Bruno's grin was as affable as always. "No. I'm a pukka archaeologist. It was when I was on a dig down near the Sudan border that I was recruited by Washington." He looked toward Brigadier Haigh. "Do you want me to put Major Bazeljette in the picture, or would you prefer to do so, Brigadier?"

Haigh pursed his lips and then said, "I shall, if you don't mind. America's take on the Free Officers Movement, Jack, is that when this war is won, America and Britain are going to need their members to build a modern Egyptian state that Britain and America can work with. We all know that the monarchy's days are numbered. Farouk is as corrupt as they come and certainly not the man to help Egypt into the twentieth century. There's a feeling that Gamal Na.s.ser, who is head of the Free Officers, probably is."

"And does this ... scenario ... a.s.sume an Egypt completely free of a British presence?" Jack asked, looking from the brigadier to Bruno.

"America doesn't like imperialism," Bruno said pleasantly.

"And we have to be realistic," Brigadier Haigh said heavily. "I don't have a second's doubt that we're going to win this war, but when we do, the world will be a different place. The Americans may well be right that in postwar Egypt there will be no place for Britain. And, on the chance that Na.s.ser and Sadat will be the men we then have to deal with, my orders are to keep a tight watch on them and on their friends, but not so tight that we won't be able to come to an accommodation with them, should the occasion arise."

"And is Darius Zubair counted as one of those friends?"

Bruno leaned forward, his big hands clasped. "Not only a friend, but according to our intelligence reports, a leading member of Na.s.ser's future government. And that it is Na.s.ser and his friends who one day form it is vital if the danger of the Muslim Brotherhood taking control of Egypt is to be avoided."

"That wouldn't be something any of us would want to contemplate," Haigh said with feeling. "The long and the short of it, Jack, is that you keep your brother-in-law and Sadat under surveillance, but that you so do with an eye to the broader picture." And not troubling to open the file Jack had brought, the brigadier handed it back to him.

"Yes, sir." Jack rose to his feet, saluted, and left the room.

When he got back to his own office he locked the file safely away and tried Petra's phone number again. Again there was no reply.

Archie came in and thumped another pink-docketed report on his desk. "A British Gladiator took off without authorized clearance two hours ago," he said. "Seems there was an Egyptian at the controls and our radar had him heading straight for the German lines. Our blokes tried to shoot him down before he crossed them. They failed, but a stray German gunner did the job for them. What the pilot was up to is anybody's guess."

"Leave it with me. I'll send a report to Haigh in the morning. I understand you've got a hot date with Boo tonight?"

Archie grinned. "I have, but I've some paperwork to finish off first."

When Archie had begun pounding away on his battered typewriter Jack tried Petra's number again. This time the number didn't ring unanswered. This time it was un.o.btainable. For a phone to be out of order was a frequent occurrence in Cairo and controlling his impatience Jack said, "I'm off home, Archie. I'm in need of a stiff drink and a shower."

"Home," the flat he shared with two other officers, was only a five-minute walk away, but between setting off from Grey Pillars and arriving at his door, dusk fell, pale-yellow light turning fiery orange before plunging into deep-purple twilight.

He knew the instant he stepped into the narrow hallway that no one else was at home. Relieved, he made straight for the bathroom and turned on the creaky shower. The phone rang before he'd even had the chance to take off his shirt and certain it would be a fishing-fleet girl for one or other of his flatmates, he walked back out of the bathroom and into the hall to answer it.

"Thank G.o.d you're there, Jack." There was an edge to Archie's voice he'd never heard in it before. "Petra just showed up. She's very upset and said she had to see you. When I said you'd just left for the flat she asked for the address. I offered to escort her over, but she refused. She was nearly hysterical and so I thought it best to let her have her way."

"She left GHQ how long ago?"

"Two minutes. Maybe three."

"Stay by the phone in case I need you." He slammed the receiver down. Whatever the cause of Petra's distress, he knew it was something extremely serious. She'd been scared when she had spoken to him earlier and Petra wasn't the kind of woman who scared easily.

