Covert in Cairo, page 3
“Lady—”
I gasped. It was just the waiter. “You startled me.”
“Sorry.” He held a towel over his arm. “Permit me to clean the table, lady?”
I pinched the handle of the demitasse between my thumb and forefinger and lifted the cup to my mouth. “I’m not finished yet.”
The waiter gave me a queer look as if I’d eaten an insect. “Yes, lady.” Shaking his head, he left me.
I withdrew my miniature magnifying glass from the special pocket I’d had made for it in my skirt. I leaned in to reexamine the tablecloth. The Egyptian’s side of the tablecloth had several tiny indentations from his finger pecking. He smoked like a chimney and pecked like a rooster. Under the smell of cigarettes lingered the faint scent of jasmine.
“What are you up to, Aunt Fiona?” Kitty stood next to me, staring down at the table. She pointed to a spot near my left hand. “There!”
By heavens, the girl was right. Carefully, I laid the tracing paper over the indentation and gently rubbed the pencil across the paper.
“What does it say?” I could feel Kitty’s breath on my ear.
Like magic, the outline of letters and numbers began to form.
K r o k o d i l s e e 1 2–2 2 2 1:0 0
I had the uncanny sensation of déjà vu. Where had I seen that code before? It must have been back in Room 40. But I’d seen hundreds of coded messages working as a file clerk for the codebreakers. What did it mean? Was it a date and time?
21:00. Nine in the evening.
12–22. Could it mean 22 December?
Oh, dear. Only five days from now.
But what is Krokodilsee?
Whatever it was, I had to warn the War Office.
3
THE ARAB BUREAU
The next morning, Clifford and Kitty agreed to postpone our visit to the dig until after we’d checked in at the Arab Bureau.
Anticipating a busy day of espionage, I wore an earth-tone linen skirt with a multitude of bespoke pockets, a light cotton blouse, and, of course, my practical Oxfords. On the way out, I grabbed my brand-new Wolseley pith helmet, sun umbrella, and aviator goggles—and, of course, my handbag for heavier espionage paraphernalia such as Mata Hari’s gun. I’d had my beaded evening bag reinforced for just such assignments.
A uniformed Tommy was waiting in front of Shepheard’s to transport us by motorcar to the bureau. Clifford hopped into the front, and Kitty and I climbed into the back.
We passed hotels and cafés and one stately but abandoned building. We’d gone only a couple of streets when the motorcar stopped. Are we picking up someone else?
“We’re here,” the Tommy said.
Kitty and I looked at each other.
“This is the Savoy.” I pointed toward the hotel’s entrance at the embossed letters that spelled Savoy. “Aren’t you taking us to the Arab Bureau?”
“The British army has commandeered the entire hotel.” He smiled. “The bureau is on the fourth floor in one of the former guest rooms.” He hopped out and came around to open the back door of the motorcar.
“The Arab Bureau operates out of a hotel room?” I swung my legs out of the automobile.
“Yep.” The Tommy offered his hand. “The whole army does.”
“What kind of operation is this?” I muttered to myself as I took his hand.
It wasn’t strange to see a hotel packed with men in uniform. Hotels across Europe were the same. But it was odd to see a grand hotel reception desk transformed into a military post. Judging by the layers of sand and dust on carpets and drapes, the British army’s cleaning staff at the Savoy wasn’t up to the hospitality standards of most luxury hotels.
Upstairs, the cramped suite that housed the Arab Bureau was filled with bric-a-brac, stacks of file folders spilling over onto the floor, dirty coffee cups, mummified insects, and other unidentifiable desiccated matter.
Major Lawrence was playing chess with another man, undisturbed by the office ruins around them. Engrossed in a book, Gertrude Bell sat on a wooden chair near the window.
What were those two doing here? Did they work for the Arab Bureau, too?
The scene was more appropriate to a college campus than a military operation. I couldn’t imagine Captain Hall or Major Montgomery tolerating such slovenly behavior in Room 40 of the War Office.
I bit my lip. It was all I could do to stop myself retrieving the file folders and sorting them. If nothing else, the Arab Bureau was desperately in need of a good file clerk. And while Captain Hall might lack confidence in my espionage abilities, my skills as a file clerk were impeccable.
