Ken Follett: Triple (1991)

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 II: 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 Schulz had been making notes on his trip while he sipped his gin sling. Towfik searched the apartment for sheets torn from the pad. He found them on the balcony, burned to cinders in a large glass ashtray. Ihe night was cool. Later in the year the air would be warm and fragrant with the blossom of the jacaranda tree in the garden below. The city traffic snored in the distance. It reminded Towfik of his fathees apartment in Jerusalem. He wondered how long it would be before he saw Jerusalem again. He had done all he could here. He would look again at that foolseap pad, to see whether Schulz's pencil had pressed hard enough to leave an impression on the next page. He turned away from the parapet and crossed the balcony to the French windows leading back into the drawing room. He had his hand on the door when he heard the voices. Towilk froze. "rm sorry, honey, I just couldn't face another overdone steak." "We could have eaten something, for God's sake." Tle Schulzes were back. Towilk. rapidly reviewed his progress through the roomi: bedrooms, bathroom, drawing room, kitchen . . . he had replaced everything he had touched, except the little plastic box. He had to keep that anyway. Schulz would have to assume he had lost it. If Towfik could get away unseen now, they might never know he had been there. He bellied over the parapet and hung at full length by his fingertips. It was too dark for him to see the ground. He dropped, landed lightly and strolled away. It had been his first burglary, and he felt pleased. It bad gone as smoothly as a training exercise, even to the early return of the occupant and sudden exit of spy by prearranged emergency route. He grinned in the dark. He might yet live to see that desk job. He got into his car, started the engine and switched on the lights. Two men emerged from the shadows and stood on either side of the Renault Who ... ?

He did not pause to figure out what was going on. He rammed the gearshift into first and pulled away. The two men hastily stepped aside. They had made no attempt to stop him. So why had they been there? To make sure he stayed in the car ... ? He jammed on the brakes and looked into the back seat, and then he knew, with unbearable sadness, that he would never see Jerusalem again. A tall Arab in a dark suit was smiling at him over the snout of a small handgun. "Drive on," the man said in Arabic, "but not quite so fast, please."

Q: What is your name? A: Towfik el-Masiri. Q: Describe yourseff. A: Age twenty-six, five-foot-nine, one hundred and eighty pounds, brown eyes, black hair, Semitic features, light brown skin. Q: Who do you work for? A I am a student. Q What day is today? A: Saturday. Q: What is your nationality? A: Egyptian. Q: What is twenty mintis seven? A: Thirteen. The above questions are designed to facilitate fine calibration of the lie detector. Q: You work for the CIA. A : No. (TRuE) Q: The Germans? A: No.(TRUE) Q: Israel, then. A: No. (FALSE) Q: You really are a student? A: Yes. (FALSE) Q: Tell me about your studies. A : I'm doing chemistry at Cairo University. (TRUE) I'm interested in polymers. (TRuE) I want to be a petrochemical engineer. (FALSE) Q: What are polymers?

A:Complex organic compounds with long-chain molecules----the commonest is polythene. (TRUE) Q: What is your name? A: I told you, Towfik el-Masiri. (Fnw) Q :The pads attached to your head and chest measure your pulse, heartbeat, breathing and perspiration. When you tell untruths, your metabolism betrays you-you breathe faster, sweat more, and so on. This machine, which was given to us by our Russian friends, tells me when you are lying. Besides, I happen to know that Towfik el-Masiri is dead. Who are you? A: (no reply) Q:Ile wire taped to the tip of your penis is part of a different machine. It is connected to this button here. When I press the button- A: (scream) Q:--an electric current passes through the wire and gives you a shock. We have put your feet in a bucket of water to improve the efficiency of the apparatus. What is your name? A: Avram Ambache. The electrical apparatus interferes with the functioning of the lie detector. Q: Have a cigarette. A: Thank you. Q:Believe it or not, I hate this work. The trouble Is, people who like it are never any good at it-you need sensitivity, you know. I'm a sensitive person ... I hate to see people suffer. Don!t you? A: (no reply) Q:You're now trying to think of ways to resist me. Please don't bother. There is no defense against modem techniques of . . . interviewing. What is your name? A : Avraw Ambache. (TRuE) A: Who is your control? A: I don't know what you mean. (PALsE) Q : Is it Bosch? A: No, Friedman. (READwa mDETERmiNATE) Q: It is Bosch. A: Yes. (PALsE) Q: No, it's not Bosch. Tt's Krantz. A: Okay, it's Krantz-whatever you say. (TRuE)

Q: How do you make contact? A: I have a radio. (PALsE) Q: You're not telling me the truth. A: (scream) Q: How do you make contact? A : A dead-letter box in the faubourg. Q:' You are thinking that when you are in pain, the lie detector will not function properly, and that there is therefore safety in torture. You are only partly right. This is a very sophisticated machine, and I spent many months learning to use it properly. After I have given you a shock, it takes only a few moments to readjust the machine to your faster metabolism; and then I can once more tell when you are lying. How do you make contact? A: A dead-letter-(scream) Q:Ali! He's kicked his feet free-these convulsions are very strong. Tie him again, before he comes round. Pick up that bucket and put more water in it. (pause) Right, he's waking, get out. Can you hear me, Towfik? A: (indistinct) Q: What is your name? A : (no reply) Q: A little jab to help you A : (scream) Q: -to think. A: Avram Ambacbe. Q- What day is today? A: Saturday. Q What did we give you for breakfast? A Fava beans. Q: What is twenty minus seven? A: Thirteen. Q : What is your profession? A:I'm a student. No don't please and a spy yes I'm a spy don't touch the button please oh god oh god- How do you make contact? A: Coded cables. Q:Have a cigarette. Here ... oh, you don't seem to be able to hold it between your lips-let me help ... there. A: Thank you.