City of the Sun (37 page)

“He was reciting this psalm over and over last night before he went to sleep,” Erik said.

“Are you looking for some hidden message?” Maya snapped. If Erik and Vati had been on better terms maybe this wouldn’t have happened. “Where can he be?” she agonized as she tried to peer into the darkness.

“Vati! Vati!” she called out of the rolled-down window.

“Why would he have taken his violin?” Joe asked.

“I don’t know.” Maya bit her lip.

“He’s been sleeping with it,” Erik admitted.

“And you’re telling me that now?” Maya said.

“I told you I was concerned.”

“He left his watch in his shoe the other day, and Sayeda found his shoe in the shower,” Joe said.

Maya sighed, upset she hadn’t been told these things and worried that she had been too involved in her own problems to notice her father’s unusual behavior. “He’s losing his mind,” she concluded, crestfallen.

“Allegra couldn’t understand what he was talking about this morning,” Joe added, scraping a curb he had not seen in the darkness.

“Do you think we should go to the police?” Maya implored.

“Let’s think about this rationally first,” Erik said.

“I am!” Maya snapped back again, biting her index finger.

“The bawab said he heard some noise around midnight,” Erik said. “How far could he get in two hours? He must still be here in Heliopolis. He will be safe.”

“Unless he walked into the desert,” Joe corrected.

“Oh, God,” Maya lamented, imagining the worst. “If he’s lying unconscious and there’s a wind, he’ll be buried alive.”

“This is not what I call rational thinking,” Erik remarked. “There is no wind.”

“Now, now,” Joe said, brushing the curb again.

“Shh,” Maya admonished, at the edge of her seat. “I think I heard something. Listen. Stop the car, please.”

Joe turned off the ignition and they sat silently. They heard nothing but the intermittent chirping of crickets.

“What are we going to do?” Maya cried. She closed her eyes and made a promise to God that if they found Vati, she would never again complain about him or her brother.

“Wait,” Erik commanded, just as Joe was about to start the car again. They could hear the faint strains of a violin in the distance. “It’s Chaconne in D minor!”

“Vati!” Maya exclaimed, jumping from the car and running toward the music.

She found her father standing on a bench in a lovely park of palm groves, next to the Americana Theater, with the moon and the stars as his audience. He didn’t stop playing when he saw her. In fact, he didn’t even acknowledge her. She stood in front of him, tears running down her cheeks, waiting for him to finish. Waves of emotion swelled inside her.

“Bravo,” she cheered when he stopped, drying her tears with the sleeves of her shirt. “That was beautiful.”

“Have you seen my wife, Hanna?” Vati asked, still standing.

“Come down, Vati,” Maya offered her hand.

“Perhaps Berta will find her. You know how much she and Hanna like one another. They love to sing together.”

Berta was Vati’s younger sister. She’d died long ago. “Maybe they are together now,” Maya said, pulling on her father’s leg and realizing he was wearing two pairs of trousers. “Come now.”

“You’re so sweet,” Vati said, but he still wouldn’t climb down from the bench. “I bet your parents are proud of you, miss.”

“They are,” Maya said, choking back her tears. “I’m your daughter.”

“That’s nice.”

“
Vater
!” Limping, Erik arrived along with Joe. “We’ve looked everywhere for you. Why did you do this?”

Maya took her brother’s hand, filled with tender feelings toward him, and gestured to her father to come down. “He’s your child, too,” she said. “His name is—”

“Erik, would you help me get down, please,” Vati implored, reaching out to him.

“Let’s go home,” Joe said, giving his hand to Vati.

“Erik!” Maya scolded. “Help your father.”

Erik complied and raised both arms to help Vati down.

“You’re a good son,” Vati said as he climbed down and rested on the bench, exhausted from the effort.

CHAPTER 35

By the time Mickey arrived at the embassy, Kirk and Donovan were waiting for him on the roof of the building, watching the sun as it rose over the Nile.

“You’ve done a tremendous job,” Donovan said as he embraced Mickey like a long-lost friend. “I am terribly sorry about the death of Miss Calley.” He looked tired and seemed to have gained some weight. The button on his suit jacket was ready to pop.

Kirk, on the other hand, had shed a few pounds, which made his cheekbones more prominent. He looked solemn. Mickey guessed that he had news and it was not good.

“I transmitted a false message about an ammunition depot at a location outside of Alexandria. It was bombed,” Kirk said, pursing his lips.

“You were right, my friend,” Donovan said, tapping him on the shoulder. “The Nazis have deciphered our code.” He sat on a bench.

“The Brits took it rather stoically when I broke the news to them. Lampson did not even bat an eye, but these people are trained to show impossible sangfroid in the face of the worst circumstances.” Kirk settled on a black iron chair opposite the bench.

Mickey shook his head as he took a seat next to Donovan.

“Frankly, even though MI5 is closer to catching the German spy …” Donovan started to say.

“They’ve identified a doctor’s office he’s been using for meetings,” Kirk clarified. “Two Italian spies blew his cover. He is a chameleon, a master of disguise, who speaks fluent Arabic. He sometimes goes by the name of Nader Barudi.”

“That explains a lot,” Mickey said, realizing that the man at the library and the man who’d returned Dorothy’s purse must have been the same man.

“But the fact that the Nazis broke our code is a blessing in disguise,” Donovan said. “It now gives MI5 a real shot at getting him. They’ve set up a trap for him tomorrow.”

“They’re sure not wasting any time,” Mickey said.

“They made it clear they don’t want any of us involved,” Kirk added. “They’ve even dictated the wording of the radio transmission I’ve had to send to ensnare him, as if I were a moron, claiming that they had more experience in these matters.”