He strode into the bathroom and turned the shower off. As he did so the front doorbell rang.

He yanked the door open so fast that she half fell across the threshold.

To his stupefaction he saw she was clutching a battered German prayer book.

He put an arm around her, taking her weight.

"I have to talk to you, Jack ..." She was gasping for breath. "I have to tell you-"

"Wait until you're sitting down with a brandy inside you," he said.

"No." She shook her head violently, her torrent of hair tumbling out of its pins. "There isn't time ... I don't even know whether he's so injured he'll be there, or whether he'll be gone."

"He? Sholto?"

She nodded and, fighting hysteria, said, "He's a spy. I've had suspicions for months, but when I found this ..." Her fingers tightened on the prayer book. "When I found this, I was sure. So sure that I confronted him ... He just laughed and then he lunged at me. We fought at the top of the stairs and I tripped him. He tumbled down and banged his head on the newel-post and that's where I left him, unconscious and bleeding. But when he comes around he'll come after me."

He didn't ask why she'd been suspicious of Sholto for months. He didn't ask what was in the prayer book.

He dialed his number at GHQ.

Archie answered.

"Our man is Sholto Monck," Jack said without explanation. "He's at 5 Sharia Aziz, Gezira Island. Go there directly with a squad of armed men. I want him taken into custody no matter what diplomatic immunity he claims. And I want him taken alive. I'll meet you there. Got it?"

"Got it," Archie said, stunned but unquestioning.

Jack took his Colt from its holster and strode into the bedroom. Tugging open a drawer, he took out a box of bullets and shook it open. As he began loading the revolver, Petra said unsteadily from the doorway, "Sholto isn't Anglo-Irish. He's German-Irish. I was looking for confirmation and I found this in a box of books which he brought with him to Cairo and never unpacked."

Jack put a handful of bullets into his top pocket, shoved his revolver into his holster, and took the dusty prayer book from her.

On the flyleaf, written in German, was a list of family birth dates. The last name on the list was Sholto's name and place of birth. Munich.

"What made you suspicious?" Jack demanded, taking fierce satisfaction from the fact that his suspicions where the emba.s.sy was concerned had been right.

"Lots of things."

Knowing the jeep would be with them within seconds she began speaking fast.

"He had so much money it was as if he was printing it- and I realized it was coming via a diplomat at the Romanian legation. He only met with Constantin when he thought no one would see. And Constantin's colleague at the Romanian legation was expelled for spying."

She took a deep shuddering breath and pushed her hair away from her face. "Then there's the contempt he has for Sir Miles and everyone else he works with at the emba.s.sy-though it's a contempt he keeps well hidden from everyone but me. I finally realized that he only married me so that he could gain contact with Ivor and Ivor's friends. When he drinks heavily and talks in his sleep he does so in German. In the early days he laughed it off by saying he'd been dreaming he was twenty-three again and studying for his Foreign Office exams."

The jeep screeched to a halt outside the flat.

He gripped her shoulders. "You're to stay here. If he's already left Sharia Aziz he'll be on the hunt for you. Don't go to Nile House. It's one of the first places he'll look. I doubt he knows this address, but I am going to leave an armed sergeant with you until I get back. Got it?"

She nodded. "Be careful," she said, her voice breaking. "I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you. It would kill me, Jack. Truly."

In the sudden knowledge that no matter what had gone wrong between them, she loved him still, he pulled her toward him, kissing her hard.

A minute later he was in the driver's seat, saying savagely to the officer he had ejected, "You're to let no one-no one-into this flat until I return. The woman in it is Lord Conisborough's daughter. You guard her with your life. Understand?"

"Yes, sir. Absolutely."

With a squeal of tires Jack careened away, heading for the Kasr el-Nil Bridge, the palm of one hand slammed against the jeep's horn.

