City of Gold

by Len Deighton

  ‘Bert?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s Alice Stanhope.’

  ‘Yes, go on.’

  ‘There’s something very strange happening here this morning. At the Magnifico, I mean. We must talk. Can you meet me somewhere?’

  ‘Are you there now?’ He looked at his watch again. There was not much time, and the brigadier, for all his good points, was not the sort of man who would recognise that any duty could be more important than being at the phone when he called.

  ‘I’m phoning from that perfume shop at the Bulaq Bridge.’ She couldn’t very well say it was the shop of an informer who reported regularly to the SIB of what went on in the Bulaq, one of Cairo’s most lawless districts. ‘I didn’t go to the hospital this morning. I haven’t got the car.’

  ‘Stay where you are. I’ll come to see you there. Tell our friend that I’ll want to put my van into the lockup there.’ Leaving any vehicle in the streets of the Bulaq would make it vulnerable to some of the most expert thieves in the world.

  The perfume shop had a narrow front. Its door opened into a tiny room with a long sofa and a fly-specked mirror on the wall. Arrayed on mirrored shelves that stretched round the room were bottles of a variety of shapes: globes, cylinders, pianos, guitars, motorcars, yachts, knots and flowers. The mirrors multiplied their profusion. The perfumes – brightly coloured liquids of acid green, sulphurous yellow and fleshy pink – glowed in straight-sided flagons in a closed and locked cage-front cupboard.

  ‘Have you chosen your perfume yet?’ Jimmy Ross asked her as he came in and sat down on the green velvet sofa.

  She smiled at his feeble joke, but before she could reply, the proprietor came in with a tray with coffee cups. He was a stout Arab with a pockmarked face and expensive-looking horn-rim spectacles. He wore green linen trousers and a shirt that buttoned to a high collar. He poured strong coffee from a long-handled brass pot.

  ‘I bring you sweet pastries with honey.’

  ‘No thanks, Vittorio.’

  ‘Just a sample of my wife’s cooking, khawagga Bert.’ So saying, he produced a plate of pastries out of nowhere and put them on the table with a flourish of his huge hands. Vittorio had adopted many Italianate gestures along with his newly acquired Italian name after living for a few years in Benghazi. Now he’d become a police informer as a way of proving that he was not an agent of the Italian enemies. ‘Now I leave you alone.’

  ‘Good,’ said Ross, and got up and went to the door to be sure it was closed. ‘I wish he wouldn’t call me khawagga Bert. What the hell does it mean anyway?’

  ‘Bert in a western hat,’ explained Alice. ‘In other words, a respected foreigner.’

  Ross smiled despite trying not to. ‘How the hell did he find out my first name?’

  ‘It’s just politeness, like effendi,’ she added, not wanting to get poor old Vittorio into trouble.

  ‘You heard what happened?’

  ‘Have the Japanese taken Singapore?’

  ‘No. I meant about Lampson and the king.’

  ‘Oh, that. Everything is going wrong for us, isn’t it?’

  ‘Alice. You said you had to see me. What is it?’ She could see he was not in the best of moods. She wondered if the brigadier was being difficult; her mother said the brigadier was unpredictable. Her mother was always asking questions about what she did at work for him.

  Alice said: ‘It’s Sayed … Sayed el-Shazli. He’s up to something, I’m sure. He didn’t go to the university this morning. His sister went alone. Sayed put on a uniform.’

  ‘Uniform?’

  ‘Khaki shirt and trousers.’

  ‘Well, that’s not uniform.’

  ‘I know I’m right, Bert. When you see the way he’s wearing it, you’ll see that it’s an army uniform. And he has a forage cap under the shoulder strap. Also there is a big Bedford truck with Egyptian army unit markings, parked behind the Magnifico. It must be for Sayed.’

  ‘Army markings? Which unit?’

  ‘Signals.’ She had the answer ready.

  He tapped the table and then stared across the room. Finally he said, ‘You’re probably right. Where is he now?’

  ‘He’s at the Magnifico. He’ll go to prayers first. I haven’t got the car today. May I take your Tilly?’

