Elene lay on her back in the bed, naked. She was quite still, rigid, her muscles tense, staring straight up at the blank ceiling. On her right was Sonja, facedown, arms and legs spread all ways over the sheets, fast asleep, snoring. Sonja's right hand rested limply on Elene's hip. Wolff was on Elene's left. He lay on his side, facing her, sleepily stroking her body. Elene was thinking: Well, it didn't kill me.
The game had been all about rejecting and accepting Sonja. The more Elene and Wolff rejected her and abused her, the more passionate she became, until in the denouement Wolff rejected Elene and made love to Sonja. It was a script that Wolff and Sonja obviously knew well: they had played it before.
It had given Elene very little pleasure, but she was not sickened or humiliated or disgusted. What she felt was that she had been betrayed, and betrayed by herself. It was like pawning a jewel given by a lover, or having your long hair cut off to sell for money, or sending a small child to work in a mill. She had abused herself. Worst of all, what she had done was the logical culmination of the life she had been living: in the eight years since she had left home she had been on the slippery slope that ended in prostitution, and now she felt she had arrived there.
The stroking stopped, and she glanced sideways at Wolff's face. His eyes were closed. He was falling asleep.
She wondered what had happened to Vandam
Something had gone wrong. Perhaps Vandam had lost sight of Wolff's car in
Cairo. Maybe he had had an accident in the traffic. Whatever the reason, Vandam was no longer watching over her. She was on her own.
She had succeeded in making Wolff forget his midnight transmission to Rommel-but what now was to stop him sending the message another night? Elene would have to get to GHQ and tell Jakes where Wolff was to be found. She would have to slip away, right now, find Jakes, get him to pull his team out of bed . . .
It would take too long. Wolff might wake, find she was gone, and vanish again.
Was his radio here, on the houseboat, or somewhere else? That might make all the difference.
She remembered something Vandam had said last evening-was it really only a few hours ago? 'If I can get the key to the Rebecca code, I can impersonate him over the radio ... it could turn the tables completely. . .'
Elene thought: Perhaps I can find the key.
He had said it was a sheet of paper explaining how to use the book to encode messages.
Elene realized that she now had a chance to locate the radio and the key to the code.
She had to search the houseboat.
She did not move. She was frightened again. If Wolff should discover her searching . . . She remembered his theory of human nature: the world is divided into masters and slaves. A slave's life was worth nothing. No, she thought; I'll leave here in the morning, quite normally, and then I'll tell the British where Wolff is to be found, and they'll raid the houseboat, and-And what if Wolff had gone by then? What if the radio was not here? Then it would all have been for nothing.
Wolff's breathing was now slow and even: he was fast asleep. Elene reached down, gently picked up Sonja's limp hand, and moved it from her thigh on to the sheet. Sonja did not stir.
Now neither of them was touching Elene. It was a great relief.
Slowly, she sat upright.
The shift of weight on the mattress disturbed both of the other two.
Sonja grunted, lifted her head, turned it the other way, and fell to snoring again. Wolff rolled over on his back without opening his eyes.
Moving slowly, wincing with every movement of the mattress, Elene turned around so that she was on her hands and knees, facing the head of the bed. She began painfully to crawl backward: right knee, left hand, left knee, right hand. She watched the two sleeping faces. The foot of the bed seemed miles away. The silence rang in her ears like thunder. The houseboat itself rocked from side to side on the wash of a passing barge, and Elene backed off the bed quickly under cover of the disturbance. She stood there, rooted to the spot, watching the other two, until the boat stopped moving. They stayed asleep.
Where should the search start? Elene decided to be methodical, and begin at the front and work backward. In the prow of the boat was the bathroom. Suddenly she realized she had to go there anyway. She tiptoed across the bedroom and went into the tiny bathroom.
Sitting on the toilet, she looked around. Where might a radio be hidden? She did not really know how big it would be: the size of a suitcase? A briefcase? A handbag? Here there were a basin, a small tub and a cupboard on the wall. She stood up and opened the cupboard. It contained shaving gear, pills and a small roll of bandage.
The radio was not in the bathroom.
She did not have the courage to search the bedroom while they slept, not yet. She crossed it and passed through the curtains into the living room. She looked quickly all around. She felt the need to hurry, and forced herself to be calm and careful. She began on the starboard side. Here there was a divan couch. She tapped its base gently: it seemed hollow. The radio might be underneath. She tried to lift it, and could not Looking around its edge, she saw that it was screwed to the floor. The screws were tight. The radio would not be there. Next there was a tall cupboard. She opened it gently. It squeaked a little, and she froze. She heard a grunt from the bedroom. She waited for Wolff to come bounding through the curtains and catch her red-handed. Nothing happened. She looked in the cupboard. There was a broom, and some dusters, and cleaning materials, and a flashlight. No radio. She closed the door. It squeaked again.
She moved into the kitchen area. She had to open six smaller cupboards. They contained crockery, tinned food, saucepans, glasses, supplies of coffee and rice and tea, and towels. Under the sink there was a bucket for kitchen waste. Elene looked in the icebox. It contained one bottle of champagne. There were several drawers. Would the radio be small enough to fit in a drawer? She opened one. The rattle of cutlery shredded her nerves. No radio. Another: a massive selection of bottled spices and flavorings, from vanilla essence to curry powder-somebody liked to cook. Another drawer: kitchen knives.
Next to the kitchen was a small escritoire with a fold-down desk top. Beneath it was a small suitcase. Elene
