City of the Sun

by Juliana Maio

  “Please stop them,” Maya implored as she regained her footing. She heard her father shouting for his violin and she rushed into the corridor, only to be confronted by a third soldier who’d sprung up out of nowhere, blocking her way. “Them only,” he said.

  “Vati, no!” she screamed, catching a last glimpse of her father and brother being taken away. She fought the soldier who was holding her back, kicking, yelling, and biting, blind with fury. He was caught off guard and lost his footing for an instant, and Maya was able to slip by him. She raced down the hallway, but he caught her by her hair and overpowered her.

  “You’re not understanding, miss,” he said in perfect English. “You’re not needed.”

  “Please let me go with them,” she begged as the soldier dragged her back into the cabin. “Please, they are both so frail. Take me with you.” Her knees buckled and she would have fallen had the soldier not held her so firmly.

  Their eyes briefly met. He soon looked away and let out an exasperated sigh. Holding her tight with one hand, he opened the window and yelled in Arabic to the other soldiers who were taking Erik and Vati toward the waiting lorry.

  “Okay,” the soldier let up. “You’re coming along, miss. But no more biting or I’ll lock you up here.”

  She just had time to grab her mother’s violin as he pulled her, sobbing, out of the compartment.

  CHAPTER 45

  Kesner parted the flaps of the large Bedouin tent. “Allo?” he singsonged, poking his head inside. Beyond the small entry area, the interior was divided into sections by a woven curtain and several sheets.

  “Henna,” a voice filtered back, and in seconds a sheet on the left was pulled aside to reveal an Egyptian soldier, the jacket of his uniform unbuttoned, his rifle at his shoulder.

  Kesner didn’t bother to acknowledge him as he entered, erect as a king and as jubilant as a groom on his wedding day. He only had eyes for the three figures seated on floor cushions on brightly colored rugs, the light from the petrol lamp above dancing on their sad faces.

  “Erik Blumenthal, I presume,” he greeted the scientist in German, recognizing him immediately. He extended his hand, but the Jew just glared at him.

  “You have no right to detain us. Where are we?” Erik demanded.

  The soldier rushed in and started to lift him under the arm.

  “No, no, let him be,” the girl cried. “His legs are weak.” She jumped to her feet, but Kesner stopped her with a hand stretched across her stomach and forced her back down. He leaned toward the girl and lifted her chin to get a better look at her face. She looked quite unglamorous now with her disorderly hair and manly trousers, but she still looked pretty. “Marianna, no?” Kesner cocked his head. “You look prettier in person than in the photo.”

  The girl jerked her head away.

  Kesner straightened up.

  “Let him be,” Kesner told the soldier, gesturing to Erik. “I want you to take good care of him.” Then, addressing the scientist, he said, “You will need strength for the journey you face, Mr. Blumenthal. A lot of people in Berlin are looking forward to meeting you. And you have no rights, I’m sorry. This is war.”

  “Who are you?” Marianna asked. “We did not do anything wrong.”

  “Maybe you didn’t, but your brother here must have done something right. The führer wants him.”

  The girl turned to her brother inquisitively, but his face remained impassive.

  Kesner shrugged. “I frankly don’t know why,” he said, addressing Erik. “Apparently the last paper you wrote was a winner. It’s bringing you lots of fans, even from across the Atlantic.” He winked.

  Another soldier walked in, interrupting them. “I am Sergeant Ibrahim,” the man introduced himself. “I led the squad that captured these people. We took both men because we were not sure which one you needed, and the girl—”

  “I know, I know. You did a splendid job,” Kesner interrupted. Though not part of the plan, he was pleased by the mistake. The old man and the girl could be used as leverage in the event the scientist proved difficult. He turned to Erik. “We are glad to have you with us, Herr Blumenthal. And we very much appreciate your great efforts in the service of humanity.”

  “What is he talking about?” Marianna asked her brother.

  “They want me to help them build a bomb,” Erik said with loathing.

