City of the Sun (15 page)

“Yes. Pathetic, really,” Sally said. “He’s just throwing his weight around to make up for the fact that he has so little real power. It’s his little way of telling Cairo he’s still in business.”

“Keep your voice down,” Linda advised. “Let the poor boy have his fun. You know he was never allowed out of the palace when he was growing up?”

“Oh, please,” Sally snapped. “The boy made up for that a hundred times over in England. I knew his tutor there, and I can tell you he was in bordellos more often than he was in class.”

“I’m not budging,” Dolly declared, crossing her arms.

“They’ll have to drag us out,” Sally said.

“Calm down, ladies,” said Hugh, rising. “I’ve got a better idea.”

“Come on, Sally.” Mickey offered his hand to her. “The night is young.”

She took his hand and sprang to her feet with a mischievous smile. “Fine. Let’s.”

“Everyone must leave now,” one of the king’s men commanded, clapping his hands together, clearing the way for Farouk’s entrance as the hotel staff politely helped the diners exit.

Hugh, Mickey, and the girls made their way down to the lobby. Mickey noticed a small gathering in a side hall, tucked away from public view. He recognized the king among his entourage. Tall, thin and blue-eyed, Farouk could easily pass for a
Life
magazine cover boy in his Royal Air Force marshall’s uniform. But before Mickey could get a better look, they were swept outside by the crowd.

“We can all take the ambulance. Thank God I parked just down the street,” Sally shouted above the frenzy.

“Step on it, Connolly,” Hugh whispered, grabbing him by the arm. “I think you’re going to get lucky tonight!”

“Where to, pal?”

“The Kit Kat Club, habibi,” Hugh answered in his best Arabic accent.

CHAPTER 13

The Kit Kat Club was jam packed with soldiers. From the wide array of uniforms, it seemed to Mickey that every single unit of the Eighth Army was represented here tonight—South African, Australian, Polish, Free French, Indian, New Zealander, Canadian, and Rhodesian. And of course, lots of British. They all had their hats on the tables beside ice buckets, and their cigarettes, cigars, and pipes glowed in the dark like fireflies. The slow-turning mahogany fans did nothing to dissipate the smoky haze that clung to the ceiling like a cloud and made the tops of the sweeping curtains framing the illuminated stage vanish into nothingness.

Sally snuggled up to Mickey, rubbing her body against his and roaring with laughter along with the rest of the audience as the performers, dressed in SS uniforms, bantered back and forth in the cabaret show. Hugh winked at Mickey as he draped his arm around Dolly, his hand dangerously close to her breast. God willing, they’d both get lucky tonight. Feeling like a third wheel, Linda had taken a taxi home.

A voluptuous waitress, naked to the waist except for a scanty crocheted brassiere that barely covered her nipples, served them their third round of martinis.

“You better keep your eyes on us!” Sally warned, turning Mickey’s head back toward her and tapping her index finger on his nose. “There are a lot of men out there.”

“It’s you girls who should be concerned,” Hugh laughed. “When the show is over the dancing girls are going to mingle with the crowd.” He placed a kiss on Dolly’s neck, who pushed him away, feigning indignation.

The act ended to rousing applause. The blue velvet curtain closed and then reopened a moment later, revealing a bare-chested man wearing a turban and carrying a wicker basket. A small band of musicians behind him began to play. He settled down at the edge of the stage, right in front of Mickey, who had managed to get seated in the front row, thanks to Hugh’s influence with the club’s manager.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the man began dramatically. “Let me present the king of snakes, the cobra, the ancient symbol of the Egyptian pharaoh …” The music soared as a low drumbeat started. He drew a flute from his pocket, lifted the lid of the basket, and began to play. The snake’s head rose from the basket and began to sway.

Sally grabbed Mickey’s hand. He smiled and wrapped a protective arm around her shoulder, feeling the muscles in her back relax as she drew closer.

“The cobra is also the symbol of sexuality and sensuality. As a special treat, we present to you tonight the essence of temptation herself, the one and only Queen of the Serpents—Madame Samina!”

A red curtain at the rear of the stage lifted, exposing the star of the show standing atop a flight of stairs with a large black python draped around her neck. Her curvaceous body was barely covered in a two-piece costume beneath a diaphanous veil. She glittered from head to toe with gems of every color and wore a sparkling red stone in her navel.

After wildly enthusiastic whistles and bawdy shouts from the soldiers, she pointed her toes and descended the stairs carefully, reveling in her role as their erotic fantasy, making eye contact with every man in the front row. When her dark eyes fell on Mickey, he felt a stirring.

Hugh nudged him and rubbed his hands in anticipation. “She’s the real reason Rommel wants Cairo so badly.”

When Samina reached the apron of the stage, she handed the python to a stagehand and exploded into an erotic blur of fluid curves, thrusting her hips and lifting her bejeweled, intertwined arms high above her head. She swirled around the stage, using her veil to tease and arouse, then crawled on the floor, gyrating her body suggestively, arms outstretched and palms open, as if begging the audience to make love to her.

