverer he was, the longer it would take.
Vandam was convinced that Abdullah, the thief, was involved with Wolff. After Bogge refused to have Abdullah arrested, Vandam had offered a large sum of money for Wolff’s whereabouts. Abdullah still claimed to know nothing of anyone called Wolff, but the light of greed had flickered in his eyes.
Abdullah might not know where Wolff could be found—Wolff was surely careful enough to take that precaution with a notoriously dishonest man—but perhaps Abdullah could find out. Vandam had made it clear that the money was still on offer. Then again, once Abdullah had the information he might simply go to Wolff, tell him of Vandam’s offer and invite him to bid higher.
Vandam paced the room.
Something to do with style. Sneaking in; murder with a knife; melting away; and ... Something else went with all that. Something Vandam knew about, something he had read in a report or been told in a briefing. Wolff might almost have been a man Vandam had known, long ago, but could no longer bring to mind. Style.
The phone rang.
He picked it up. “Major Vandam.”
“Oh, hello, this is Major Calder in the paymaster’s office.”
Vandam tensed. “Yes?”
“You sent us a note, a couple of weeks ago, to look out for forged sterling. Well, we’ve found some.”
That was it—that was the trace. “Good!” Vandam said.
“Rather a lot, actually,” the voice continued.
Vandam said: “I need to see it as soon as possible.”
“It’s on its way. I’m sending a chap round—he should be there soon.”
“Do you know who paid it in?”
“There’s been more than one lot, actually, but we’ve got some names for you.”
“Marvelous. I’ll ring you back when I’ve seen the notes. Did you say Calder?”
“Yes.” The man gave his phone number. “We’ll speak later, then.”
Vandam hung up. Forged sterling—it fitted: this could be the breakthrough. Sterling was no longer legal tender in Egypt. Officially Egypt was supposed to be a sovereign country. However, sterling could always be exchanged for Egyptian money at the office of the British paymaster general. Consequently people who did a lot of business with foreigners usually accepted pound notes in payment.
Vandam opened his door and shouted along the hall. “Jakes!”
“Sir!” Jakes shouted back equally loudly.
“Bring me the file on forged banknotes.”
“Yes, sir!”
Vandam stepped to the next office and spoke to his secretary. “I’m expecting a package from the paymaster. Bring it in as soon as it comes, would you?”
“Yes, sir.”
Vandam went back into his office. Jakes appeared a moment later with a file. The most senior of Vandam’s team, Jakes was an eager, reliable young man who would follow orders to the letter, as far as they went, then use his initiative. He was even taller than Vandam, thin and black-haired, with a somewhat lugubrious look. He and Vandam were on terms of easy formality: Jakes was very scrupulous about his salutes and sirs, yet they discussed their work as equals, and Jakes used bad language with great fluency. Jakes was very well connected, and would almost certainly go further in the Army than Vandam would.
Vandam switched on his desk light and said: “Right, show me a picture of Nazi-style funny money.”
Jakes put down the file and flicked through it. He extracted a sheaf of glossy photographs and spread them on the desk. Each print showed the front and back of a banknote, somewhat larger than actual size.
Jakes sorted them out. “Pound notes, fivers, tenners and twenties.”
Black arrows on the photographs indicated the errors by which the forgeries might be identified.
The source of the information was counterfeit money taken from German spies captured in England. Jakes said: “You’d think they’d know better than to give their spies funny money.”
Vandam replied without looking up from the pictures. “Espionage is an expensive business, and most of the money is wasted. Why should they buy English currency in Switzerland when they can make it themselves? A spy has forged papers, he might