  He had driven here in his Austin utility van. If Sayed el-Shazli was using a Bedford truck, she’d need some sort of vehicle to keep an eye on him. ‘Okay.’

  ‘Thanks, Bert.’

  She waited for him to congratulate her, and tell her how pleased he was, but he was too preoccupied to be aware of her existence. Finally she prompted him. ‘You said that he was a member of the Free Officers Association. You said when the time came the conspirators would summon Sayed from his studies so that he could be the spokesman in their negotiations with the Germans.’

  He looked at her. She was a captivating young woman. When she was near him he found it difficult to take his eyes off her. Yes, he had said all that. Marker had said it to him. But he hadn’t expected her to remember it so exactly. He wondered what other things he’d said that she would bring up at some inconvenient time in the future. ‘But is this it? I mean, has the time come?’ He looked at his watch. He must get back to the office in time for the brigadier’s phone call.

  She said, ‘Lampson’s confrontation with the king has angered all the Egyptians, Bert. Even the ones who wanted to hang the king are now angry about the way he was treated.’

  ‘You are wonderful, Alice.’ He reached out and touched her arm. If only he were a free man. But he wasn’t a free man and the brigadier would be phoning soon.

  ‘Try the coffee. It’s delicious.’

  ‘I don’t feel like it,’ he said.

  She could see he was troubled and wondered if she had done something to annoy him. He kept looking at his watch as if being with her was consuming too much time.

  ‘Here’s the distributor arm for the Tilly. Make sure you remove it every time you leave it unattended. It looks bad if we have vehicles stolen.’

  ‘Yes, Bert.’

  For a moment she thought he was about to kiss her but then the moment passed, and he just smiled and said, ‘And be careful. The Arabs are all damned twitchy these days; what with this business with the king and Rommel’s advance. Marker thinks that it will go on for some time.’

  Deprived of his Austin van, Ross walked back to Bab-el-Hadid barracks. The centre of the city was a geometric pattern of long wide boulevards that intersected here and there to make an impressive étoile in the Parisian style. But immediately outside that grid, Cairo became a zigzagging maze of medieval alleys, the oldest surviving city in the world.

  The Bulaq was a region like this, and it was through that district that Ross walked to get directly back to the police barracks. Soon after leaving the shops near Bulaq Bridge, he turned into the back streets and alleys. The stench became sickening, but he didn’t turn back. Perhaps he’d never been in the most distressed parts of the city before, or perhaps it was the time of day or the mood he was in, but the walk back through the Bulaq shocked him.

  The horror of it was with him for many days and nights afterward. The cripples and beggars, the diseased children and the starving women, their skin tight on their bony frames, did not pester him. In these back alleys no stranger was likely to have anything to give. He passed children squatting amongst dung and human excrement, their bodies defiled with open sores upon which hordes of flies fought and feasted.

  He glanced inside the doorways to see faces wide-eyed and blank with defeat. Even the cats and dogs that came sneaking past him were not like other animals he’d seen. Here were houses without doors, windows without glass, and floors that were just dirt. Steps to the flat roofs of these mud huts were made of stone and mud because anything constructed of wood would be stolen immediately. Not one single usable item was to be found on the heaps of garbage that were strewn with dead rats.

  He was pleased when he found himself emerge into
Bulaqiya street. Even the grimy old Bab-el-Hadid barrack block was a relief after the grim back streets through which he’d come. He looked at the clock. It was eleven twenty-five. The sentry on the gate saluted him.

  He climbed the stairs, went into his room, sat down, closed his eyes and sighed deeply. He opened his eyes. A cup of tea, into which a big spoonful of condensed milk had been stirred to make it pale and sweet, appeared before him magically. It seemed to have little effect that he’d told Ponsonby, and everyone else in the office, that he didn’t care for this disgusting mixture. They all believed that he would develop a taste for it.

  The phone call came at eleven forty-five.

  ‘Major Cutler?’

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘I’m sure there’s no need for me to tell you how important it is that your departmental staff are not endangered in any way.’

