Read Three Great Novels Online
Authors: Henry Porter
Tags: #Thrillers, #Action & Adventure, #Fiction
Three Great Novels (32 page)
Herrick noticed that the prospect of the adventure in Egypt instantly took ten years off her father. His eyes shone with animation and he seemed to be moving less stiffly. Besides the essentials of the plan, he had mastered the hand-radios, the encryption phones and the topography of the district of Cairo where Khan was believed to be held. On the way to Heathrow he explained to Herrick and Christine Selvey that he’d spent two weeks in Cairo before leaving for Palestine in 1946, exploring the medieval quarter and the area around Khan al Khalili souk. He understood that little had changed.
They were booked, not into one of the modern hotels along the Nile, but the more central Devon Hotel that once acted as a kind of officers’ mess for the British Army. Munroe had stayed there when the more exclusive Shepheard’s had been full. He was astonished to find the same 1930s switchboard behind the front desk and the ancient lift that carried guests up to the rooms in a steel cage and stopped short of each floor by about a foot. He was even more taken by the scorched canvas which had once been a hunting scene and still hung in the dining room as a reminder of the anti-British riots that coincided with Nasser’s coup in 1952. ‘Of course they were right to kick us out,’ he murmured. ‘We had no business being here.’
‘And what about now?’ asked Herrick.
‘That’s another matter, as you well know, Isis.’ He shook his head with affectionate despair. ‘Anyway, we haven’t time for this. We’ve got a rendezvous to make.’
They left Selvey at the hotel and caught a cab to the Sunset café, which was still nearly full even though it was well past midnight. They didn’t know which member of the team to expect, just that someone would arrive with details of the next day.
When they had ordered tea and a hookah, Herrick said, ‘You have to admit this is bloody weird, Dad.’
‘I suppose it is,’ he said. ‘I was even less keen than you, but I believe the Chief needs our help, and you have to admit I’m an excellent cover.’
‘But you’re part of the operation, not just cover. That’s what worries me. And what about the Chief? Even if we manage to pick up the package, this is bound to get out sooner or later.’
‘I’m certain you’re right. But he’s not furthering his own interests. He’s only trying to protect the Service from Vigo and Spelling.’ He looked at her with a sudden, intense concern. ‘The Chief told me what happened to you. He said it was almost certainly Vigo who’d put those two bloody Albanians on to you. You did well to fight them off. I’m impressed and immensely relieved.’
‘That’s what I mean. You shouldn’t know about this stuff. How can I possibly be expected to work if I know you’re being told about every minor danger? Anyway, they weren’t after me. They were searching the place and I happened to turn up.’
‘What were they looking for?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. It had now become almost a matter of faith that she told no one about the package from Beirut.
He smiled sceptically. ‘But Vigo knew it was there.’
‘Yes, that means he was listening to a phone conversation I had a few hours before with a friend. Though God knows why he would bother.’
‘Come off it, Isis. You surely understand?’
‘No.’
‘He’s jealous of your talent. You’re a natural. The Chief never stops telling me how good you are. The idea that anyone could possess the sort of flair he once showed would certainly grate with him. Besides that, you’re critical of his operation. He’s bound to be put out.’
She shrugged and moved a little closer. ‘What chance do you think we’ve got here?’
‘Fifty-fifty. It relies on quick, accurate information and if we don’t get that, we’re jiggered.’
‘Jiggered! Where did that word come from?’ She looked at his eyes moving over the café’s customers, discreetly noting who was showing an interest in them. ‘Well, I suppose this is better than looking at snail shells through a magnifying glass.’
‘Not a patch on it, but the change is certainly refreshing.’
They waited a further half hour gossiping about Hopelaw, and then a young man who had been browsing along a magazine stand twenty yards away came to sit at their table and ordered a pipe and coffee. He was pale and sickly looking with eyes set wide. Herrick noticed he moved awkwardly as though he had damaged his back or pelvis, and she asked him what was the matter.
