Triple (4 page)

TRIPLE

dinner at the Nile Hilton. In the morning on the third day they got up

early and took a taxi to the mosque of Ibn Tulun.

Towflk left his car near the Gayer-Anderson Museum and followed them.

They took a perfunctory look around the mosque and headed east on the

Shari al-Salibah. They were dawdling, looking at fountains and buildings,

peering into dark tiny shops, watching baladi women buy onions and pep-

pers and camers feet at street stalls.

They stopped at a crossroads and went into a tea-shop. Towfik crossed the

street to the sebeel, a domed fountain behind windows -of iron lace, and

studied the baroque relief around its walls. He moved on up the street,

still within sight of the tea-shop, and spent some time buying four

misshapen giant tomatoes from a white-capped stallholder whose feet were

bare.

The Schulzes came out of the tea-shop and turned north, following Towfik,

into the street market. Here it was easier for Towft to idle, sometimes

ahead of them and sometimes behind. Frau Schulz bought slippers and a

gold bangle, and paid too much for a sprig of mint from a haff-naked

child. Towflk got far enough in front of them to drink a small cup of

strong, unsweetened Turkish coffee under the awning of a caf6 called

Nasif 9.

They left the street market and entered a covered souq specializing in

saddlery. Schulz glanced at his wristwatch and spoke to his wife-giving

Towfik the first faint tremor of anxiety-and then they walked a little

faster until they emerged at Bab Zuweyla, the gateway to the original

walled City.

For a few moments the Schulzes were obscured from TowWs view by a donkey

pulling a'cart loaded with Ali-Baba jars, their mouths stoppered with

crumpled paper. When the cart passed, Towfik saw that Schulz was saying

goodbye to his wife and getting into an oldish gray Mercedes.

Towflk cursed under his breath.

The car door slammed and it pulled away. Fran Scbulz waved. Towfik read

the license plate-it was the car he had followed from Heliopolis-and saw

it go west then turn left Into the Shari Port Said.

Forgetting Frau Schulz, he turned around and broke into a run.

19

Ken Folleff

They had been walking for about an hour, but they had covered only a

mile. Towfik sprinted through the saddlery souq and the street market,

dodging around the stalls and bumping into robed men and women in black,

dropping his bag of tomatoes in a collision with a Nubian sweeper, until

he reached the museum and his car.

He dropped into the driver's seat, breathing hard and grimacing at the

pain in his side. He started the engine and pulled away on an

interception course for the Shari Port Said.

The traffic was light, so when be hit the main road he guessed he must

be behind the Mercedes. He continued southwest, over the island of Roda

and the Giza Bridge onto the Giza Road.

Schulz had not been deliberately trying to shake a tall, Towflk decided.

Had the professor been a pro he would have lost Towfik decisively and

finally. No, he had simply been taking a morningwalk through the market

before meeting someone at a landmark. But Towfik was sure that the meet-

ing place, and the walk beforehand, had been suggested by the agent.

They might have gone anywhere, but it seemed likely they were leaving the

city--otherwise Schulz could simply have taken a taxi at Bab Zuweyla-and

this was the major road westward. Towfik drove very fast. Soon there was

nothing in front of him but the arrow-straight gray road, and nothing ei-

ther side but yellow sand and blue sky.

He reached the Pyramids without catching the Mercedm Here the road

forked, leading north to Alexandria or south to Faiyum. From where the

Mercedes had picked up Schulz, this would have been an unlikely,

roundabout route to Alexandria; so Towfik plumped for Faiyum.

When at last he saw the other car it was behind him, coming up very fast.

Before it reached him it turned right, off the main road. Towflk braked

to a halt and reversed the Renault to the turnoff. The other car was

already a mile ahead on the side road. He followed.

This was dangerous, now. The road probably went deep into the Western

Desert, perhaps all the way to the oil field at Qattara. It seemed little

used, and a strong wind might obscure it under a layer of sand. The agent

in the Mercedes was sure to realize he.was being followed. If he were a

good

20

I TRIPLE

agent, the sight of the Renault might even trigger memories of the journey

from Heliopolis.

This was where the training broke down, and all the careful camouflage

and tricks of the trade became useless; and you had to simply get on

someone's tail and stick with him whether he saw you or not, because the

whole point was to find out where he was going, and if you could "anage

that you were no use at all.

So he threw caution to the desert wind and followed; and still he lost

them.

The Mercedes was a faster car, and better designed for the narrow, bumpy

road, and within a &w minutes it was out of sight. Towfik followed the

road, hoping he might catch them when they stopped or at least come

across something that might be their destination.

Sixty kilometers on, deep in the desert and beginning to worry about

getting gasoline, he reached a tiny oasii village at a crossroads. A few

scrawny animals grazed in sparse vegetation around a muddy pool. A jar

of fava beans and three Fanta cans on a makeshift table outside a hut

signified the local caf6. Towfik got out of the car and spoke to an old

man watering a bony buffalo.

"Have you seen a gray Mercedes?"

The peasant stared at him blankly, as if he were speaking a foreign

language.

"Have you seen a gray car?"

The old man brushed a large black fly off his forehead and nodded, once.

"ften?"

"Today."

That was probably as precise an answer as he could hope for. "Which way

did it go?"

The old man pointed west, into the desert.

Towflk said, "Where can I get petrol?"

The man pointed east, toward Cairo.

Towfik gave him a coin and returned to the car. He started the engine and

looked again at the gasoline gauge. He had enough fuel to get back to

Cairo, just; if he went farther west he would run out on the return

journey.

He had done all he could, he decided. Wearily, he turned the Renault

around and headed back toward the city.