  “Is that what it is?” Kesner smiled and leaned down to look him in the eye, but as he did, Erik drove his elbow into Kesner’s solar plexus, making him double up and gasp for air.

  Ibrahim rushed to restrain Erik, who tried to wriggle out of his grip.

  Marianna jumped at him. “Get your hands off him,” she cried. “He’s crippled, for God’s sake.”

  Kesner lunged at the girl and pulled her away. He slapped her sharply, sending her reeling back into the tent and knocking her head against a copper pot. She looked at Kesner, dazed for an instant, her hand on her cheek, while the sergeant held his rifle in front of Erik’s face. Erik pushed it aside.

  “Where is my violin?” Vati lamented as he started to get up, but he lost his equilibrium and fell back on his buttocks.

  Kesner looked at each of the Blumenthals in disgust. He pointed a warning finger at Erik. “I’m sure you want your father and sister to be comfortable. Nein?” he threatened.

  “I need access to a radio,” Kesner told Ibrahim as he exited.

  “We have one in our lorry outside,” Ibrahim said, but when they got outside he whispered gravely, “I have terrible news. Our leader, Lieutenant Anwar Sadat, has been arrested by the British, along with a number of our men.”

  “But that’s impossible! I was with him this morning,” Kesner protested. He’d had breakfast with the lieutenant around ten o’clock and discussed the train ticket information they’d pieced together from Léon Guibli’s files, unearthing the Blumenthals’ imminent departure for Palestine. Good thing too, because they had been unable to squeeze anything out of the rat lawyer himself.

  “What about the plane he promised me to take them to Rommel?” Kesner asked. “Will it still be coming?”

  “Indeed. The pilot has the map coordinates for this camp and will have everything ready by dawn tomorrow,” Ibrahim answered.

  Kesner felt immensely relieved and patted him on the arm. “Have faith. It’s only days now before the Afrika Korps arrives and Egypt will become an independent nation.”

  CHAPTER 46

  After finding the train to Ismailiya stopped in the middle of nowhere with no sign of the Blumenthals, Mickey requisitioned the phone box in the first restaurant he spotted. Ignoring the impatient glares of a teenager waiting outside the booth, he was beside himself, and to make things worse, the connection was bad and he had to yell.

  “I told you! That’s what the witnesses said. It was the Egyptian army,” Mickey shouted to Kirk on the other end. “An army truck with three soldiers stopped the train. They knew exactly which car Blumenthal was in. He was traveling with his father and sister, and they took all three.” He bit his lower lip.

  “This makes no sense,” Kirk said. “The army is not involved with immigration and passport issues.”

  “I know,” Mickey said, putting his index finger into his other ear, so as to shut out the noise around him. “And why would they stop the train in the middle of nowhere to make an arrest, with Ismailiya only fifteen minutes away? Something’s up. You have to call your friend General Neguib. I can’t help thinking that the hand of the Nazi spy is involved here.”

  “Neguib has resigned his commission,” Kirk informed him. “He was humiliated by what happened at the palace yesterday. Good thing you weren’t in the streets this afternoon. Foreigners were being beaten up by angry mobs. Stores were looted and burned. The Turf Club was torched, along with five or six cinemas, and so was the Kit Kat Club—”

  “Ambassador, Ambassador,” Mickey tried to cut him off. His most urgent concern right now was Maya and her family.

  “We’re lucky to ha
ve caught an arsonist before he set fire to the Shepheard’s Hotel. He was posing as an exterminator,” Kirk went on as if he hadn’t heard Mickey. “And the worst part about this madness is that the Egyptian police just sat back and watched it happen without raising a pinkie. This country will never be the same after this. And to think that Churchill is arriving—”

  “Ambassador!” Mickey yelled. “I think the Blumenthal family was kidnapped. We have to find them.”

  A heavy sigh came from the other end of the line. “I think you’re right. It does look like a kidnapping to me, and I have suspicions about who might have been involved.”

  “Who?” Mickey asked breathlessly.