“Welcome to the Intrusive.” Major Lawrence looked up from the game.
“Intrusive?” Clifford peered down at the chessboard as if contemplating his next move.
“Unwelcome, uninvited, trespassing…” Lawrence smirked. “The Arab Bureau. They recruit only the best.” He waved a rook in front of his face before placing it on a black square.
So, Major Lawrence did work for the Arab Bureau. The British army was recruiting archeologists and adventurers now? Heaven help us. Then again, what was I but a glorified file clerk?
“We’re the last, best hope.” Gertrude snapped her book shut.
“We’re liars.” Lawrence wiped his hands on his robes. “You know as well as I do that Britain has no intention of letting these people—and their lands—alone.” He moved his knight and snatched one of his opponent’s rooks.
“It’s war.” His opponent stood up. “What would you have us do?” He looked us up and down.
“Better us than the Germans.” Gertrude laid her book on the windowsill and strode over to greet us. “We want to help unite Arabs. The Germans want to divide and conquer.”
“We say we want to unite the Arabs.” Lawrence lit a cigarette. “The proof is in the pudding.” He took a puff and blew out a cloud of smoke. “You know the Bedouins almost as well as I do—”
“Don’t kid yourself.” Gertrude put her hands on her slim hips. “After months in the desert living with them, I know them better than you, or any man. Isn’t that right, BGG?”
“Gilbert Clayton.” The man extended his hand to Clifford. “I’m in charge of this maverick band of oddballs.”
“Brigadier-General Gilbert Clayton.” Major Lawrence waved his cigarette theatrically. “Excellent commander, horrible chess player.”
“Or Bee-Gee-Gee, as we call him.” Gertrude straightened the general’s tie.
His lips tightened, but like an obedient schoolboy he allowed it.
“Clayton is like water.” Major Lawrence leaned back in his chair. “He creeps silently, permeating everything until the whole world is soaked.” Dramatically, he took a drag of his cigarette. Everything he did was overdone as if he were performing for an audience.
“Did you come by for a tour of the dig?” Gertrude smiled. “Howard is a grumpy old bear, but thanks to the war, he’s the only one digging again. How he managed it, I don’t know?”
“What about that pretty Frenchman, Monsieur Lorrain?” The major winked. “Howard may be an old bear, but Jean-Baptiste is a young lion.”
“Jean-Baptiste Lorrain is a faker and a flirt.” Gertrude waved her hand in front of her face as if shooing away an insect.
“We’ve come from the War Office.” I tugged on the fingers of my glove. “Captain Hall sent us to protect the Suez Canal.” I may have exaggerated the importance of our mission just a teeny tiny bit. Truth be told, we had strict orders to trail Fredricks, report back, and not interfere.
Major Lawrence laughed. “A gimpy officer, a frilly girl, and a lanky woman.” He shook his head. “If this is what it’s come to, we’ll lose the war for sure.”
Lanky woman. What did he mean by that? I glanced down at my legs. At least he didn’t call me an ostrich like the boys at primary school had done.
“Aren’t we always hearing about how you single-handedly led a wild bunch of Arabs across the desert to take Aqaba?” Gertrude rolled her eyes. “And you’re nothing but a spoiled public-school boy.”
“And you, my dear, are marvelous.” Major Lawrence jumped up, grabbed her by the hand, and twirled her around. “If you were the only girl in the world…”
Good grief. He was singing… off key at that.
I felt as if I’d landed in a West End theater performance of the musical comedy Chu Chin Chow. Who were these silly people? I slipped my gloves into the pocket of my skirt, removed my pith helmet, and patted at my wig.
“Ah, yes, Blinker sent you.” Arms behind his back, General Clayton stood to attention. “To find your missing agent. Bad business, that.”
“What missing agent?” My breath caught and my mind flew to Archie, as it always did when I heard about agents in trouble. This missing agent… it couldn’t be him. Could it? Although I’d only met him a few times, the handsome soldier troubled my thoughts and daydreams.
