picked up the suitcase. It was heavy. She opened it. There was the radio.
Her heart skipped.
It was an ordinary, plain suitcase, with two catches, a leather handle and reinforced comers. The radio fitted inside exactly, as if it bad been designed that way. The recessed lid left a little room on top of the radio, and here there was a book. Its board covers had been torn off to make it fit into the space in the lid. Elene picked up the book and looked inside. She read: 'Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.' It was Rebecca.
She flicked the pages of the book. In the middle there was something between the pages. She let the book fall open and a sheet of paper dropped to the floor. She bent down and picked it up. It was a list of numbers and dates, with some words in German. This was surely the key to the code.
She held in her hand what Vandam needed to turn the tide of the war.
Suddenly the responsibility weighed her down.
Without this, she thought, Wolff cannot send messages to Rommel-or if he sends messages in plain language the Germans will suspect their authenticity and also worry that the Allies have overheard them . . . Without this, Wolff is useless. With this, Vandam can win the war.
She had to run away, now, taking the key with her.
She remembered that she was stark naked.
She broke out of her trance. Her dress was on the couch, crumpled and wrinkled. She crossed the boat, put down the book and the key to the code, picked up her dress and slipped it over her head.
The bed creaked.
From behind the curtains came the unmistakable sound of someone getting up, someone heavy, it had to be him. Elene stood still, paralyzed. She heard Wolff walk toward the curtains, then away again. She heard the bathroom door.
There was no time to put her panties on. She picked up her bag, her shoes, and the book with the key inside. She heard Wolff come out of the bathroom. She went to the ladder and ran up it, wincing as her bare feet cut into the edges of the narrow wooden steps. Glancing down, she saw Wolff appear between the curtains and glance up at her in astonishment. His eyes went to the suitcase opened on the floor. Elene looked away from him to the hatch. It was secured on the inside with two bolts. She slid them both back. From the corner of her eye she saw Wolff dash to the ladder. She pushed up the hatch and scrambled out. As she stood upright on the deck she saw Wolff scrambling up the ladder. She bent swiftly and lifted the heavy wooden hatch. As Wolff's right hand grasped the rim of the opening, Elene slammed the batch down on his fingers with all her might. There was a roar of pain. Elene ran across the deck and down the gangplank.
It was just that: a plank, leading from the deck to the riverbank. She stooped, picked up the end of the plank, and threw it into the river. Wolff came up through the hatch, his face a mask of pain and fury.
Elene panicked as she saw him come across the deck at a run. She thought: he's naked, he can't chase me! He took a flying jump over the rail of the boat.
He can't make it.
He landed on the very edge of the riverbank, his arms wind milling for balance. With a sudden access of courage Elene ran at him and, while be was still off balance, pushed him backward into the water. She turned and ran along the towpath.
When she reached the lower end of the pathway that led to the street, she stopped and looked back. Already her heart was pounding and she was breathing in long, shuddering gasps. She felt elated when she saw Wolff, dripping wet and naked, climbing out of the water up the muddy riverbank. It was getting light: he could not chase her far in that state. She spun around toward the street, broke into a run and crashed into someone.
Strong arms caught her in a tight grip. She struggled desperately, got free and was seized again. She stumped in defeat: after all that, she thought; after all that.
She was turned around, grasped by the arms and marched toward the houseboat. She saw Wolff walking toward her. She struggled again, and the man holding her got an arm around her throat. She opened her mouth to scream for help, but before she could make a sound the man had thrust his fingers down her throat, making her retch.
Wolff came up and said: 'Who are you?'
'I'm Kemel. You must be Wolff.'
'Thank God you were there.'
'You're in trouble, Wolff,' said the man called Kemel.
'You'd better come aboard-oh, shit, she threw away the fucking plank.' Wolff looked down at the river and saw the plank floating beside the houseboat. 'I can't get any wetter,' he said. He slid down the bank and into the water, grabbed the plank, shoved it up on to the bank and climbed up after it. He picked it up again and laid it across the gap between the houseboat and the bank.
'This way,' he said.
Kemel marched Elene across the plank, over the deck and down the ladder.
'Put her over there,' Wolff said, pointing to the couch.
Kemel pushed Elene over to the couch, not urgently, and made her sit down.
Wolff went through the curtains and came back a moment later with a big towel. He proceeded to rub himself dry with it. He seemed quite unembarrassed by his nakedness.
Elene was surprised to see that Kemel was quite a small man. From the way he had grabbed her, she had imagined he was Wolffs build. He was a handsome, dark-skinned Arab. He was looking away from Wolff uneasily.
Wolff wrapped the towel around his waist and sat down. He examined his hand. 'She nearly broke my fingers,' he said. He looked at Elene with a mixture of anger and amusement.