  “Some renegades within the Egyptian army who call themselves the Revolutionary Committee. MI5 has known about them for some time; in fact, they just put one of their leaders and his clique under locks. His handwriting matched a document they found at Madame Samina’s—a deal guaranteeing Egypt’s independence in exchange for their collaboration with the Germans. We have to get MI5 on this right away. I’ll call Commander Toppington immediately.”

  “Hold on, hold on,” Mickey said as he pressed the receiver tightly against his ear. “Is there any way I can talk to these officers from the Revolutionary Committee before MI5 does? I seriously doubt that the Brits will get anything out of them.”

  “I’m obliged to alert MI5 right away.”

  “Of course. But Egyptian soldiers, especially if they’re anti-British renegades, are more likely to cooperate with Americans. Just buy me a little time so I can talk to them first? I can be there in two hours.”

  “Mickey,” Kirk’s tone veered toward patronizing, “what you did—finding Erik—was a coup de force, but—”

  “There is no ‘but,’” Mickey almost yelled. “If I can’t interrogate these people alone, then at least make sure I’m present when MI5 does. This is not only about catching the spy. It’s still about finding our guy and delivering him to Roosevelt. We have our own agenda,” he reminded Kirk.

  There was a silence on the other end of line. Mickey realized that he must have sounded overzealous.

  “Erik Blumenthal’s sister is the girl with me in that photo taken at the ball,” he said, letting out a sigh. “I had no idea. I just found out.”

  Kirk did not say anything for an instant. “Give me a few hours,” he said.

  There was something dreamlike about his drive back to Cairo, alone, through the vast darkness of the desert. A whistling draft entering between the Jeep’s canvas top and the windows made it cold, but Mickey barely noticed. He was lost in his thoughts about Maya. He tried to remember everything she’d ever said and put it in the context of her actual situation: the demanding family she’d referred to, the vagueness of her plans, the secretive phone calls. It was all to hide their illegal immigration plans, which, in light of the growing threat of the Muslim Brotherhood, had become extremely dangerous. The poor girl. What difficulties and horrors she must have suffered since leaving Paris, and before that as a Jew living in Hitler’s Germany. It was a miracle that she still had a heart to give, and he loved her even more for opening it to him.

  As he entered the outskirts of Cairo he could smell the gunpowder and ashes lingering in the air. He had to pass a number of checkpoints before he could reach Hugh’s apartment. He’d decided to spend the night there, fearing his own place might be under surveillance.

  “Mi casa es tu casa,” Hugh said with a twinkle in his eyes when Mickey appeared at his door. He gave Mickey a pair of pajamas and left him in the privacy of the living room to call Kirk, who said that he was still working on arranging for the two of them to visit the jailed Revolutionary Committee officers. He asked Mickey to wait by the phone for his call.

  Mickey collapsed on the sofa; he needed badly to unwind. “Swell joint,” he commented when he heard Hugh return to the living room.

  “And the rent is only one love letter a month,” Hugh smiled mischievously as he settled into the flowery print of an overstuffed armchair. “So …” he bent forward and clapped his hands. “This article you’re writing about the Jews of Egypt?”

  “Baloney,” Mickey admitted straight out. “I promise I’ll tell you the whole story when I can.” He crossed his arms when suddenly a new thought struck him. “Tell me about your friend Ali, you said he stole an ammunition truck?”

  Hugh nodded. “After the humiliation of King Farouk, he turned against us,” Hugh sighed. “He’s being held at GHQ. They’re fighting over who has jurisdiction—the Egyptian authorities or High Command. Either way, he’s facing a stiff sentence, possibly death. Why?”

  “Is he part of the group of officers arrested for conspiring with the Nazis?”

  “Sadly, yes. How did you know?”

  “I need to see him. Can you help me?” Mickey asked, springing to his feet.

  The first light of the morning sky had barely appeared when Mickey spotted a sign on the side of the road, Suez 20 km. He had no idea where he was being taken, but he realized that the rugged reddish-brown mountains in front of him must be running parallel to the Gulf of Suez. This meant he was probably about eighteen miles or so south of Ismailiya.