  ‘No, sir. Of course not.’ He wondered what the devil the old man was trying to tell him this time. The brigadier was not usually quite as obscure as this.

  ‘Especially civilians.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Army personnel are paid to take risks; that’s what soldiers do for a living.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Do you understand me, Major Cutler?’

  ‘I’m not quite sure I do, sir.’

  ‘I know the mother. A wonderful woman: cultured, educated, elegant and charming, with a brilliant mind.’

  ‘Who is that, sir?’

  ‘She studied for the bar and then – What did you say? Who? Mrs Angela Stanhope. Wake up, Cutler. It’s nearly noon.’

  ‘Mrs Angela Stanhope?’

  ‘You can’t wonder that she shows some anxiety for her daughter, Cutler. She’s been on the phone half a dozen times this week already. She’s got the idea that her daughter is being used on some sort of undercover work. I reassured her on that point.’

  Jimmy Ross said nothing. Didn’t he have enough problems without the brigadier hanging this one on him? Not for the first time Ross decided that he hated the army.

  ‘I told her that there was no question of your employing her daughter on any sort of work that could ever be dangerous. I just wanted to make sure you know that I’ve given her my solemn word.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘So make sure the young lady is well looked after.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Because if anything happened to the girl – frightened even – the mother would raise the very devil.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘From the way you say “yes, sir” I can tell that you have no idea of the sort of hell that Angela can raise, should she put her mind to it. Dammit, Cutler, the Stanhopes know half the cabinet by their first names, and the other half are their relatives. If anything happened to that daughter of theirs, I wouldn’t be surprised if Angela didn’t put a call through to Winston personally. You and I would be roasted on a spit.’

  Jimmy Ross swallowed. He looked at his watch and wondered where Alice Stanhope was right now. The brigadier was in a highly emotional state. He tried to remember some film or play that would help him in this predicament, but he couldn’t. The nearest thing to this was dealing with anxious actors about the size of their names in the adverts. He’d found the wisest policy in such situations was to lie categorically. ‘You can reassure Mrs Stanhope that her daughter is solely engaged on secretarial duties. The question of danger does not and could not arise.’

  The brigadier was not immediately calmed. ‘She was appalled to hear that her daughter had been working in Bab-el-Hadid barracks. She’d never heard of the place until her daughter told her she was working there. The mother was in Cairo the other day and went to look at it. She drove past in her car. Horrified. She was horrified, Cutler.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘You can understand why?’

  ‘I can indeed, sir.’

  ‘It’s a grim-looking place, you must admit.’

  ‘Indeed I do, sir.’

  ‘And she discovered that we hold military criminals in custody there. She said she didn’t want her daughter working in a prison.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘They are a fine old family, Cutler.’ The brigadier was more composed now.

  ‘I’m sure they are, sir.’

  ‘Well … Yes, I’m pleased to hear that you have everything under control at your end. Any development on that other business?’

  ‘One or two leads, sir.’

  ‘Oh, good. Well, I’m pushing off for a couple of days. There are some embassy blighters I have to see, and the duck shoot is the only opportunity I get of sitting them down, and making them listen to our point of view.’

  ‘Good luck, sir.’

  ‘What’s that? Oh, I see. Yes. Thank you, Major Cutler. That’s most kind of you. Goodbye.’

  ‘Goodbye, sir.’

  Ross put down his phone and held both hands on it as if to keep the brigadier from calling back. Then he emitted a long deep sigh. ‘Ponsonby!’

  ‘Yes, major.’

  ‘I’m ready for a large cup of that filthy tea you brew out there.’

  ‘I thought you might be, sir. I have one here, nicely drawn and all ready to pour out.’

  Ponsonby was right. There were times when a large cup of scalding-hot sweet tea, tasting of condensed milk, was the only alternative to jumping off the balcony.

  13

  Alice Stanhope had learned to drive her father’s four-litre Brough Superior when she was fifteen years old. Handling the Austin utility van on this desert road gave her no problems. The difficulty was in keeping the Bedford truck in view without letting Sayed or his Arab driver know that they were being followed. Surely he was bound to spot her now when they were trailing behind a long convoy of army trucks, going agonisingly slowly along a flat stretch of desert road.

