by Eric Meyer
The place was empty, and they reached the main doors. Sabrina offered to look outside. She was dressed in the full veil with only her eyes visible. Her father insisted she wore it whenever she walked outside. At least it meant she would be unrecognized.
"It's clear, but we must hurry. The worshippers will start arriving before long, and we’ll be trapped again."
We went out into the street before the early worshippers turned up. Without doubt, a Westerner, especially one wearing shoes in a mosque, would attract undue attention. And 'undue attention' in riot-torn Egypt was another way of saying a burst of gunfire. We walked away quickly, and I kept looking behind, but she kept several paces behind me, as a good Muslim girl would do. I was uneasy about introducing her to the apartment that Smith had found for us. Despite everything, she was Mukhtar's own family. But I had no choice. If we were to use the information in her head, I needed to keep her close.
Niall and Manuel were waiting for me when I opened the door.
"Christ, I thought they had you," Manuel gasped.
“Not this time. Where’s the prisoner? Did you manage to hang on to him?”
“I wasn't sure what to do with him, so I brought him back here."
"Where did you stash him?"
"There's an old freezer in the kitchen. It’s okay. It doesn't work. I made sure there were ventilation holes, and I locked him in there." He looked at the veiled girl, "Hi, Isra."
"This isn't Isra." He turned to her, "Maybe you'd better take that off and do the introductions."
She pulled off the veil, removed the robe, and they stared at her youthful beauty. She was wearing a polka dot dress, bright red dots on a white background, bare smooth, legs and strappy sandals with a low heel. Her hair was long and uncovered by a scarf. If she went out without the veil, her appearance was enough to get a Mullah’s daughter killed.
"Gentlemen, this is Sabrina. Sabrina Mukhtar."
They both raise their eyebrows. "Mukhtar?" Niall commented, "The same as the guy we're looking for. That's a coincidence."
"It's no coincidence. She's his daughter." They both looked comical, their mouths open, their expressions disbelieving, "It's okay, guys. She’s on our side, hates the bastard."
Niall was instantly concerned, a mixture of a priestly instinct to help, and the kind of protective feelings men get when presented with such an attractive female.
"You've had a hard time of it, Miss?"
She looked puzzled, and I explained he was a Catholic priest. She stared at him. Niall was a tough looking guy wearing a creased bush shirt and crumpled chinos tucked into worn jump boots, with a Glock tucked into his waistband. His M-16 was on the table, partially stripped.
"I'm sorry, but you don't look like a priest. You look more like…"
"A mercenary?"
She nodded. "Yes, a mercenary."
He explained about his previous life as an Army Ranger, his time working with Manuel and me as a private contractor, and then his reincarnation as a Catholic priest.
"But you came back to fight."
"I came back."
She nodded. "The two occupations are very similar, priests and soldiers. So it is with my father. He lusts for blood, just like a soldier."
He smiled gently. "I think you knew the wrong kind of priest. Most are good men."
She shook her head angrily. "You think so? You're a man. You don't know what it's like to be a woman in an Islamic country, especially with a Mullah as a father. What do you know about life as the property of any man your father chooses to sell you to? What do you know about the brutal treatment of women in Islamic societies? Have you ever seen a girl screaming and fighting to stop them butchering her genitals in ritual circumcision?" She could see his horrified expression, "No, I guess you haven't. And for your information, I never gave in to them. My father was late when he tried to force me to do it. It was because my mother died when I was young. But I never stopped hating them, and my father is the worst."
"How did you stop him?" I asked her.
"I was twelve at the time. I promised him if he allowed it to happen, I'd go to him in the night when he was asleep and cut his balls off. He could see I meant it."
"Yeah, I guess that'd do it."
At the mention of genital mutilation, Niall had gone scarlet. Despite appearances, inside he was still a priest, and to have a beautiful young woman talking about her genitals in front of him was something of a shock. He shook his head.
"You're right. I know nothing of that."
