Ken Follett - The Key to Rebecca

She had failed miserably. She was back where she started. She felt crushed.

She followed Wolff through the carriages back to their seats. She did not look at the faces of the people she passed. She saw Wolff give Billy one sharp smack on the bottom and dump him into his seat. The boy was crying silently.

Wolff turned to Elene. “You’re a silly, crazy girl,” he said loudly, for the benefit of the other passengers. He grabbed her arm and pulled her closer to him. He slapped her face with the palm of his hand, then with the back, then with the palm, again and again. It hurt, but Elene had no energy to resist. At last the priest stood up, touched Wolff’s shoulder, and said something.

Wolff let her go and sat down. She looked around. They were all staring at her. None of them would help her, for she was not just an Egyptian, she was an Egyptian woman, and women, like camels, had to be beaten from time to time. As she met the eyes of the other passengers they looked away, embarrassed, and turned to their newspapers, their books and the view from the windows. No one spoke to her.

She fell into her seat. Useless, impotent rage boiled within her. Almost, they had almost escaped.

She put her arm around the child and pulled him close. She began to stroke his hair. After a while he fell asleep.

VANDAM HEARD THE TRAIN PUFF, PULL AND PUFF AGAIN. IT GATHERED SPEED AND moved out of the station. Vandam took another drink of water. The bottle was empty. He put it back in his pannier. He drew on his cigarette and threw away the butt. No one but a few peasants had gotten off the train. Vandam kicked his motorcycle into life and drove away.

In a few moments he was out of the little town and back on the straight, narrow road beside the canal. Soon he had left the train behind. It was noon: the sunshine was so hot it seemed tangible. Vandam imagined that if he stuck out his arm the heat would drag on it like a viscous liquid. The road ahead stretched into a shimmering infinity. Vandam thought: If I were to drive straight into the canal, how cool and refreshing it would be!

Somewhere along the road he had made a decision. He had set out from Cairo with no thought in his mind but to rescue Billy; but at some point he had realized that that was not his only duty. There was still the war.

Vandam was almost certain that Wolff had been too busy at midnight last night to use his radio. This morning he had given away the radio, thrown the book in the river and burned the key to the code. It was likely that he had another radio, another copy of Rebecca and another key to the code; and that the place they were all hidden was Assyut. If Vandam’s deception plan were to be implemented, he had to have the radio and the key—and that meant he had to let Wolff get to Assyut and retrieve his spare set.

It ought to have been an agonizing decision, but somehow Vandam had taken it with equanimity. He had to rescue Billy and Elene, yes; but after Wolff had picked up his spare radio. It would be tough on the boy, savagely tough, but the worst of it—the kidnapping—was already in the past and irreversible, and living under Nazi rule, with his father in a concentration camp, would also be savagely tough.

Having made the decision, and hardened his heart, Vandam needed to be certain that Wolff really was on that train. And in figuring out how to check, he had thought of a way to make things a little easier for Billy and Elene at the same time.

When he reached the next town he reckoned he was at least fifteen minutes ahead of the train. It was the same kind of place as the last town: same animals, same dusty streets, same slow-moving people, same handful of brick buildings. The police station was in a central square, opposite the railway station, flanked by a large mosque and a small church: Vandam pulled up outside and gave a series of peremptory blasts on the horn of his bike.

Two Arab policemen came out of the building: a gray-haired man in a white uniform with a pistol at his belt, and a boy of eighteen or twenty years who was unarmed. The older man was buttoning his shirt. Vandam got off the bike and bawled: “Attention!” Both men stood straight and saluted. Vandam returned the salute, then shook the older man’s hand. “I’m chasing a dangerous criminal, and I need your help,” he said dramatically. The man’s eyes glittered. “Let’s go inside.”

Vandam led the way. He felt he needed to keep the initiative firmly in his own hands. He was by no means sure of his own status here, and if the policemen were to choose to be uncooperative there would be little he could do about it. He entered the building. Through a doorway he saw a table with a telephone. He went into that room, and the policemen followed him.

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.