No, that was too dangerous. He didn't want to be the one who told Bletchley that Stern was back in Cairo. Not the way things were, the reasons for Stern's return unknown.
Talk to Liffy?
Yes, and for other reasons as well. Since becoming so deeply involved with Ahmad, Joe had begun to have an uneasy feeling that Liffy might not be telling him everything he knew about Stern, that he might be holding something back because he cared so much for Stern, an effect Stern often had on people.
Instinctively they wanted to protect him, to safeguard that fragile essence Stern carried within him, perhaps for everyone. Joe himself had always felt that way and there was no reason why Liffy shouldn't, but the sooner he talked to Liffy the better.
Joe stopped at a public telephone, keeping his eye on the young Egyptian across the way who was following him on Bletchley's orders. It didn't bother him that Bletchley would know he had gone to the restaurant where Stern and Maud often met, or that he had waited there to catch a glimpse of Maud.
Bletchley would have been expecting him to do something like that by now. Nor was he concerned about his behavior since then, for it could only tell Bletchley that seeing Maud had confused him.
He dialed Liffy's number and let the phone ring once before breaking the connection. He made a show of continuing to dial numbers, reaching Liffy's phone again and letting it ring twice before hanging up. So there was nothing to do now but wait and see if Liffy turned up in an hour where he was supposed to.
Nothing but one minor matter. Joe spent some time eluding the young Egyptian, and when he was sure he was no longer being followed he headed in the direction of the bar where he hoped Liffy would be waiting. It was down by the river and he hadn't been there before, but it was supposed to be a safe place where Europeans seldom went.
Strictly a refuge for the lowest of lowlifes, Liffy had said.
One of those downstairs dives, Joe, where the dregs of riverfront society and other serious alcoholics fade away in the shadows a little bit more every night. But also the kind of cave where a spirited actor who never succeeded, and an ex-shaman from an obscure American Indian tribe, could comfortably mutter together in sign language while blowing coded smoke signals in the air, without anyone noticing a thing. Certainly no self-respecting member of any superior race would ever show his face there, so it's our kind of place, Joe. A club that will have us without examining our forged credentials, a home of sorts for those who haven't been home since the Babylonians took Jerusalem, say about 586 B.C.? . . .
Joe smiled to himself as he moved along in the evening crowds. What in the world are all these people doing? he thought. Don't they have any idea there's a war on? . . . And so the evening had begun in an ordinary quiet neighborhood and Joe almost laughed out loud, thinking of Stern back there. A kind of relief, he knew, from the tensions building up inside him. But it was stunning all the same. . . . Stern dressed as a beggar? Sitting in rags in the dust at twilight at the end of a cobblestone lane?
A wonder, he thought, that beggar hasn't changed. He probably decided the moment he saw me to try to get a coin. He'd like that, Stern would, just the sort of thing that would give him a quiet chuckle. I'll have to ask him about it sometime.
But the giddy mood didn't last. Almost at once he felt the muscles in his stomach tighten.
Fear, he thought. Out-and-out fear and why not, this whole thing scares me to death. Nothing's looking easy now, just the opposite and getting worse.
Codes, he thought. Ahmad keeps saying Stern has codes on his mind. Well Stern must know his codes all right after all these years, especially these codes we call people and how to unlock their meanings, because that's what Stern's always been . . . a master cryptologist, a master decipherer of the human soul. Only maybe even more so now as the stakes climb higher. So we'll just have to find out why Stern was a beggar in the dust tonight, surveying his limitless kingdom, ah yes. . . .
***
Liffy was in the bar, standing at the counter. He smiled as Joe walked up.
Good evening, Mr Gulbenkian, Liffy called out, using the name that was on the false passport Bletchley had given Joe, part of his strange cover as a naturalized Lebanese citizen of Armenian extraction, a dealer in Coptic artifacts, in transit.
And a very good evening to you, said Liffy again, and welcome to the world of the underclasses. How fares the pursuit of Coptic artifacts on this fair night?
Let's go outside for a walk, said Joe.
They left the bar and moved away from the crowds, finding their way down the paths of a public garden beside the Nile.
Disaster? whispered Liffy uneasily, staring straight ahead.
Not that bad yet, replied Joe. It's not vodka time. Crisis only.
What happened?
Stern's back in Cairo. I saw him near the restaurant where he and Maud go. I didn't have a chance to talk to him because I didn't realize it was him until too late. He was disguised as a beggar. But Bletchley said Stern was going to be away for two weeks and now he's back without Bletchley knowing it, against Bletchley's orders. Why? Everything's moving fast and all of a sudden I don't have a couple of weeks to pick up the signals, nothing like it. I don't know enough yet to go to the Sisters, but I may have to try to see them soon anyway. I wanted to talk with you about it.
In answer, Liffy merely nodded. He was staring straight ahead as they moved along, withdrawn in a way that wasn't like him. A thought struck Joe.
It doesn't seem to be news to you, Liffy. Did you already know Stern was back in Cairo?
Liffy said nothing. For some moments they walked in silence.
I didn't know it for a fact, whispered Liffy at last.
Oh God, thought Joe. . . . Listen, he said quietly, I don't have to tell you Bletchley's been holding out on me from the very beginning, and now Bletchley's got to find out pretty soon that Stern isn't where he's supposed to be, and that's going to start all kinds of trouble. It makes things seem hopeless all of a sudden, because there's no time anymore and I'm nowhere and I can't help Stern this way. So if you can tell me anything. . . .
Liffy groaned. He turned.
Oh look, Joe, I feel very close to you and I feel very close to Stern, but this just isn't my kind of work. I don't really understand any of it and I don't really want to. I'm only a prop here, I told you that.
I know you did. And I respect the fact that you don't want to get pulled into Stern's affairs, and mine.
Only because I'd make a mess of it for both of you, said Liffy, because I know I'm no good at this sort of thing. You'd think I would be after all the time I've spent with disguises and playacting, but that's just it.
What the Monks and the Waterboys do just isn't real to me and I can't take it seriously. Playing at it or laughing about it is fine, but no matter how hard I try I can't really convince myself that any of it makes any sense. Maybe that's because so much of the time I'm wearing some ridiculous costume in some ridiculous role. It's strange, but to me it's like being with Cynthia.
In what way, Liffy?
Well, you know when I go to see her she likes me to pretend this or that, because she thinks it's romantic, and I don't mind because it's still a game in the end, and I know that and so does she.
And this isn't? Is that it?
Well that's the point. This is a game to me but it doesn't seem to be to other people. Other people seem to take it seriously. To me, Cynthia is real. When we're holding each other late at night, that's real. But not the red cloak I might be twirling around in front of her earlier in the evening. That was just fun, nothing, a game.
I know, said Joe. I feel the same way.