City of Gold

‘And take her with us when we leave?’

‘You know that would be impossible.’

‘She’ll talk.’

Solomon looked at him but didn’t reply.

‘She’ll talk, Solomon. The British will squeeze her, and she’ll tell them everything she knows.’

‘Don’t rush your fences, Yigal. I’ll tell her nothing until I’m quite certain that she’s not already spying for the British.’

‘Peggy West?’

‘Figure it out for yourself. The British must be curious about the prince for the same reasons we are. Peggy was here before the war. She must be registered with the embassy, with the Hotel Magnifico as her permanent address. It would be sensible of them to ask Peggy to report on what the prince is saying at his parties.’

‘You have a devious mind, Solomon.’

‘I am logical. That is why Tel Aviv gave me this job.’

‘You are cynical, and that is quite different.’

‘All men serve two masters; that is human nature.’

‘Two masters?’

‘We both know British soldiers who salute the union jack but who are also Jews. I know some British soldiers who even combine loyalty to their king with a faith in Soviet communism. Prince Piotr no doubt has a love for Mother Russia, but he detests Uncle Stalin and might well be helping the Germans. We know proud Egyptians who faithfully obey the British. It is a lucky man indeed who works for only one master.’

‘You like riddles; I like straight answers.’

‘There are no straight answers, Yigal.’

‘You have avoided my questions. Eventually you will have to confide in Peggy West. When we leave what will you do?’

‘I know how to handle such things, Yigal.’

‘Does that mean you’ll silence her?’

‘It will be all right.’

Despite Solomon’s angry tone, Yigal persisted. ‘She’s one of us. She’s Karl’s wife. I’ll have no part in killing her. Don’t say I haven’t warned you.’

Solomon gave him a cold smile: ‘Teach us, Lord, to meet adversity; but not before it arrives.’

‘Spare me another of your lessons from the Talmud.’

‘Why do you scorn the lessons of the Talmud?’ asked Solomon affably. He was pleased at what looked like a chance to change the subject.

‘Would it teach me about your devious schemes for Peggy West?’

Solomon sipped his beer. For a moment it seemed as if he would not reply. Then he said, ‘Many years ago there lived a scholar who asked an old rabbi what could be learned from the Talmud. The rabbi told him of two men who fell down a chimney. One man arrived at the bottom dirty, while the other arrived clean. Is that the lesson of the Talmud? the scholar asked. No, replied the old rabbi, listen to me: the dirty man looked at the clean man and thought himself clean. Is that the lesson of the Talmud? asked the scholar. No, replied the rabbi, for the dirtied man looked at his own hands and seeing them sooty knew he’d been dirtied. This then is the lesson of the Talmud? said the scholar. No, said the rabbi. Then what am I to learn from the Talmud? asked the scholar. The rabbi told him: You will learn nothing from the Talmud if you start by believing that two men can fall down a chimney and not both be dirtied.’

4

They’d given Jimmy Ross his predecessor’s quarters. He was in the massive Citadel of Muhammad Ali, which overlooked the whole city. In this ancient fortification the British garrison had long made their home. Within its bounds there were a military hospital, swimming pool, tennis courts, stables and extensive parade grounds. He’d been assigned a comfortable bedroom plus cramped sitting room in what – until the families had been evacuated – had been the army’s married quarters.

Jimmy Ross dined alone in his room that night. It was not considered unusual. Senior SIB personnel were a law unto themselves, everyone knew that. In fact, many of the other officers stayed well clear of these ‘secret policemen’. He got a decent meal of stewed chicken, rice and steamed pudding with jam. Then he systematically sorted through Cutler’s kit and his own. He must get rid of that kit bag. With the name Ross still faintly legible on the side of it, it was incriminating evidence. There were a few other things. He tore from his books the pages on which he’d written his name and flushed them down the toilet. He scraped his name from the back of a shoe brush and tore off some Ross name tags from his underclothes.

His worst shock came when he tried on the battle dress from Cutler’s suitcase. He’d not calculated on Cutler’s having such long arms. Battle dress was the same for all ranks, so he’d reckoned on wearing Cutler’s top with his own trousers. But the khaki blouse did not fit him. There was no getting away from it; it looked absurd. He could, of course, continue to wear the corporal’s uniform, but there was always the chance that some bright copper would take note of the fact that the dead prisoner from the railway train just happened to be a corporal too. He slept on his problems and woke up rested. It was a wonderful sunny morning. It gave him renewed vigour and renewed hope.

He didn’t want to tackle the Bab-el-Hadid barracks alone. A new sentry might well make difficulties for someone in a shabby corporal’s uniform. He phoned his office and spoke with Marker. ‘I’ve got some things to do in town,’ he said airily. ‘Give the Stanhope girl my new pass and have her bring it to me at lunchtime. I’ll be in the bar in Groppi’s.’ The famous Groppi was the only restaurant he’d ever heard of in Cairo.

‘Very good, sir,’ said Marker. ‘I don’t think there is a bar there; I’ll say the restaurant at about one o’clock. Is that the Groppi Rotunda or Groppi Garden?’

For a moment Ross was floored. ‘Which do you recommend?’

‘Alice will have her car, of course. She could pick you up and take you to Soleiman Pasha; that’s the one I always prefer.’

‘Good, good,’ said Ross. ‘Groppi in Soleiman Pasha then.’ Marker had jumped to the conclusion that Ross intended to use the girl as a guide and driver around the town. Well, that was a good idea. It might prove very convenient.

‘Tell her to pick me up from here at twelve noon,’ said Ross. ‘Any sign of the brigadier?’

‘He’s away duck shooting. Back next week his office says.’

‘Okay.’

‘There was one other thing, sir.’

‘Yes?’

‘That fellow died.’

‘The prisoner?’

‘Yes, I forget his name for the moment. But the man you escorted. He died.’

‘What was it?’

‘Heart attack. I don’t know the drill for that sort of thing. I suppose there will be a post-mortem and some sort of enquiry. They will probably need you to give evidence.’

‘Did he die in hospital?’ said Ross. He could hear himself breathing too loudly and capped the phone.

‘The pathology wallahs will sort all that out,’ said Marker.

Ross didn’t like the sound of it.

‘One other thing, sir. Did the prisoner not have any kit?’

‘He was arrested on the run,’ said Ross. ‘That’s why he was in civvies.’