Mesmerized, Mickey struggled to disguise his erection and crossed one leg over the other. But he stopped breathing altogether when the dancer got down on her knees and shimmied to the edge of the stage, stopping right in front of their table. He had barely gasped for air when Samina sprang up on pointed toes and fixed her eyes on him. He knew at this point that resisting would be in vain as she slowly lifted her leg and fondled his face with her toes, keeping her intense gaze locked on him. With her arms raised, balancing on one leg, she thrust her body back and forth as if to invite him in. Then in a flash, she was back on her feet.

The spell broke for a tiny moment when he noticed her become distracted by the sight of a Polish officer at the next table. The man raised his glass to her, but the dancer’s face turned hard before she responded with a devilish smile.

She turned her eyes back to Mickey, her victim again. She planted her legs wide apart and her crotch in front of his face. The audience was roaring, but the cries sounded far away to Mickey. She thrust her hips back and forth, the music rising to a spiraling crescendo. Then, in a dramatic burst, she collapsed to the floor and the stage plunged into darkness. When the lights came up a second later, she was gone.

The men screamed for an encore, but Samina appeared to believe that audiences, like lovers, were best left wanting more.

“You
liked
that,” Sally whispered as she stroked his leg.

Hugh whistled. “We should set that woman loose on the Germans.”

Soldiers threw bread balls at Mickey, who felt his face turning red in embarrassment as they cried, “You lucky sod.”

“Now look, you’ve gotten everyone jealous,” Sally said, passing her fingers over Mickey’s lips. “I think we should move on.”

Mickey pushed his chair back. He couldn’t agree more.

CHAPTER 14

Crass and shameless, Kesner thought as he opened the stiff and itchy collar of his Polish uniform. He was annoyed with himself for becoming aroused once again by Samina’s blatant sexual overtures. He used to report whores like her to the Gestapo back in Germany. They corrupted the morals of the Reich’s young men. But he’d heard that prostitution had now become a fact of life back home, apparently spiraling into an epidemic on the streets of Berlin.

When the crimson curtain closed to rapturous applause, Kesner rose to his feet and started toward the Kit Kat star’s dressing room. The door to the diva’s dressing room was ajar and he slipped in. Sitting in front of her makeup mirror in a Chinese silk robe, Samina was peeling off her false eyelashes. Her tiara lay on the dresser and her long black hair cascaded down her back.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she gasped, catching his reflection in the mirror. Her eyes, so seductive onstage, flashed with venom and cold fury. She spoke with an exotic accent, part Arabic and part French—a perfect Lebanese blend.

“I heard you had a letter for me,” Kesner said.

“You are putting me in danger,” she shot back angrily. “Last week the police interned two of the girls. Every cop in town is here tonight and you come barging in like you own the place.”

Kesner wanted to say, “I don’t own the place, but I own you, sweetheart,” but he held his tongue. There was no telling what the whore might do if antagonized, and she was too important an ally to lose. Not only was she his key liaison for getting mail to and from Germany, but he’d used her several times on sensitive matters involving high-level Western officials. The extra service was costly, but invaluable. The Italians, whom she’d previously worked for, had warned him about her mercenary nature but promised she was worth it.

“Dr. Massoud’s assistant said you stopped by his office twice this week. The information must be important.” He approached the dressing table and played with a sparkly wig that was lying on it. Samina’s robe was loosely draped around her; her erect nipples showed through the thin material. A small stream of perspiration ran between her ample breasts, making her skin glisten. He wondered if she sweated like that when she fucked.

Samina snatched the wig away and put it back on the dresser before rising and fetching a brown envelope from her purse in the closet. “Next time you wait until you hear from me. This is my life, and I’m not going to risk having you or anyone else screw it up. Understand?”

He had a powerful urge to throw her on the floor and fuck her, but he smiled, as if amused by her hysteria. He slipped the letter into the pocket of his uniform and gently stroked the side of her neck with his index finger. “You ought to show more appreciation. I’ve asked the Abwehr for more money for you.”

“I’ll do the asking myself,” she said, brushing his hand away before cinching her robe tightly around her, covering her cleavage.

“You gave quite a performance tonight, Samina. Somehow I felt much of it was for my benefit, but I suppose every man must have felt that way.”

“I need to fix my face,” she growled and showed him the door with her chin.

Kesner blew her a kiss, and as he headed for the door, he passed a wall where a photograph of her children, a boy and a girl, was pinned. Under Lebanese law, custody had gone to the father after her divorce, and this, her weak spot, was where Kesner’s leverage lay. She needed money for the lawyers.

When Kesner returned to his dahabieh he opened a bottle of Sandman sherry in celebration.
Hurra
! The SS was giving him a second chance. In their detailed letter, he was authorized to find the Jew and to use any means necessary to prevent him from falling into the hands of the Americans or the English. They noted that this matter was of the utmost importance to Hitler himself.