  He was still in disbelief at the succession of events that had brought him here. It was all thanks to Hugh, who had put Mickey in touch with Ali’s parents and the family’s lawyer. Mickey had conveyed Kirk’s assurance that if Ali cooperated, the Americans would use their considerable influence with the Brits to be lenient on the young captain. In less than an hour Mickey found himself with the family’s lawyer in Ali’s cell, which he shared with five fellow members of the Revolutionary Committee. Ali denied any knowledge of the kidnapping and insisted that the lawyer also represent his comrades, who had remained present during the talk, and whom he claimed had been arrested without evidence.

  Mickey corrected him. There was in fact, evidence. The field police had discovered a document containing a German promise of independence to Egypt in exchange for help from the Revolutionary Committee. The document had been found in the home of the dancer Samina who was being paid by a Nazi spy. It was apparently waiting to be sent to Hitler for signature.

  The officers had become visibly disturbed by this information. Realizing he had touched a nerve, Mickey felt emboldened and pressed them for information regarding the Blumenthal abduction, promising help from the American Embassy in exchange, but they still denied knowledge. Dispirited, he’d gone back to Hugh’s empty-handed and desperate. Perhaps the Brits would get better results through force.

  So it had come as a great surprise when Mickey was awakened in the middle of the night by Sami, Ali’s little brother, telling him that a driver in a black Plymouth was waiting downstairs to take them to the Blumenthals. He had to leave at once and tell no one. En route, Sami explained that his brother and his comrades were outraged at being lied to and betrayed by the Nazi spy, who had sworn that the document guaranteeing independence had reached Germany and that Hitler had signed it. One of the jailed officers had been involved in planning the kidnapping and had arranged a mail plane for the spy to take his captives to Rommel. Furious that so many of their comrades’ lives had been put at risk because of the spy’s false assurances, they now wanted to abort the plan.

  The Plymouth sped toward the safe house where the Blumenthals were being held, with Sami and the driver urgently needing to inform the Egyptian officers there about the betrayal. They would overpower the Nazi and transfer custody of the foreigners to Mickey. If the spy resisted, he would get what he deserved. Mickey prayed the plan would work as intended.

  When they arrived at the edge of a Bedouin encampment, which consisted of a half dozen black tents, the driver, whose name was Fuad and who spoke only Arabic, barked an order. “You stay here until we call you,” Sami translated as they strode away. A handful of children in bare feet followed them.

  Mickey wasn’t happy about staying behind. He got out of the car and paced.

  A woman was squatting in front of a nea
rby tent, wetting dough from a bowl of water and flattening it between her palms. She was veiled in black and only her eyes were visible. When she encountered Mickey’s gaze, she rushed inside in modesty, yelling at the children to do the same. He felt bad that his presence had chased her away. Oh well. He checked his watch. Two whole minutes had already passed.

  “Sami!” he called. “What’s taking so long?” he yelled, but no response came back except a low, menacing hiss, and he saw a pair of vultures circling in the sky overhead, ascending and descending. Impatient, he opened the driver’s door to the car and honked the horn continuously until Sami and Fuad emerged from one of the tents with another man who was clad in loose cotton trousers and an Egyptian army jacket. He was closing his jacket with one hand, while holding a gun in the other. They all ran toward the car.

  “Get in,” Sami shouted. “They are gone, but we may still have a chance to catch them.”

  Mickey climbed in the passenger seat as he fought a rising panic. “Where did they go?”

  “One of the Bedouins drove them to the airfield,” the soldier with the loose trousers responded as he settled into the driver’s seat and started the car. Fuad and Sami jumped in back. The soldier took off like a bandit.

  “I’m Sergeant Ibrahim,” the soldier turned to Mickey. “So our document never left Cairo, huh?”

  “It never left Cairo,” Mickey confirmed.

  “I want to kill that dog with my own two hands,” Ibrahim said.