I managed to steer the conversation away from religious cruelty and back to the matter in hand.
"Sabrina, last night in the mosque, I explained why we're here. Are you still prepared to help us?"
She looked back at me with a stare that sent a jolt of electricity through my body. Her dark eyes were huge, and her lips parted a little as she assembled her thoughts.
"Absolutely. When he slips out of Aswan, he goes to Nagaa Hammadi. There is a mosque he attends, and he has the use of a small villa on the west bank of the Nile. You will find him there."
I saw Niall glance up in surprise, but I ignored the look. It was the best possible news, a chance to complete what we came here to do. Then it would be payback time. Niall reached for a local map. He stamped his finger on a small town west of Herat.
"This is it, Nagaa Hammadi, about sixty miles from here. Even with crap roads, we could be there in a couple of hours."
I was about to make a comment when someone knocked on the door. Manuel grabbed for his Glock and opened it a fraction. He paused for a second and then opened it wide. Winter Moss stalked into the room, a broad smile on her face. She was dragging Isra Farhi, who wore a micro skirt, high-heeled shoes, and a figure-hugging blouse. She gave the sparse furnishings a long look.
"Well, well. So this is where you've been hiding."
I'd already snatched my Glock out. Manuel picked up his M-16, and only Niall didn't react, waiting for an explanation. The appearance of Mrs. Hitler had me worried. If she'd found us, who else could be coming round the corner and about to kick the door in?
I stared at Winter. "What do you want?"
She grinned, obviously enjoying the surprise her appearance had caused. "I found your catamite wandering the fashion stores, so I made the little bitch tell me where you are staying."
I relaxed. At least our whereabouts wasn't common knowledge. When you're lying low, and it looks like they're selling your address on eBay, it's time to start worrying.
"I couldn't help it," Isra wailed, "She threatened to expose me, like she did before. They'd have killed me, the Mullahs."
I tried to calm him. Only one thing worse than a cross-dresser is a hysterical cross- dresser. "That's okay. Don't worry about it." I looked back at Winter, "Now that you know where we are, you can fuck off back to your pilot friend and count your drug money."
She grinned. "Ouch, there's no need to be nasty." She noticed Sabrina for the first time, "Who's this, your new whore? Is it a boy or a girl?"
"Get out, Winter. Your involvement in this operation is finished. I'm only surprised that Smith hasn't sent you back to the States."
"We go back a long way, me and Smith," she replied, "He did talk to me, and he told me about your deadline. What's your next move? Have you found him yet?"
"No."
She stared at each of us in the silence that followed. Finally, when she realized her beauty wasn't about to win her any favors, she chuckled, turned on her heel, and walked out. At the door, she turned and said, "I'll be back later, unless they arrest you. I guess next time I may be visiting you in jail."
I closed the door behind her.
"When we leave, we'll make sure she doesn't see where we go. Manuel, we need a vehicle."
He nodded. "No problem. Downtown I can hire an SUV, no questions asked."
"Okay, but make sure you're not followed."
Manuel left, refusing Isra's offer to go with him to help negotiate the hire. He took the opport
unity to study Sabrina’s dress, and they glared at each other. Finally, he snorted his disapproval and flounced into the kitchen.
Niall smiled. “Women!”
“Yeah, kind of.”
* * *
Manuel returned a couple of hours later. He’d managed to hire an old Land Rover, even older and more dilapidated than the one we'd last used in Afghanistan. I went out with him to check it out in the lock-up garage that came with the apartment, and what I saw didn't inspire me with any confidence. It looked as if it had been pulled from a wrecker’s yard. He saw my expression of disbelief.
“I ran into Turner, just when I'd given up hope. I was on my way back here, and he said he had a contact. He fixed us up with this. It’s all I could get. At least, without showing any documents. If I did that, everyone in Aswan would know what we were driving. He says it'll get us to wherever Mukhtar is, and to take his limo to ride back in style. ”
It was strange that he should be so concerned for our comfort. There had to be a reason, but I couldn't work out what that could be. Trying to make up for his treachery in the past? Not possible, not him. And I was angry. First Winter knew where we were, and now Turner, so she must have told him. Why not put it on the fucking Internet? Yellow Pages, maybe?
