World War II Thriller Collection by Ken Follett Read Free Book Online Page B

are you doing here? Where did you go? What happened to your face?”
    Wolff put down his cases and sat on the divan. He looked up at her. She stood with her hands on her hips, her chin thrust forward, her breasts outlined in green silk. “You’re beautiful,” he said.
    â€œGet out of here.”
    He studied her carefully. He knew her too well to like or dislike her: she was part of his past, like an old friend who remains a friend, despite his faults, just because he has always been there. Wolff wondered what had happened to Sonja in the years since he had left Cairo. Had she got married, bought a house, fallen in love, changed her manager, had a baby? He had given a lot of thought, that afternoon in the cool, dim church, to how he should approach her; but he had reached no conclusions, for he was not sure how she would be with him. He was still not sure. She appeared angry and scornful, but did she mean it? Should he be charming and full of fun, or aggressive and bullying, or helpless and pleading?
    â€œI need help,” he said levelly.
    Her face did not change.
    â€œThe British are after me,” he went on. “They’re watching my house, and all the hotels have my description. I’ve nowhere to sleep. I want to move in with you.”
    â€œGo to hell,” she said.
    â€œLet me tell you why I walked out on you.”
    â€œAfter two years no excuse is good enough.”
    â€œGive me a minute to explain. For the sake of . . . all that.”
    â€œI owe you nothing.” She glared at him a moment longer, then she opened the door. He thought she was going to throw him out. He watched her face as she looked back at him, holding the door. Then she put her head outside and yelled: “Somebody get me a drink!”
    Wolff relaxed a little.
    Sonja came back inside and closed the door. “A minute,” she said to him.
    â€œAre you going to stand over me like a prison guard? I’m not dangerous.” He smiled.
    â€œOh yes, you are,” she said, but she went back to her stool and resumed working on her face.
    He hesitated. The other problem he had mulled over during the long afternoon in the Coptic church had been how to explain why he had left her without saying good-bye and never contacted her since. Nothing less than the truth sounded convincing. Reluctant as he was to share his secret, he had to tell her, for he was desperate and she was his only hope.
    He said: “Do you remember I went to Beirut in nineteen thirty-eight?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œI brought back a jade bracelet for you.”
    Her eyes met his in the mirror. “I don’t have it anymore.”
    He knew she was lying. He went on: “I went there to see a German army officer called Heinz. He asked me to work for Germany in the coming war. I agreed.”
    She turned from her mirror and faced him, and now he saw in her eyes something like hope.
    â€œThey told me to come back to Cairo and wait until I heard from them. Two years ago I hard. They wanted me to go to Berlin. I went. I did a training course, then I worked in the Balkans and the Levant. I went back to Berlin in February for briefing on a new assignment. They sent me here—”
    â€œWhat are you telling me?” she said incredulously. “You’re a spy?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI don’t believe you.”
    â€œLook.” He picked up a suitcase and opened it. “This is a radio, for sending messages to Rommel.” He closed it again and opened the other. “This is my financing.”
    She stared at the neat stacks of notes. “My God!” she said. “It’s a fortune.”
    There was a knock at the door. Wolff closed the case. A waiter came in with a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice. Seeing Wolff, he said: “Shall I bring another glass?”
    â€œNo,” Sonja said impatiently. “Go away.”
    The waiter left. Wolff opened the wine, filled the glass,