“Please. Willard.”
“My name’s Bill,” said Deakin. “Pleased to meet you. Actually, we’ve met before. In London about six weeks ago. I was with SIS before joining SOE. I’m a pal of Norman Pearson’s. Professor Pearson? The Yale professor of English? The two of you breezed into Broadway Buildings one afternoon while I was there and had a chat with old Kim Philby.”
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry I didn’t remember. I met a lot of people on that trip. It’s kind of hard to remember all of them.”
“Anyway, as I was saying, it’s a lucky break, your turning up like this. I mean, your having been the president’s special representative and whatnot.”
“That was then, Bill. Now I’m just a liaison officer between Donovan and FDR. That’s code, you know. For house parlormaid, assistant stage manager, and general dogsbody. I’m not even required to go to the Cairo Conference.”
“Yes, but you know the president. That’s the point. And you are an accredited member of his delegation.”
“That’s what it says on my security pass.”
“So I was rather hoping you might help me at the same time as I help you. It’s rather strange, really. You and Major Reichleitner both having been investigating the Katyn Forest massacre for your respective governments.”
“Yes, that is a coincidence.”
“Of course, that’s what he was doing then. He has told us quite a bit about himself, but he won’t tell us what he was doing so close to Tunis. Where he was going. What his mission was. At first he said he was on his way to Ankara when his plane hit some bad weather and they were forced to go south around it. Which was when he was shot down by your people. Only we checked the weather reports and conditions over the south of Europe and the northern Med were perfect that day. When I said as much to our Jerry-and this is where you come in-he went all stiff on me and told me that it was imperative he speak to someone close to President Roosevelt. That he had an important message he could put only into the hands of a member of FDR’s delegation. So, as you can see, it’s a stroke of luck your needing our help, too. Once he’s got whatever it is off his chest, I don’t see how he can fail to cooperate with your request.”
“Yes, that is good news.”
“If you don’t mind, we’ll play it the way I outlined it. I’ll wear the black hat and you can wear the white one.”
“I get the picture.”
Grey Pillars was a stately-looking building at number 10 Tolombat Street. British officers called it “number ten,” but it was better known to almost everyone in Cairo as Grey Pillars, because of the four Corinthian colonnades that enclosed its stately foyer. It was the headquarters of the British army in Egypt, although GHQ had long outgrown the original building and now occupied the whole street. Beyond the glass doors, things were less like a military HQ and more like a large Swiss bank, probably because Assicurazoni, a Trieste-based insurance company, had occupied the building before the British.
Deakin led the way down a plain marble staircase to a makeshift series of prison cells guarded by a bespectacled lance corporal reading a copy of Saucy Snips. Seeing Major Deakin, he hurriedly put the obscene magazine aside, snatched off his glasses, and sprang to attention. Despite a large fan on the ceiling, the heat in the cell area was almost unbearable.
“How’s our Jerry?” asked Deakin.
“Claims he’s sick, sir. Wants the khazi all the time.” The khazi was a British army term for lavatory.
“I do hope you’re taking him, Corporal. He is an officer, you know. And, as it happens, a damned important one right now.”
“Yes, sir. Don’t you worry about the Jerry, sir. I’ll look after him.”
The lance corporal unlocked the cell door and there, on an iron bedstead, wearing just his underwear, lay the German officer, apparently none the worse for his recent experiences. Major Reichleitner was a heavy-looking man with shortish fair hair and cornflower blue eyes. His jaw was as big as a sandbag, and his lips were thick and pink. He reminded me a little of Hermann Goring, the Reich’s air marshal. Seeing his two visitors, he swung his legs off the bed. They were pink, with lots of short fair hair, like a breeding pair of Chester White pigs. They didn’t smell much better, either. He nodded affably.
I leaned against the cell wall and listened patiently as Deakin spoke in a coarse, chewed-up, oatmeal kind of German. Probably it was the kind of German that the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V employed when he was famously speaking to his horse. Only the French spoke worse German than the English. I lit a cigarette and waited for a verb.
“This is Major Willard Mayer. He is with American intelligence, the OSS. He has come to Cairo as part of President Roosevelt’s delegation. But previously, when I met him in London, he was the president’s special representative.”
For all of the lance corporal’s assurances about Major Reichleitner’s welfare, I thought he could have used a shave and a comb. There was a burn mark on one cheek, presumably received when his plane had been shot down, and it lent a belligerent cast to his face.
“What can I do for you, Major?” I asked.
“I’ve no wish to insult you, Major Mayer,” Reichleitner said. “But have you any way of proving you are what he says you are?”
I showed Reichleitner the Cairo Security pass given to me at the airport. “Do you speak English?”
“A little.” Reichleitner handed me back my pass.
“So what’s this all about?”
“Have you heard of the massacre in the Katyn Forest?” asked Reichleitner.
“Of course.”
“I was part of the investigating team,” said Reichleitner.
“Then I’ve read your report,” I said, and explained the circumstances of my having been appointed FDR’s special representative. “Is that what you wanted to talk about?”
“No. Not directly, anyway. Something similar. Murder on a massive scale.”
“Well, that’s worth some cigarettes, at least.” I handed Reichleitner a cigarette and lit it, before tossing him the packet. Then we all sat down at the table as if we were about to play a game of cards.
“Your report was very thorough,” I told him. “For what it’s worth, I agreed with your conclusion. That, on this particular occasion at least, the German army was not responsible for mass murder.”
“Your German is very good,” said the major.
“It should be. My mother always read fairy tales to me in German.”
“Is she German?”
“Kind of. You know, the American kind.” I threaded my cigarette between my lips and sat back in my chair, my hands in the pockets of my trousers. “You were telling me a story yourself, weren’t you?”
“The suitcase you found when I was picked up,” Reichleitner said to Deakin. “Where is it, please?”
Deakin stood up and shouted through the judas hole. Reichleitner said nothing until the case was open on the table in front of him. It was empty.
“The clothes that were in here are at the laundry,” explained Deakin.
“Yes, I know. The lance corporal explained. Have you a pen-knife, please?”
This time Deakin hesitated.
Reichleitner shook his head and smiled. “It’s all right, Major. I give you my word as a German officer, I will not attack you with it.”
“We’ve already cut the lining,” said Deakin, handing over the knife he used on his pipe.
“It has a double lining,” said Reichleitner. He unfolded the blade of Deakin’s knife and levered it inside the leather lid. “Also, you have to know where to make the cut. This has been stitched in with very fine wire. With one cut you might remove the first lining, but not the leather underneath.”
It took Reichleitner several minutes to remove the leather lid of his suitcase. He laid it flat upon the desk and then opened it like a large portfolio to reveal a waterproof package containing several neat piles of paper and a small roll of photographs.