“Does the engine run?”
I was suspicious of anything that came through that bastard, but Manuel was confident. “Like clockwork, it’s as solid as the day it came out of the factory. At least, that’s what the guy who hired it to me said.”
It was the best we could do, and I decided to put Turner and Winter out of my mind. What's done was done. We spent the rest of the day preparing for the drive to Nagaa Hammadi. The plan was to travel after nightfall when most Egyptian cops are home, watching the football or reading up on how to beat up suspects without leaving too many marks. I watched the street through the day, and several angry crowds stormed past on the street below.
Twice we watched the cops chase them away, batons swinging, people beaten to the ground, their blood leaking on the cobbled paving stones. The town reverberated to the sound of sirens, and the air reeked of tear gas. It drove away the stink of sewage, but it wasn't an improvement. As the light started to fade in the early evening, the crowds gave up and we boarded the Land Rover.
Sabrina wanted to come with us. She insisted we'd need her to find Mukhtar's place, but I sensed there was another reason. She'd suffered badly at the bastard's hands, and she wanted to be there at the end to 'cut his balls off', metaphorically, anyway. She'd put the robe and veil back on and so looked innocent enough, the devout Muslim female. When Isra came out of his room and noticed the veil, he went back in and emerged dressed in the same way. If anything sneaky or undercover needed to be done, they'd blend in with the locals. And one thing I knew, this operation was about as sneaky as they got.
Manuel started the engine, and we nosed out of the lock up and turned onto the street. He spun the wheel and turned onto the highway, flooring the gas pedal to head for Nagaa Hammadi. One way or the other, it would end there.
* * *
Nag Hammadi, Egypt
We drove through the night, and I had a great deal to think about. I was touched by the depth of suffering Sabrina had endured through her life. I guess it was no surprise that Mukhtar had subjected his daughter to such a vicious upbringing, culminating in the terrible incident when he tried to force her into female circumcision. It was obvious her hate for him had grown almost daily, so that now she'd reached the point where she wanted him dead.
It was obvious there was a lot more she hadn't told us, and I could hardly blame her. Her life must have been terrible. Maybe it was because of her beauty, I don't know, but I made up my mind to nail Mukhtar, no matter what it took. I guess even then I was starting to fall for her. What man couldn't? She was beautiful, clever, and brave. I'd no doubt she could bake a half decent pie, but I'd never asked.
I was still no nearer to answering a lot of questions. This all started when I got Brad's message on my voicemail and stumbled on his body at Fort Drum. Or did it start long before? To a time when we'd experienced the real base cruelty of man, cruelty that drove me to abandon my career and take up a new job trying for the world record in alcohol consumption. Cruelty that had driven Niall to join the priesthood, and had kicked Manuel into becoming a hired gun for a Russian crime lord, and I was convinced lay behind the death of Brad Olsen.
I knew killing Mullah Mukhtar wouldn't put an end to everything, but at least it would get me in the clear with CIA and the MPs, so I could go looking for Brad's murderer. Right now, this was what the Germans called the 'Schwerpunkt', the sharp end, the time and place of maximum danger. And the outcome would decide the entire battle. Who would win, and who would lose. Who would live, and who would die.
* * *
We were a few miles outside the town when Niall looked up.
"This place, Nagaa Hammadi, you know what it is? Or Nag Hammadi, as it used to be known."
I recalled his interest earlier when the place was mentioned. "Haven't a clue. You've been here before?"
Sabrina looked at me in surprise. "You don't know? It is where some of the Gnostic texts, Jewish and Christian gospels, were discovered. A local peasant named Mohammed Ali Samman, helped by his brother, was out digging for fertilizer in 1945. They came across twelve leather-bound papyrus codices buried in a sealed jar. The writings in these codices comprise fifty-two mainly Gnostic documents, but there were also other works, as well as a partial translation of Plato's Republic."