Instinctively, my hand went to my bag where I kept Archie’s gold pocket watch. Had Fredricks delivered it to me as a message or a warning? “Captain Hall didn’t mention any missing agents.”
Please, God, keep Archie safe.
“The last agent sent by the War Office.” General Clayton paced the few steps the messy, cramped room would allow. “He’s gone missing. Pity.”
“A fine fellow, officer, and gentleman.” Major Lawrence gave a mock salute. “Exemplary soldier sacrificed to Old Blighty and all that rot.”
What a bounder. Missing agents were no joking matter… and neither were the sacrifices soldiers made for Britain. I’d seen the horrors of war up close when I’d volunteered at Charing Cross Hospital.
“Blown-off limbs and mustard gas burns are far from funny, Major Lawrence.” I stared him in the face. “And neither are missing agents. Do you have any idea of the tortures our enemies use?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” A cloud passed over Major Lawrence’s ruddy face.
“Good lord.” Clifford’s face went pale. “I say, you haven’t been—”
“The major—and his manhood—barely escaped the Turks.” Gertrude slapped the major on the back. “We’re lucky to have him back… and intact.”
Goodness. What a way to talk. Averting my eyes, I fiddled with the goggles hanging around my neck.
“What is the name of our missing colleague?” Kitty asked.
Occasionally the girl surprised me with common sense.
“Lieutenant Dankworth.” The general shrugged. “Bad business.”
“Rum do, losing agents.” Clifford pulled his pipe from his breast pocket.
“I spotted his pal, Agent Relish, at the theater on Saturday.” Gertrude raised her eyebrows.
Relish. A code name, no doubt.
“Maybe he’s making a holiday of his stay in Cairo, where days are filled with secrets past and nights with future lies?” She was a poetic sort, this Miss Gertrude Bell.
“Agent Relish is undercover,” the general said with a stern look. “I implore you to keep his secret.” His countenance brightened. “Speaking of secrets and lies, my wife Enid is inviting everyone to a fancy-dress ball tonight in honor of the families of fallen service men.”
“I can’t wait.” Kitty clapped her hands together. “What fun.”
“You’ll never guess the theme.” The general chuckled. “Ancient Egypt. You really must join us.”
“Thank you.” What in blazes would I wear to a fancy-dress ball? “Too kind.”
“Tell Lady Enid we will be there,” Kitty gushed.
Golly. I wished I’d known before I left London. I could have picked up an appropriate costume at Angel’s Fancy Dress Shop when I’d purchased my other two disguises. I got goose bumps just thinking about them hanging in the closet back at the hotel. I couldn’t wait to try them out.
In the meantime, I’d have to come up with something to wear to Lady Clayton’s fancy-dress ball. I had a hunch Fredrick Fredricks would be there. He never passed up a gala ball. And I never missed a chance at Fredricks.
Good thing I’d worn my practical Oxfords. I wiggled my toes. It was going to be a jolly busy day visiting tombs, locating missing agents, and shopping for the fancy-dress ball.
“Let’s go tomb robbing, shall we?” Lawrence teased. At least I hoped he was teasing. “Jolly authentic costumes there.”
A knock at the door silenced the group. They looked from one to the other with questioning eyes. Finally, General Clayton answered it.
A young man, the spitting image of Napoleon, charged into the room. With his billowing white blouse, long sideburns, and wild dark hair, he looked like a relic of the nineteenth century—a very pretty relic.
“Speak of the devil,” Gertrude said under her breath.
“I figured I’d find you reprobates loitering here at the Savoy.” His French accent gave his tenor a smoky quality. “I just came to tell you I got a concession to excavate at G-1500.” He giggled like a schoolgirl. His soft dark eyes, furry caterpillar brows, and upturned mouth gave him the look of a girl, too.
“In Giza?” Lawrence’s mouth fell open. “Borchardt and Gabler’s concession?”
The Frenchman smiled. “Now, it’s mine!”
“Borchardt?” The name sounded French.
“Ludwig Borchardt. Director, German Archeology Institute. Gabler was his assistant.” The general’s words were clipped.
“The boarded-up building we passed on the way.” Clifford clamped his pipe between his teeth.
