Wolff thought: What the bell do I do now?
He held Smith against the side of the boat. If I let him go, he'll just float, he thought. The body will be found near here and there will be a house-to-house search. But I can't carry a body half across Cairo to get rid of it.
Suddenly Smith jerked and spewed water.
'Jesus Christ, he's alive!' Wolff said.
He pushed Smith under again. This was no good, it took too long. He let Smith go, pulled out his knife, and lunged. Smith was underwater, moving feebly. Wolff could not direct the knife. He slashed wildly. The water hampered him. Smith thrashed about. The foaming water turned pink. At last Wolff was able to grab Smith by the hair and hold his head still while he cut his throat.
Now he was dead.
Wolff let Smith go while he sheathed the knife again. The river water turned muddy red all around him. I'm swimming in blood, he thought, and he was suddenly filled with disgust.
The body was drifting away. Wolff pulled it back. He realized, too late, that a drowned major might simply have fallen in the river, but a major with his throat cut had unquestionably been murdered. Now he had to hide the body.
He looked up. 'Sonja!'
'I feel ill.'
'Never mind that. We have to make the body sink to the bottom.'
'Oh, God, the water's all bloody.'
'Listen to me!' He wanted to yell at her, to make her snap out of it, but he had to keep his voice low. 'Get ... get that rope. Go on!' She disappeared from view for a moment, and returned with the rope. She was helpless, Wolff decided: he would have to tell her exactly what to do.
'Now-get Smith's briefcase and put something heavy in it.
'Something heavy ... but what?'
'Jesus Christ ... What have we got that's heavy? What's heavy? Urn ... books, books are heavy, no, that might not be enough . . . I know, bottles. Full bottles--champagne bottles. Fill his briefcase with full bottles of champagne.'
'Why?'
'My God, stop dithering, do what I tell you!'
She went away again. Through the porthole he could see her coming down the ladder and into the living room. She was moving very slowly, like a sleepwalker.
Hurry, you fat bitch, hurry!
She looked around her dazedly. Still moving in slow motion, she picked up the briefcase from the floor. She took it to the kitchen area and opened the icebox. She looked in, as if she were deciding what to have for dinner.
Come on.
She took out a champagne bottle. She stood with the bottle in one hand and the briefcase in the other, and she frowned, as if she could not remember what she was supposed to be doing with them. At last her expression cleared and she put the bottle in the case, laying it flat. She took another bottle out.
Wolff thought: Lay them head to toe, idiot, so you get more in. She put the second bottle in, looked at it, then took it out and turned it the other way.
Brilliant, Wolff thought.
She managed to get four bottles in. She closed the icebox and looked around for something else to add to the weight. She picked up the sharpening steel and a glass paperweight. She put those into the briefcase and fastened it. Then she came up on deck.
'What now?' she said.
'Tie the end of the rope around the handle of the briefcase. '
She was coming out of her daze. Her fingers moved more quickly.
'Tie it very tight,' Wolff said.
'Okay.'
'Is there anyone around?'
She glanced to left and right. 'No.'
'Hurry.
She finished the knot.
'Throw me the rope,' Wolff said.
She threw down the other end of the rope and he caught it. He was tiring with the effort of keeping himself afloat and holding on to the corpse at the same time. He had to let Smith go for a moment because he needed both hands for the rope, which meant he had to tread water furiously to stay up. He threaded the rope under the dead man's armpits and pulled it through. He wound it around the torso twice, then tied a knot. Several times during the operation he found himself sinking, and once he took a revolting mouthful of bloody Water.
At last the job was done.