‘Big lorry jump on little car. Everyone dead except Mr Foyzi.’
‘I’m glad you survived, Mr Foyzi,’ she said.
‘Yes, but treatment at hospital very, very expensive. Mr Foyzi needs money to make back straight. You want buy papyrus?’ He handed Munroe Herrick a card. ‘This address of best papyrus shop in all Cairo.’ His arms danced in the air as he described the splendour and size of his brother’s factory. ‘Okay, you come. We have coffee and make party.’
‘This sounds exactly what we want,’ said Munroe. He handed the card to Isis. It read, ‘Go with Foyzi - Harland.’
‘What time should we come?’
‘But of course now. There is not long distance to factory.’
They left money on the table and were ushered from the alley by Foyzi, who made a great show of leading his new and valued clients to the factory. They crossed at the intersection of two large streets then plunged into another alley. Either side of them rose elegant turn-of-the-century apartment blocks with balcony windows that jutted over their heads. They passed men labouring over tiny fires in dimly lit work-shops and others loitering, picking at grilled corn cobs, smoking makeshift hookahs and offering advice from the street with the exaggerated movements of a mime troupe. No women were about and Herrick, dressed in jeans and a shirt, felt conspicuous, although Foyzi’s presence seemed to reassure the men and they gave her barely a second glance. For fifteen minutes they dodged back and forth, moving through the dark maze of alleys until eventually they came to a courtyard where a man with welding equipment squatted by a car door. The sparks flew into the dark, illuminating three trees and washing lines that swayed in the warm breeze.
Foyzi stopped and beckoned them to the side of the courtyard. ‘No speaks now,’ he whispered, putting both hands to his lips, then turned to watch the entrance of the courtyard. A minute or two later the welder lifted his visor and snapped off the flame. The courtyard became utterly dark and silent. Foyzi guided them to an entrance, knocked on the door and spoke through a grille. Locks were turned heavily and bolts drawn back. Inside there were some candles in red glass pots and a figure wrapped in white cloth and a headdress who immediately slipped away into a recess. Without explanation, Foyzi hurried them along a corridor heavily scented with flowers and the smell of candle wax, then they burst into a brightly lit room with chandeliers and show cases full of bottles.
‘Where the hell are we?’ asked Herrick.
‘A perfume factory, I think,’ replied her father.
‘Gentleman is correct, but we not stay here,’ said Foyzi officiously. ‘You buy lotus oil some other time, missus. We see your friends now in next store.’
A communicating door was opened and they were propelled into another cavernous space hung with carpets and huge brass lanterns. Foyzi took their arms and navigated them through the piles of rugs on the floor. When they reached a better-lit part of the shop, Herrick checked her father’s face. He showed no signs of strain whatsoever.
‘Isis, I will say this once,’ he murmured as they approached a room where they heard voices. ‘Do not fuss over me. I am perfectly all right.’
Inside, she saw Harland, Colonel B and, to her surprise, Colin Guthrie, who explained that it had been decided in London at the last moment that he would oversee the operation. Harland greeted them both with an enigmatic grin and said that Loz was already under guard at the place where they would take Khan. Foyzi sat down at one of the chairs and tipped a little liquid from a flask into a cup of coffee.
