Sonja did not reply.
Looking through the peephole, Wolff saw Smith come down the stairs into the interior of the boat.
'Is anybody there?'
Smith looked at the curtains which divided off the bedroom. His voice was full of the expectation of disappointment. 'Sonja?' The curtains parted. Sonja stood there, her arms lifted to hold the curtains apart. She had put her hair up in a complex pyramid as she did for her act. She wore the baggy trousers of filmy gauze, but at this distance her body was visible through the material. From the waist up she was naked except for a jeweled collar around her neck. Her brown breasts were full and round. She had put lipstick on her nipples.
Wolff thought: Good girl!
Major Smith stared at her. He was quite bowled over. He said: 'Oh, dear.
Oh, good Lord. Oh, my soul.'
Wolff tried not to laugh.
Smith dropped his briefcase and went to her. As he embraced her, she stepped back and closed the curtains behind his back.
Wolff opened the cupboard door and stepped out.
The briefcase lay on the floor just this side of the curtains. Wolff knelt down, hitching up his galabiya, and turned the case over. He tried the catches. The case was locked.
Wolff whispered: 'Lieber Gott.'
He looked around. He needed a pin, a paper clip, a sewing needle, something with which to pick the locks. Moving quietly, he went to the kitchen area and carefully pulled open a drawer. Meat skewer, too thick; bristle from a wire brush, too thin; vegetable knife, too broad . . . In a little dish beside the sink he found one of Sonja's hair clips. He went back to the case and poked the end of the clip into the keyhole of one of the locks. He twisted and turned it experimentally, encountered a kind of springy resistance, and pressed harder.
The clip broke.
Again Wolff cursed under his breath.
He glanced reflexively at his wristwatch. Last time Smith had screwed Sonja in about five minutes. I should have told her to make it last, Wolff thought.
He picked up the flexible knife he had been using to open the cupboard door from the inside. Gently, he slid it into one of the catches on the briefcase. When he pressed, the knife bent.
He could have broken the locks in a few seconds, but he did not want to, for then Smith would know that his case had been opened. Wolff was not afraid of Smith, but he wanted the major to remain oblivious to the real reason for the seduction: if there was valuable material in the case, Wolff wanted to open it regularly.
But if he could not open the case, Smith would always be useless. What would happen if he broke the locks? Smith would finish with Sonja, put on his pants, pick up his case and realize it had been opened. He would accuse Sonja. The houseboat would be blown unless Wolff killed Smith. What would be the consequences of killing Smith? Another British soldier murdered, this time in Cairo. There would be a terrific manhunt. Would they be able to connect the killing with Wolff? Had Smith told anyone about Sonja? Who had seen them together in the Cha-Cha Club? Would inquiries lead the British to the houseboat?
It would be risky-but the worst of it would be that Wolff would be without a source of information, back at square one.
Meanwhile his people were fighting a war out there in the desert, and they needed information.
Wolff stood silent in the middle of the living room, racking his brains. He had thought of something, back there, which gave him his answer, and now it had slipped his mind. On the other side of the curtain, Smith was muttering and groaning.
Wolff wondered if he had his pants off yet-
His pants off, that was it.
He would have the key to his briefcase in his pocket.
Wolff peeped between the curtains. Smith and Sonja lay on the bed. She was on her back, eyes closed. He lay beside her, propped up on one elbow, touching her. She was arching her back as if she were enjoying it. As Wolff watched, Smith rolled over, half lying on her, and put his face to her breasts.
Smith still had his shorts on.
Wolff put his head through the curtains and waved an arm. trying to attract Sonja's attention. He thought: Look at me, woman! Smith moved his head from one breast to the other. Sonja opened her eyes, glanced at the top of Smith's head, stroked his brillantined hair, and caught Wolff's eye. He mouthed: Take off his pants.
She frowned, not understanding.
Wolff stepped through the curtains and mimed removing pants.
Sonja's face cleared as enlightenment dawned.
Wolff stepped back through the curtains and closed them silently, leaving only a tiny gap to look through.
He saw Sonja's hands go to Smith's shorts and begin to struggle with the buttons of the fly. Smith groaned. Sonja rolled her eyes upward, contemptuous of his credulous passion. Wolff thought: I hope she has the sense to throw the shorts this way.
After a minute Smith grew impatient with her fumbling, rolled over, sat up and took them off himself. He dropped them over the end of the bed and turned back to Sonja.
The end of the bed was about five feet away from the curtain. Wolff got down on the floor and lay flat on his