21

Ken Folleff

Towfik did not like his work. When it was dull he was bored, and when it

was exciting he was frightened. But they had told him that there was

important, dangerous work to be done in Cairo, and that he had the

qualities necessary to a good spy, and that there were not enough

Egyptian Jews in Israel for them to be able just to go out and find

another one with all the qualities if he said no; so, of course, he had

agreed. It was not out of idealism that he risked his life for his

country. It was more like self-interest: the destruction of Israel would

mean his own destruction; in fighting for Israel he was fighting for

himself; he risked his life to save his lif& It was the logical thing to

do. Still, he looked forward to the tirne~--in five years? Ten?

Twenty?-when he would be too old for field work, and they would bring him

home and sit him behind a desk, and he could find a nice Jewish girl and

marry her and settle down to enjoy the land he had fought for.

Meanwhile, having lost Professor Schulz, he was following the wife.

She continued to see the sights, escorted now by a young Arab who had

presumably been laid on by the Egyptians to take care of her while her

husband was away. In the evening the Arab took her to an Egyptian

restaurant for dinner, brought her home, and kissed her cheek under the

jacaranda tree in the garderL

The next morning Towfik went to the main post office and sent a coded

cable to his uncle in Rome:

SCHULZ MET AT AIRPORT BY SUSPECTED

LOCAL AGENT. SPENT TWO DAYS SIGHTSEE

ING. PICKED UP BY AFORESAID AGENT AND

DRIVEN DIRECTION QATTARA. SURVEIL

LANCE ABORTED. NOW WATCHING WIFF-

He was back in Zamalek at nine Am. At eleven-thirty he saw Fran Schulz

on a balcony, drinking coffee, and was able to figure out which of the

apartments was the Schulzes'-

By lunchtime the interior of the Renault had become very hot. Towfik ate

an apple and drank tepid beer from a bottle.

Professor Schulz arrived late in the afternoon, in the Same gray

Mercedes. He looked tired and a little rumpled, like a

22

TRiPLE

middle-aged man who had traveled too far. He left the car and went into the

building without looking back. After dropping him, the agent drove past the

Renault and looked straight at Towfik for an instant. There was nothing

Towfik could do about it.

Where had Schulz been? It had taken him most of a day to get there, Towfik

speculated; he had spent a night, a full day and a second night there; and.

it had taken most of today to get bacL Qattara was only one of several

possibilities: the desert road went all the way to Matruh on the

Mediterranean coast; there was a turnoff to Karkur Tohl in the far south;

with a change of car and a desert guide they could even have gone to a

rendezvous on the border with Libya.

At nine P.M. the Schulzes came out again. The professor looked refreshed.

They were dressed for dinner. They walked a short distance and hailed a

taxi.

Towfik made a decision. He did not follow them.

He got out of the car and entered the garden of the building. He stepped

onto the dusty lawn and found a vantage point behind a bush from where he

could see into the hall through the open front door. The Nubian caretaker

was sitting on a low wooden bench, picking his nose.

Towfik waited.

Twenty minutes later the man left his bench and disappeared into the back

of the building.

Towfik hurried through the hall and ran, soft-footed, up the staircase.

He had three Yale-type skeleton keys, but none of them fitted the lock of

apartment three. In the end he got the door open with a piece of bendy

plastic broken off a college setsquare.

He entered the apartment and closed the door behind him.

It was now quite dark outside. A little light from a streetlamp came

through the unshaded windows. Towfik drew a small flashlight from his

trousers pocket, but he did not switch it on yet.

The apartment was large and airy, with white-painted walls and

English-colonial furniture. It had the, sparse, chilly look of a place

where nobody actually lived. There was a big drawing room, a dining room,

three bedrooms and a kitchen. After a quick general survey Towfik started

snooping in earnest.

23

Ken Folleff

The two smaller bedrooms were bare. In the larger one. Towfik went

rapidly through all the drawers and cupboards. A wardrobe held the rather

gaudy dresses of a woman past her prime: bright prints, sequined gowns,

turquoise and orange and pink. The labels were American. Schulz was an

Austrian national, the cable had said, but perhaps he lived in the USA.

Towfik had never heard him speak.

On the bedside table were a guide to Cairo in English, a copy of Vogw and

a reprinted lecture on isotopes.

So Schulz was a scientist.

Towfik glanced through the lecture. Most of it was over his head. Schulz

must be a top chemist or physicist, he thought. If he was here to work

on weaponry, Tel Aviv would want to know.

There were no personal papers-Schulz evidently had his passport and

wallet in his pocket. The airline labels had been removed from the

matching set of tan suitcases.

On a low table in the drawing room, two empty glasses smelled of gin:

they had had a cocktail before going out.

In the bathroom Towfik found the clothes Schulz had worn into the desert.

There was a lot of sand in the shoes, and on the trouser cuffs he found

small dusty gray smears which might have been cement. In the breast

pocket of the rumpled jacket was a blue plastic container, about

one-and-a-half inches square, very slender. It contained a light-tight

envelope of the kind used to protect photographic film.

Towfik pocketed the plastic box.

The airline labels from the luggage were in a wastebasket in the little

hall. The Schulzes' address was in Boston, Massachusetts, which probably

meant that the professor taught at Harvard, MIT or one of the many lesser

universities in the area. Towflk did some rapid arithmetic. Schulz would

have been in his twenties during World War 11: he could easily be one of

the German rocketry experts who went to the USA after the war.

Or not. You did not have to be a Nazi to work for the Arabs.

Nazi or not, Schulz was a cheapskate: his soap, toothpaste and

after-shave were all taken from airlines and hotels.

On the floor beside a rattan chair, near the table with the empty

cocktail glasses, lay a lined foolscap notepad, its top sheet blank.

There was a pencil lying on the pad. Perhaps

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