can help find one.” He winked at Abdoul, who smiled an oily grin. The Lebanese-born dancer had introduced the two men to each other.
“I saw her last night … after hours,” Abdoul whispered, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He chuckled like a randy schoolboy.
“Are you insinuating …” Kesner began, playing along, although he was sure the man was lying. Samina swore she never slept with her clients, but one never knew with women, especially one who liked money so much.
“Come now, I am a man of discretion,” Abdoul winked. “I will do what I can to undercut the influence of this Riri.”
“I am confident you will.” Kesner smiled benevolently and quietly dropped the bombshell. “We must get Sheik Hassan al-Banna out of jail. Without him the Brotherhood is useless.”
As expected, Abdoul’s instinctive fear of sticking his neck out drained the color from his face as he shot up straight on his cushion. “That is not possible. The compound in Qena is meticulously guarded by the British army.”
“We must be bold. I haven’t fully thought it through yet, but we will need the cooperation of the Egyptian military police,” Kesner asserted. “Any news on your side?”
Abdoul shifted in his seat, pouting, while he lit another cigarette. He took a deep drag and bravely regained his composure. “The British have taken over our radio stations in Siwa and Gazala,calling them strategic assets. Sadly, Parliament is too cowardly to do anything about it. But,” he continued, “you’ll be interested to know that the British ambassador is talking about evacuation plans for the wives and children of senior officers. The English finally seem to realize they are in trouble.” He drew in another puff and daintily exhaled.
“The English will be thrashed, no doubt,” Kesner asserted. “We have Egypt surrounded and victory is inevitable. If they are smart, the British will get out of our way, or we will chop them up like we did the Belgians.” He rubbed his hands together. “Please tell the king that Rommel looks forward to meeting him when he arrives in Cairo.”
“And Rommel will receive a hero’s welcome when he gets here,” Abdoul promised. “It will be the king’s pleasure to give him a personal tour of the city.”
“Excellent! Your efforts on behalf of the Reich will not go unrewarded.” Kesner rose to his feet and grabbed Abdoul tightly by the elbow, effortlessly helping the fat man to his feet. He knew he was strong in a way that men respected in one another. “One last thing, though—a Jew by the name of Erik Blumenthal arrived in Alexandria on a Turkish ship about ten days ago. He has polio and walks with a limp. The Reich would be most grateful if you could uncover his whereabouts.”
“Blumenthal,” Abdoul repeated, memorizing the name. “Blumenthal.”
Kesner rushed back to his houseboat and stepped on his foredeck. There was still time for him to catch the American morning communiqué, which he’d already missed twice this week. He entered the living room and quickly descended the spiral staircase to hisbedroom, locking the door behind him. He needed to get to his radio transmitter as soon as possible; his watch read 9:12.
Ten minutes later, Kesner emerged with a transcript of the US communiqué that he’d intercepted just in time. He lit up a Corona, the most expensive Egyptian cigarette, and grabbed Daphne Du Maurier’s Rebecca , the codebook used by the Americans. He propped himself up on his bed, ready to decipher the message.
At first, nothing dramatic was revealed—only some details about the tonnage of ships passing through the Suez Canal and descriptions of recent damage inflicted by the Luftwaffe’s bombing raids on Alexandria. But then he sat up, his eyes growing wider as he made out the message.
Crossing our fingers regarding our new recruit on the Blumenthal matter.
Kesner let his hand drop to his side as he digested this news. The Americans were looking for
“I saw her last night … after hours,” Abdoul whispered, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He chuckled like a randy schoolboy.
“Are you insinuating …” Kesner began, playing along, although he was sure the man was lying. Samina swore she never slept with her clients, but one never knew with women, especially one who liked money so much.
“Come now, I am a man of discretion,” Abdoul winked. “I will do what I can to undercut the influence of this Riri.”
“I am confident you will.” Kesner smiled benevolently and quietly dropped the bombshell. “We must get Sheik Hassan al-Banna out of jail. Without him the Brotherhood is useless.”
As expected, Abdoul’s instinctive fear of sticking his neck out drained the color from his face as he shot up straight on his cushion. “That is not possible. The compound in Qena is meticulously guarded by the British army.”
“We must be bold. I haven’t fully thought it through yet, but we will need the cooperation of the Egyptian military police,” Kesner asserted. “Any news on your side?”
Abdoul shifted in his seat, pouting, while he lit another cigarette. He took a deep drag and bravely regained his composure. “The British have taken over our radio stations in Siwa and Gazala,calling them strategic assets. Sadly, Parliament is too cowardly to do anything about it. But,” he continued, “you’ll be interested to know that the British ambassador is talking about evacuation plans for the wives and children of senior officers. The English finally seem to realize they are in trouble.” He drew in another puff and daintily exhaled.
“The English will be thrashed, no doubt,” Kesner asserted. “We have Egypt surrounded and victory is inevitable. If they are smart, the British will get out of our way, or we will chop them up like we did the Belgians.” He rubbed his hands together. “Please tell the king that Rommel looks forward to meeting him when he arrives in Cairo.”
“And Rommel will receive a hero’s welcome when he gets here,” Abdoul promised. “It will be the king’s pleasure to give him a personal tour of the city.”
“Excellent! Your efforts on behalf of the Reich will not go unrewarded.” Kesner rose to his feet and grabbed Abdoul tightly by the elbow, effortlessly helping the fat man to his feet. He knew he was strong in a way that men respected in one another. “One last thing, though—a Jew by the name of Erik Blumenthal arrived in Alexandria on a Turkish ship about ten days ago. He has polio and walks with a limp. The Reich would be most grateful if you could uncover his whereabouts.”
“Blumenthal,” Abdoul repeated, memorizing the name. “Blumenthal.”
Kesner rushed back to his houseboat and stepped on his foredeck. There was still time for him to catch the American morning communiqué, which he’d already missed twice this week. He entered the living room and quickly descended the spiral staircase to hisbedroom, locking the door behind him. He needed to get to his radio transmitter as soon as possible; his watch read 9:12.
Ten minutes later, Kesner emerged with a transcript of the US communiqué that he’d intercepted just in time. He lit up a Corona, the most expensive Egyptian cigarette, and grabbed Daphne Du Maurier’s Rebecca , the codebook used by the Americans. He propped himself up on his bed, ready to decipher the message.
At first, nothing dramatic was revealed—only some details about the tonnage of ships passing through the Suez Canal and descriptions of recent damage inflicted by the Luftwaffe’s bombing raids on Alexandria. But then he sat up, his eyes growing wider as he made out the message.
Crossing our fingers regarding our new recruit on the Blumenthal matter.
Kesner let his hand drop to his side as he digested this news. The Americans were looking for
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