“Don’t take it personally, Alexander,” Donovan said. “You are not to blame here.”

Kirk shrugged and handed Mickey a piece of paper. “The communiqué I sent. MI5 felt that only bare-bones information should be fed, just enough for the spy to make sense of it, or he’d see through the ploy.”

Finally located the scientist and keeping him secure at the embassy until Friday. Please inform our agents in Lisbon to meet his flight departing 7:05 and arriving at 9:05 AM and make arrangements for immediate transport to New York.

Mickey read the note and then turned, incredulous, to Kirk. “You told the Brits about Blumenthal?” he asked.

“Had to,” Donovan answered. “MI5 will be coordinating with
us and the State Department in investigating the possible involvement of major Zionist figures in Palestine, but they insist that we leave everything else about the Blumenthal case to them.”

“Fine,” Mickey said.

“You’ll never guess where Wild Bill has just come from,” Kirk said, rubbing his hands, his eyes lighting up, eager to share the news, but he gestured to Donovan, inviting him to speak.

“I was in the middle of the North Atlantic, in Placentia Bay, off Newfoundland, with President Roosevelt,” Donovan responded.

“You must have heard rumors about the president’s disappearance over the last ten days?” Kirk added.

“The
New York Times
wrote that his polio was acting up and he’d flown to his vacation cottage near the hot springs of Pine Mountain.”

“Not true,” Donovan said. “The president was meeting with Winston Churchill on board the battleship HMS
Prince of Wales
. With the dangers posed by U-boats, this had to be done in complete secrecy.”

Kirk checked his watch. “In a few hours the news will be reported to the world.”

“They shook hands over a joint vision of the world after the war,” Donovan resumed. “I’ll be flying back to London to work on the language. We expect most governments to go along with it. Basically the charter will call for an end to colonialism as we know it. It will affirm a nation’s right to self-determination. All very important precepts to Roosevelt, as you know.”

“Churchill agreed to it?” Mickey asked, surprised.

“He didn’t have a choice. He knows that without America the empire won’t stand,” Donovan said. “I was there when the prime minister conceded that the mantle of leadership was slipping from Britain’s shoulders to America’s. It almost moved me to tears. America is dictating the terms of peace. We are the new leaders of the world.”

Mickey mulled over what was being said. “Does this mean we’re entering the war?” he ventured, barely breathing. “Forming a military alliance with the Brits?”

“Not quite, but you can bet your bottom dollar that we will be supporting their efforts in a very big way. Roosevelt has promised to send them 150 of our newest Grant tanks equipped with 75 mm guns immediately.”

Mickey shook his head, overwhelmed by what he was hearing.

Donovan leaned back to get a better view of Mickey and exchanged quick looks with Kirk. “Do you ever wonder what happened to the article you tried to smuggle out of the country?”

“Well, yes, sure.”

“I think you should know that it was not written in vain,” Kirk said.

“Miss Calley sent it via diplomatic pouch to someone she knew—a member of Roosevelt’s cabinet. The president had your article in his dossier when he met with Churchill,” Donovan said.

His words hung in the air while Mickey tried to grasp the enormity of what Donovan had told him. A wave of emotion welled up inside him. Embarrassed, he leaned forward, his hand blocking his face as he fought mightily to hold back his tears.

“She thought you were right on the money,” Donovan said, putting a fatherly arm around him.

“She was very fond of you,” Kirk added. “Though she did think that your sense of color coordination was beyond redemption.”

Mickey shook his head and laughed. “Hey! I thought I was doing great!” He stood up and showed off his suit. “Even got the handkerchief right.”

“You look very debonair to me,” Donovan approved. “Cairo suits you well.”

“It’s been quite a journey since our first meeting on this very roof, sir,” Mickey said as he sat back down.

“We really appreciate all you’ve done, but at this point you’re officially relieved of your duties. We don’t want you to be in danger any longer. I’ve talked about you to a friend of mine, the editor-in-chief of the
Washington Post
, and he’s very interested in meeting you.”

Mickey slowly nodded. Somehow he felt deflated. The adventure, the sense of urgency and responsibility, were now over for him, but funnily enough, he did not feel relieved. “I just hope they catch the spy. At least Dorothy will not have died for nothing.”

With Maya gone and MI5 taking over the Blumenthal case, there wasn’t any point in staying in Cairo, Mickey thought as he drove to the Gezira Sporting Club to have lunch with Hugh. He had asked his friend to find out through his black market sources how one would go about obtaining papers for Palestine, knowing everything could be gotten for a price in Cairo. But now it was moot—the Brits were in charge. Maybe they had more experience in intelligence matters, but Mickey had every intention of secretly watching tomorrow’s ambush. He’d been too deeply involved to miss it, and he couldn’t return to the States without getting a shot at blowing the spy’s head off if things went that way.

He checked his rearview mirror to see if he was being followed and made a series of sharp turns just in case. With the change in military command, the continuous air-raid threats to Heliopolis, the mass exodus of refugees out of Alexandria and Cairo, and no good news coming out of El Alamein, people’s nerves were frayed. It seemed that pedestrians walked faster and drivers never stopped honking and cutting one another off in their cars. Even donkeys, laden with the belongings of fellahin fleeing for calmer surroundings, seemed to be jittery. The flow of refugees had put a heavy
burden on buses, and traffic was abominable. Mickey turned on the radio to get his mind off the chaos of the city and smiled when President Roosevelt’s voice came over the airwaves to announce his pact with Churchill.