I nodded. "Quite a find, they must be worth a fortune." I wanted her to keep talking. Her voice was like the tinkling of temple bells. Gentle, melodic, comforting.
"They are worth far more to your Christian religion," she replied, "Sadly, many of our Islamic scholars dismissed them as forgeries. They are not forgeries, of course. It is sad that these men hold Islam in such low esteem that they need to cheat and lie for it."
As well as slaughter innocents in their thousands, whether they were Islamic or otherwise I thought to myself, but I kept quiet.
"We're coming into Nagaa Hammadi," Manuel shouted, "Heads up everyone. There may be an Army checkpoint outside the town."
We made sure our weapons were stashed out of sight and did our best to look like innocent tourists. I knew in my head we were wasting our time. We looked like a bunch of desperados traveling with a couple of young women. The description was almost correct.
* * *
Nag Hammadi, Egypt
In the event, there was no checkpoint, and we drove into Nagaa Hammadi, previously Nag Hammadi, without any problems. The town was the usual shithole. A bunch of decaying apartment blocks on the bank of the River Nile, with a number of luxury villas close to the river, and on the other side the desert stretched away into eternity. The same story across the Islamic world; vast populations living in squalor while the few lived in luxury, careful to ensure their serfs trod the line of religious orthodoxy, an orthodoxy that required the poor to live their lives in passive obedience. It was hard to figure this place as the origin of such important documents as the Nag Hammadi gospels, until you recalled they did not benefit Islam, and so they were worthless. Sabrina suddenly pointed out a street that led to the River Nile.
"His villa is down there. There are a dozen or so homes that belong to the wealthy, but we will not be able to drive past it. The road is closed nearer to the houses, and there are armed guards all around."
"The rich take their security seriously," Manuel grunted, "They put their trust in Allah and the AK-47."
I couldn't see her grin behind the veil, but her eyes crinkled. "You're right. And these people have much to be afraid of, especially my father and his cronies. If the masses find how they are using them to go out into the streets and offer themselves as martyrs to the guns of the Army, they are liable to turn on them. Like they did on the president, Mubarak. You can push them only so far."
Before I could reply, Manuel shouted, "Checkpoint com
ing up."
"You have to turn around," she shouted, "If we go any further, they'll stop our vehicle and search it."
"They can fucking try," Salazar muttered.
"Turn it around," I told him, "We'll park around the corner and see if we can make our way through on foot."
I briefly considered taking out the men on the guard post. It would have been easy, especially with Sabrina and Isra to provide a diversion. But it would mean killing them, and they were only employees trying to earn a living. Manuel braked to a halt a couple of streets away, and we left the Land Rover four hundred yards from the villa, parked between a truck and a battered saloon car. It was well hidden, and there was no reason for anyone to look at it twice. Sabrina led us in the opposite direction, away from the river. We reached a narrow lane about four feet wide that stank like a midden, which was unsurprising.
"The poorer areas use this to get rid of the sewage. It flows directly into the Nile. Because it is so bad, no one ever comes here. I found it when I first came to the villa with my father. I spent a lot of time on my own. I just wanted to be away from him."
It was one helluva way to stay away from someone. Fortunately, there was a gully in the center a few inches wide where the worst of the sewage flowed. By walking along the sides, it was possible to keep away from it, but not from the smell.
We followed the lane for several hundred yards and came out on a wider track that led to the villas. Sabrina explained we were now inside the security perimeter, and her father's place was the third building from where we stood. We crept through the darkness, scaling walls and fences, and avoiding swimming pools and fountains until we came to the edge of Mukhtar's property. There were lights burning in the main room and several limos parked in the drive outside, as well as a bunch of armed men standing around the vehicles, smoking and chatting. A few yards away I saw the reflection of a large, luxurious swimming pool.