  ‘I’m so glad you’re with me, Peggy,’ said Alice not for the first time. It was Peggy who’d first pointed out that Sayed was behaving strangely and said he should be watched. She should have told Bert about Peggy’s involvement, but today he had been so touchy that she decided against it. Anyway she had no second thoughts about recruiting Peggy for this escapade. Peggy was as British as anyone could be.

  ‘I couldn’t have let you come alone,’ said Peggy West. ‘It’s dangerous for a woman. Even two of us –’

  ‘You don’t believe all that tosh, surely, Peggy? White slave traffic … all those stories were invented to keep women at home and subjected.’

  ‘I hope you’re right.’

  ‘I am.’

  Peggy West looked at her companion. Alice Stanhope wasn’t the subdued creature she sometimes liked to pretend to be. Escaping from that mother of hers had required pluck and determination. Since leaving home she’d tasted freedom and she was flourishing on it.

  ‘Where do you think he’s going?’ Alice said. Neither of the women had considered it possible that Sayed would drive out of town. They were expecting him to go to some clandestine meeting in the city. Now, as time went on and he continued on the desert road, they were not sure what to do.

  ‘I don’t know this road,’ said Peggy. They passed a huge sign, DANGER – BEWARE SOFT VERGES. Some joker had painted VIRGINS over it.

  ‘We’ll have to watch the fuel gauge. The army might not want to supply us.’ And then Alice said again, ‘I’m glad you’re with me.’ She didn’t want Peggy to think that her dismissal of the dangers meant that she didn’t need a companion.

  ‘I’m sure that Sayed is up to something.’ Peggy felt uneasy. If Sayed was going to meet his Arab friends they would make short work of two English women who’d been following him.

  Alice said nothing. She tapped the glass of the fuel gauge hoping that it would spring to full. It didn’t. She sighed.

  They had adjusted their speed to the army convoy and were going very slowly now. ‘It’s so beautiful at this time of year,’ said Peggy. ‘It’s no good trying to describe it to people who haven’t been here. M
y friends in England are determined to believe that Egypt is nothing but undulating sand dunes. How can you describe a landscape like this? Look at the colours of the rocks, the strange dusty light and the wildflowers.’

  ‘Don’t get too carried away,’ said Alice. ‘It’s not a jaunt, Peggy.’ Up ahead the soldiers in the truck had noticed that there were women behind them. They were leaning far out over the tailboard, smiling and waving. Alice and Peggy were both wearing the khaki twill skirts and brown shirts that all the hospital staff were given. They didn’t look convincingly like members of the armed services, but at least they didn’t attract the sort of attention that women in civilian clothes would get on the road out here.

  Peggy said, ‘It’s probably the Free Officers, this revolutionary party the army officers all belong to. But it’s hard to believe that Sayed would do anything to harm us, isn’t it?’

  ‘He’s acting so suspiciously, Peggy. Why should he suddenly put on that uniform and get a Bedford army lorry and come out here?’

  ‘We’ll be stuck behind this convoy forever,’ said Peggy. ‘He’s sure to spot us sooner or later.’ The road was very narrow. What had been a wide enough road for horses and camels could not take two lines of motor traffic. The vehicles ahead had slowed to walking pace. All the drivers were carefully avoiding the soft road edges that would bog them down for hours. Military policemen on motorcycles were roaring up and down the road, fussing about and shouting warnings to the drivers. Finally, after a few fits and starts, the whole convoy came to a complete stop. Sayed’s truck was up ahead. One of the helmeted motorcyclists jumped from his bike and began waving. In response, Sayed’s truck pulled out onto the offside of the road and kept going. The MP waved Alice onwards too, in that imperious manner that traffic cops cultivate.

  Alice pulled out. Now there were no vehicles between her Tilly and Sayed’s Bedford as they crawled past the long line of army vehicles. Alice left as much space as she could and prayed that Sayed would not spot her in his driving mirror.