That abandoned building. No wonder it looked new, apart from boards over the windows and a heavy chain and padlock on the front doors.
“The German archeologists were thrown out of Egypt along with all the other Germans.” The general took a seat behind a desk in the corner of the room, a desk piled high with papers and magazines.
“But not before they made off with a priceless bust of Nefertiti.” Major Lawrence picked at a fleck on his robe.
“I thought the war had stopped all excavations,” Clifford said.
“A few are starting to open again.” The Frenchman smiled. “Howard Carter… and me. Only the best—”
“How much did that cost you?” Gertrude’s countenance hardened.
“Mademoiselle Bell, would I resort to bribery?” the Frenchman teased.
“If not bribery then force.” She put her hands on her hips as if daring him to contradict her. “Sticks instead of carrots.” She threw her head back.
“You overestimate me.” Hat in hand, he gave an exaggerated bow. “I’m but a humble scholar like yourselves.” He straightened and gazed at me. “Je suis désolé. We have not met. I’m—”
“Monsieur Jean-Baptiste Lorrain.” I took an educated guess. “Your reputation precedes you.”
“Qui.” A broad smile brightened his face. “C’est vrai. It is true. And you are?”
“Fiona Figg, British Intelligence.” I shook his hand.
“I’m Kitty.” The girl held out her hand.
With a click of his heels, Monsieur Lorrain bent down and kissed it. “Mademoiselle Kitty.” He gazed up into the girl’s eyes. “Pretty Kitty. Enchanté.” In that moment, he resembled a hungry wolf gazing at a sheep.
She blushed and giggled.
Silly girl.
She said something quickly and quietly in French.
My French was passable but, distracted, I didn’t catch it. Was she flirting with him?
Monsieur Lorrain’s smile broadened. “I would love to show you mine.” He glanced around. “Perhaps the others would like to see too?”
“See what exactly?” Clifford took a step in between the girl and the Frenchman. “Captain Clifford Douglas, at your service.” He extended his hand.
The Frenchman took his hand. “My new dig, of course.” He peeked around Clifford at Kitty.
She was tittering like a chickadee.
“Are you sure you trust us?” Lawrence studied his fingernails. “We might make off with your precious treasures.”
“Have you seen my man, Frigo?” He called to someone in the hallway. “Frigo, get in here!”
A man with a square jaw, crooked nose, and chest like an ice box peeked inside. “Boss?”
Major Lawrence whistled. “Is he your good luck charm?”
“The French government wants a piece of this action.” Monsieur Lorrain waved his hands. “You British can’t take all the spoils.”
“Better us than the Germans,” Gertrude chimed in with her familiar refrain.
“Thieves are thieves no matter what nationality.” Major Lawrence sat up and his chair banged the floor with a thud.
As fascinating as this petite tête-à-tête was, I needed to telephone Captain Hall and report the mysterious man from the railway. I’d been ordered to telephone from army headquarters only to ensure the line was secure. And, apparently, the Savoy was army headquarters in Cairo.
Whatever the stranger was planning, it involved the Suez Canal. The map. The note from the tablecloth. A code I’d seen before.
Captain Hall would likely remind me my mission was to tail Fredrick Fredricks and nothing more. But my instincts told me Fredricks was nearby. It couldn’t be a coincidence that on my last mission, Fredricks had taunted me with the Suez Canal. In his farewell note before he’d escaped from jail in New York, the scoundrel had written:
Just as the Suez Canal facilitates commerce between the Red Sea and the Mediterranean, you and I will facilitate peace between your allies and mine, the Central Powers.
Good grief. How the man overestimated his importance… and mine.
And it couldn’t be a coincidence that I had found a map with a black X in the middle of the canal, not to mention the date and time I had traced off the tablecloth. No. The Suez Canal was in danger. And Fredricks was involved. I felt it in my bones.
“May we use your telephone to report to Captain Hall?” I patted my wig. Blasted wig was too warm in this climate. But since I looked like a shorn sheep without it, I had no choice. I tucked my pith helmet under my arm.
“What telephone?” The general chuckled. “When you talk to Blinker, ask him to get us a telephone.”