It was dark now and the streets were dimly lit to comply with halfhearted blackout restrictions. The bridge was as crowded as always and he fumed and swore as it took a seeming eternity to cross. Jack glanced at his watch. With luck, Archie and the squad of men would already be in Sharia Aziz.

As he swerved off the bridge onto the island he headed for the wealthy residential area favored by the emba.s.sy's diplomats. And then he saw the road to Zamalek and the handful of houseboats moored there.

He remembered how expertly Darius had hidden the fact that he was still anti-British. He remembered how the Egyptian Queen had been Sadat's first port of call when he returned to Cairo. He remembered how Constantin, who, according to Petra, was hand in glove with Sholto, had been with Darius the night Jack had first made contact with Darius-and of how speedily Constantin had disappeared when he had seen Jack's uniform. He remembered seeing Constantin with Sholto as the two of them entered a cafe off Kasr el-Nil Street.

If Darius was involved with Anwar Sadat, was he also involved in a quite different form of anti-British activity? Was Darius a German spy as Sholto Monck most definitely was?

Jack brought the jeep to a halt, perspiration beading his forehead. It was a possibility. As he looked at the fork in the road and realized just how very near to each other Darius and Sholto lived, he acted on gut instinct and slewed onto the road leading toward Zamalek, dreading what he might find.

The riverside road curved up the island past the Gezira Sporting Club. On the far side of the bridge the lights of restaurants and cafes glimmered. On the northeast side of the island there were only dense palm groves reaching down to the water.

Twenty yards away from the moorings he cut the engine and rolled to a standstill. Making as little noise as possible, he walked toward the Egyptian Queen. The lights in the stateroom were on, though the curtains were drawn. Darius's Mercedes was parked beneath the nearby date palms. There was no sign of any other car.

As he stepped onto the gangplank he could hear a woman crying.

With a hand resting on his revolver he crossed the deck and began to descend the ladder leading to the saloon. There was a sharp intake of breath and the crying stopped, but neither Darius nor Sholto challenged him.

They weren't there.

Only Zahra was in the cabin.

"What do you want?" she demanded, recognizing him at once. She knuckled away tears of fury. "If you've come to see your brother-in-law, he's gone. They've all gone."

The anger and bitterness in her voice was scorching.

"They?" he asked, as if it wasn't of much importance, knowing she would remember that as well as being Darius's brother-in-law, he was also a British officer. At the moment though, she was treating him as if he were a fellow conspirator.

"The Sholto man dragged me and Constantin here because he said his cover had been blown and he had to run, but first he needed Constantin to send a wireless message."

Jack's heart stopped. In one sentence she had confirmed there was a wireless transmitter aboard the Egyptian Queen and branded Darius a spy.

"What message did Constantin send?" he said tersely.

She shot him a withering look. "How do I know? He transmits in code. After he'd finished the row started."

"The row?" Precious minutes were ticking away, yet he knew he couldn't push her. To lose his temper would be fatal.

"Sholto said Darius and Constantin had to go with him and they didn't want to. Constantin said even if Sholto's cover was blown, his wasn't and the worst that could happen to him as a diplomat was that he would be sent back to Bucharest. And that if he was sent back, he would make sure I was able to join him there." Her voice shook with explosive fury. "But now that Sholto pig has taken him to Germany!"

"Germany?" Not all his long training in remaining ice-cool could keep him ice-cool now.

Zahra was too crazed with fury to register his stupefaction.

"Sholto said a plane would land at Malaqua and take them to Tripoli."

Jack had never heard of Malaqua, but if a German plane was to land there it had to be deep in the desert and presumably close to the German positions across the Libyan border. Which meant they were heading to an area that only a British army Long Range Desert patrol would be able to reach.

"Darius didn't want to go," Zahra was so angry at Constantin's betrayal in leaving her behind that she was happy to tell him everything, "but Sholto said he had to drive him and Constantin at least as far as El-Laban where he had a Bedouin contact who knew the route to Malaqua. And he said they had to take the transmitter with them so that they could keep in touch with the people sending the plane."

