Reichleitner sighed and shook his head.
“All right,” said Deakin. “If you’re sure.” He knocked on the door to summon the lance corporal, and a moment or two later Reichleitner and I were alone.
“I don’t feel so good,” groaned the German.
I helped myself from the packet of cigarettes I had given the major. “I can get you some medicine when I leave this cell. If you like.”
Major Reichleitner nodded. “It’s my stomach.”
“I’m told everyone gets stomach trouble in this country. So far I’ve been lucky, I guess. But then, I don’t think you can catch much from cigarettes and scotch.”
“I don’t know if it’s something I ate, or just nerves. Do you think that English idiot really means to charge me with spying?”
“I could probably persuade him not to. If you were to do me a small favor.”
It was a dangerous game I had decided to play. But now that I had met Major Reichleitner, it was a game I felt I could control. I had decided that it would be better to know what the Bride material actually contained, rather than live in fear of mere possibility. If Reichleitner did manage to decode Bride, I’d decide what to do about it afterward. Controlling a man like Reichleitner, a prisoner of war, with the aid of some cigarettes and scotch and some medicine would be a lot easier than trying to deal with an Allied officer in SOE.
“What kind of a favor?” The German frowned suspiciously. “Look here, if it’s information you want, there’s nothing I can tell you. I can’t imagine that the work of the German War Crimes Bureau is of much interest to American intelligence.”
“It’s my understanding from Deakin that before joining the bureau you were with a signals and communications battalion on the eastern front.”
“That’s right. At Heinrich East, the Regimental HQ in Smolensk. My God, it seems like a hundred years ago.”
“Why did they assign you to the Katyn Forest massacre?”
“For one thing, my languages. I speak Russian and Polish. My mother is Russo-Polish. And for another, before joining the army I was a detective in Vienna. Cryptology was always a sort of hobby of mine.”
“A few minutes ago-what you were saying about the Russians. I didn’t want to say anything in front of Deakin, but there are an awful lot of Americans who believe that Russia is the enemy, not Germany. My boss in the OSS, for one. He hates the Bolsheviks. So much so that he’s set up a secret section inside the OSS to spy on the Russians. A while ago, we started monitoring Soviet signals traffic in Washington. It seems that our ally is spying on us.”
The German shrugged. “When you lie down with dogs, you catch fleas.”
“More recently, we came into possession of some Soviet onetime cipher pads. For political reasons, it’s been decided we’ll have to return these ciphers to the Russians. But until this happens my boss wants to make whatever use of them he can, in the hope that we might get some idea as to the identity of these Russian spies in Washington. The British aren’t being of much help. Frankly, they’re overstretched just trying to deal with German signals. But it occurred to me that you might have had some experience with Russian ciphers because of your work on the eastern front. And given your obvious and quite understandable desire to drive a wedge between us and the Russians, I wondered if you would like to cast your eye over what we’ve got.”
“And in return you’ll persuade Deakin to drop these spying charges, is that it?”
“Yes.”
Reichleitner took one of the cigarettes, lit it, and regarded me through narrowed eyes. “Did you bring the material with you?” he asked.
“It’s outside.”
He glanced away for a moment and then shrugged. “It might give me something to do. You have no idea how boring it is in here. And a few creature comforts would be appreciated. Some more of these American cigarettes. Some decent food. Some beer. Some wine, perhaps.”
“All right.”
“And don’t forget that medicine. My stomach feels like there’s a family of rats living in it.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“But I’ll tell you frankly, five days is hardly enough time. Even with the codebooks. Cryptologically speaking, the Popovs take no chances. With most systems, operators bow to convenience, because total encipherment takes time. But the Popovs are slavish in their adherence to security. And my guess is that you’re not going to end up with a plaintext message. The chances are there will be lots of code names for this and that.”
Reichleitner watched me for a moment and I watched him back. Then he broke off, helping himself to another cigarette.
“Luckily for you, I know what a lot of these code names mean. For example, when you see the word ‘luggage’ it means ‘mail.’ ‘Novator’ means ‘secret agent’; and ‘Sparta’ means ‘Russia.’ That kind of thing. So we’ll see what we can see.”
I stood up and offered him my hand. “Sounds like we’ve got a deal,” I said.
From Grey Pillars, I caught a taxi and ordered the driver to take me back to Shepheard’s Hotel. As I sat back in the car, a large cockroach crawled across its carpeted dashboard, and I realized the driver was either wholly oblivious of or utterly indifferent to the presence of the shiny brown insect. One way or the other, it seemed to say something about the country I was in.
At seven, bathed and dressed for dinner, I came downstairs to find Corporal Coogan waiting with the car in front of the hotel, as arranged. We drove south, back to Garden City, which, despite being where the British GHQ and SOE were located, was still Cairo’s most fashionable residential district.
A series of narrow winding streets that changed names at vague intervals, and in which it was not uncommon to end up exactly where you started, led to lush gardens in which sat several large white stucco mansions. Some of these might be better described as palaces. Which seemed only appropriate, given that I had been invited to dinner by a princess.
I got there early, since I guessed we had a lot of catching up to do.
Elena’s house, next to what had been the Italian legation on Harass Street, was made of white stone in the French Mediterranean style, with large continuous balconies and French windows that would have let in a sphinx or two. A wrought-iron fence enclosed a large garden dominated by a stately mango tree, which was surrounded by purple and red bougainvillea.
The gate was opened by a tall man wearing a white djellaba and a red tarboosh. He directed me along a path to some steps leading up to a large terrace, where one or two figures were already milling about with cocktails in their hands. It was a hot, sticky night. The air felt like warm molasses. All the lights in the house were burning, and flaming torches illuminated the path that led from the gate to the front door, where another man in a long white robe held a tray with drinks.
I picked up a glass heavy with champagne and mounted the steps. At the top was Elena, dripping with diamonds and wearing a low-cut lilac cocktail dress, her long blond hair piled ornately on top of her head. Seeing her again, it was a little hard to believe that, for a while at least, I had shared a bed with this woman.
“Willy darling.”
“You remembered my middle name.”
“How lovely to see you again. The cleverest man I ever knew.”
She made it sound as if I had been dead for a while. And perhaps I had, at that. Certainly since leaving Washington I had felt like a man without a future. For the first time in more than a week, I found myself smiling. I made a heroic effort to keep my eyes on her face.
“And you. Look at you. Still the most beautiful woman in the room.”
She hit me playfully on the shoulder with a little fan. “Now, you know there aren’t any other women here. Not yet.”
“Actually I hadn’t really noticed. Not since the moment I laid eyes on you.”
That was what Elena did. She dazzled. Men, of course. I had never met a woman who liked her. And I couldn’t blame them. Elena would have been stiff competition for Delilah. In any room, she was always the brightest thing in it. Naturally, this meant there were always lots of moths around her flame. I could see a few of them floating around on the terrace. Most of the moths were wearing British uniforms.