Guthrie unrolled a map on the table. ‘Over the past twenty-four hours we have been observing the route taken from the police headquarters to the jail on the southern margins of the city. Without exception the trucks and cars making this journey have travelled along the streets marked in red. We have no reason to believe they will vary the routine for Khan. At the moment our sources say that the security people are exhausting their methods and are likely to hand over to The Doctor sometime tomorrow. That leaves us with very little time, yet also too much of it. While we have to be ready to go tomorrow we must also remember that it will be a considerable challenge to mount any kind of watch in an area which is at all times crawling with police and security personnel. ’
Guthrie laid four A4 photographs on the table and joined them together to create a continuous picture of the street named Bur Said. He pointed to a three-storey stone Italianate building and a much larger and more modern office block, painted white and turquoise. ‘The older building holds the courts. This is joined on the right to the police headquarters. At the back is the jail complex where Khan is being held. The truck carrying him will leave an entrance at the rear and take the crowded side-street to Bur Said. Beginning at this junction there is a run of shops, restaurants and cafés where The Doctor - Ibrahim al Shuqairi - has been observed talking to a CIA man whom Bobby Harland has identified in surveillance photographs as Lance Gibbons. He has been seen there four times in the last thirty-six hours and it is believed that he has been unofficially briefing the American on the progress of the interrogation. On the last occasion, earlier this evening, the couple appeared to have a falling out. We think Gibbons has failed to recommend that the responsibility for the interrogation should be given to The Doctor. Information from the police HQ, produced by Mr Foyzi this afternoon, would seem to confirm this. We know also that communications traffic from the US Embassy has featured the interrogation and its results. Unsurprisingly, Khan has admitted to being involved in a plot to blow up a number of churches and other prominent targets, but he has given them no definite date for an attack. Perhaps he senses that this is the one thing he still has to play with.’
Guthrie looked up from the pictures and moved a lamp to shine on them. ‘This run of cafés is where you will be stationed, Isis. Your job will be to observe Gibbons and try to overhear what he says. We will have other people in the café, but you will be the person to signal the operation is on. Foyzi will be with you. The important point of course is that Gibbons and The Doctor both know you, which means you have to go well-disguised.’
Herrick nodded agreement that this would not present the slightest problem.
Guthrie turned to Munroe. ‘The first part of your day will be spent in the newly restored Islamic Museum directly opposite the courts. This should not be arduous. The museum is air-conditioned and I believe possesses an unequalled collection of manuscripts and ornamental art. You will remain there with Selvey until such time as you receive a message. Then you will make your way out and look for a blue and white Peugeot with the words Zamalek Limousine printed on its side. You will be driven to this point here in the Northern Cemetery, about ten to fifteen minutes away, depending on the traffic. You will see that there are a number of right-angle bends there which require the truck to slow down to about ten miles an hour. It is here that the interception will take place. You will remain in the car until you hear from Philip Sarre and Gregor Laughland who will be positioned close by in the cemetery. One of them will radio you when they have visual contact. At this point, you will both get out and prepare to create the diversion we’ve already discussed. Once the wagon has stopped you will move as quickly as you can to the Peugeot and make your escape. It is likely to be hot so you will need to reserve all your energy for that walk, Munroe.’
Guthrie sat down. There was silence in the room for several seconds. This was the signal for Colonel B to speak.
‘What you all need to know about the end of the operation is minimal,’ he said. ‘We will be in the area of the cemetery, but you won’t see us before the truck arrives. We’ve spent most of the day recceing the area and in many respects have found it the perfect spot. There is very little traffic and the road there is poorly made. Our main object of course is to release Khan without loss of life, but there will be one or two bangs that will attract attention, so we’ll be aiming to move out of the area with Khan very quickly.’ He placed a packet of earplugs on the table and shoved them towards Munroe.‘These are for you and your colleague, sir. Once you’ve got the signal, be sure to ram them right in.’
‘And me?’ said Herrick. ‘How do I hook up with you? Where’s Harland going to be?’
‘Harland is going to be with us, so we will need the medical kit you brought out from England.’
‘Right, I can get that to you. But after the truck has passed what do I do? Follow it?’
‘Exactly. We want you to watch for an escort. Generally these trucks travel alone, but given the interest in Khan there may well be a couple of cars following with some armed police. They shouldn’t present too much of a problem, but we’ll need a description of the vehicles and the number of men inside.’
‘There’s one thing I don’t understand,’ said Harland. ‘Why does Isis have to hang around the café and then pursue the truck? Wouldn’t it be a lot simpler to put Sarre or Laughland there to do the initial watch and have Isis tucked away in the cemetery ready to leave with me and Khan?’
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