Jack knew El-Laban. It was a scattering of mud-brick houses set around an oasis thirty miles or so farther south than Saqqara. He'd been there years ago with Darius, but whether he could find his way alone, and at night, was another matter. He was, though, going to give it a h.e.l.l of a try.

Knowing that he'd got all the information he could get and that what he was about to do could cost him his professional future-if not his life-he scrambled back up the ladder to the deck.

Ten minutes later he was driving fast across the English Bridge, heading for Giza. Even though it was night the road was still busy with carts and camels and military trucks. He tried to work out how much of a start Darius and the others had on him. Sholto must have recovered consciousness only minutes after Petra had fled from the house. He had then gone straight to the houseboat, picking up Constantin and Zahra en route. How long would that have taken? Fifteen minutes? Twenty?

He swerved past an armored car. At a rough estimate Darius, Sholto, and Constantin were a good fifteen minutes ahead of him. And if he didn't catch up with them before El-Laban, the race would be over. Only a Bedouin could travel the desert at night. Jack couldn't. He might not even be able to see the tracks of Sholto's car. And day or night, no one went into the Sahara unaccompanied. He had no emergency supply of water with him and no clothes to protect him from the crucifying cold.

Dark fields of sugarcane stretched out on either side of him and then, in the moonlight, the familiar shape of the pyramids reared blackly against the night sky.

The road to the Western Desert veered off one way. Another road, far narrower, led to Saqqara.

Within yards of racing down it he was stopped by two military policemen. He flashed his SIB card and they waved him on. Sholto's diplomatic ident.i.ty card had, presumably, carried equal weight.

The road was one he knew well. Ever since he'd been a boy, he had hired a horse from the Mena House Hotel stables and ridden to the Step Pyramid, sometimes with Darius, sometimes with Davina.

Davina.

He couldn't even begin to imagine Davina's agony if Darius were to leave Egypt with Sholto and Constantin. And his leaving Egypt wasn't the worst scenario. The worst was that he would stay and be sentenced to a firing squad.

There were coils of barbed wire on both sides of the road and in the distance something that looked suspiciously like a skull and crossbones signaling a minefield. He kept to the middle of the road, mindful that the verges would be soft, deep sand. A motorbike zoomed out of the darkness toward him, the rider wearing the blue-and-white of the Signals Corps.

Jack was shivering with cold. What the devil was he actually going to do if Sholto's Chrysler came into view? He didn't want to draw his revolver on Darius, but what if they shot first?

Jack's stomach muscles tightened as in the brilliant moonlight he saw the Step Pyramid. From here, his only chance of catching Sholto was to pick up the Chrysler's wheel marks on the desert track.

As he covered mile after mile, with the Sahara stretching out on either side of him as vast as all eternity, his tension mounted. What if the tracks he was following weren't the Chrysler's? What if he lost sight of them or couldn't find them again?

After an hour or so he saw scrubby bushes in his headlamps and then he picked out the black silhouette of date palms. His relief was overpowering. Even if it wasn't El-Laban, it was at least an oasis-and an oasis meant water.

Minutes later he saw mud walls and knew that unless Sholto was still in the village making preparations with his Bedouin friend, his own journey had come to an abortive end.

There was no way that he could enter the oasis silently. In the desert the faintest sound carried for miles and El-Laban's inhabitants would have been aware of his jeep's approach for the last ten minutes. None of them, however, appeared to be curious.

As he cut his engine and stepped out of the jeep, there was no sign of any human movement. And no sign of a car.

In the starlight a skinny dog growled at him. From behind one of the mud-brick houses a donkey brayed. In the center of the ramshackle collection of houses was the village well. Sitting on its waist-high wall was the dark outline of a familiar figure.

"Who," Darius asked conversationally, "is going to shoot first, Jack? Am I to shoot you? Or are you going to shoot me?"

THIRTY.

Jack stopped. "Where's Monck?" he demanded.

"He's long gone. And there's no way you can catch up to him, Jack. Not without a Bedouin as a guide."