by Eric Meyer
Taliban were something else, and these were likely to be Mukhtar's personal 'Fedayeen'. The word loosely translated as 'those who sacrifice'. What it meant in practice was they were men who dedicated their lives to protecting the Mad Mullah. If they thought there was any kind of a threat to their leader, they wouldn't hesitate to open fire, and the street around the checkpoint would become a bloodbath. Much as I tried to avoid collateral casualties, I was even more concerned that any blood to be shed came from the enemy. Not from my own people.
"Is there any way around this?" I asked Winter.
She shrugged. "Sure, there's bound to be another way into the square. There are several routes in, but they'll all be guarded by checkpoints."
We stuck out like a sore thumb, parked on the street. Already, I could see the men on the checkpoint casting glances at us, obviously curious about our intentions.
"We have to find a way through that checkpoint," I remarked, "and that means dealing with the Taliban."
We sat for a few moments and then Isra spoke.
"I know one of those men. The one standing second from left, he's gay. I went with him back in Herat."
I stared through the windscreen. The checkpoint was brightly illuminated by overhead streetlights. The man he was referring to looked the same to me as the others. Black beard, black turban, and I had little doubt if you got close enough, black teeth.
"How can you tell?"
He chuckled. "It's a trade secret, Schaeffer. You never forget a face in my line of work."
I wasn't looking in the back, but I could feel Niall's embarrassment. He was almost squirming. Too bad.
"Okay, if it is the same guy, how does that help us? You can hardly proposition him in front of his pals."
He sighed, loudly and theatrically. "It's easy. All I need is for Winter to do what she did before. We'll approach the checkpoint and she can expose me. When they comprehend that I'm not a woman, and even worse, that fighter gets the message, they'll come after me like I'm the devil from hell."
I turned then and saw Neal’s expression. I looked at Winter, then back to Niall, and we exploded into laughter. As makeshift as we were, we were a heavily armed assassination team, facing a checkpoint with veteran fighters and a heavy machine gun. And Isra was suggesting he could penetrate their security, simply by pulling off his wig, or Winter pulling it off for him. I swear the Mercedes shook as we heaved with laughter. I finally got myself under control.
It was an interesting observation on the Muslim psyche. The idea, that a simple cross-dresser could drive a cart and horses through their massive security, just by exploiting their lunatic prejudices. Even so, if they caught up with him…
"Isra, they'll tear you to pieces."
He shook his head. "No, I can circle around the back streets to get away. Winter and I can hail a cab to take us to the Hilton. Provided we go through a different checkpoint, we'll be fine."
I looked at Winter. "What you think? Do you fancy a repeat performance?"
She grimaced. "I'm not proud of what I did before, but this is something different. These guys are so stupid, it'll fry their brains."
"Fry their dicks, more like," Isra grunted.
I grinned. "Let's do it."
Winter climbed out of the vehicle, and I slid across to the driving seat. Isra opened the rear door, emerged onto the street, and removed her heels. They both took a last glance at the Mercedes, and then they started walking toward the checkpoint. In back, Niall was preparing the M-60. If things went wrong, we could need its firepower to help us escape. I heard him speaking to Sabrina.
"Would you pass me the ammunition belt? No, the other end first. That's right, and make sure the spare ammunition is ready to feed when I shout."
"It goes like this?" Her voice sounded ordinary, with no sign of any strain, as if he'd asked her to help him erect a washing line.
"That's it. Just make sure you keep it square. Otherwise, it'll jam."
"Is that right?"
"Sure. If the shit hits the fan, begging your pardon, I'll need a loader."
"That's no problem," she replied.
It was surreal. I could hardly believe they were right behind me, preparing for war in such matter of fact tones. I watched Winter and Isra walk forward, and they reached the checkpoint. I switched on the engine, so when the action started, I could drive straight through. All that was left was to wait.
They played their part perfectly. Winter, Isra, the Taliban fighters, and even the Egyptians. First, Winter started screaming at the men on the checkpoint, and then in theatrical flourish, she snatched off Isra's wig. If it hadn't been serious, it would have made a first class comedy. The guy who'd been Isra's client almost had a heart attack. His eyes looked set to jump out of his head, and he looked from side to side, searching for an escape route. The rest of them started screaming and shouting, even the crew from the heavy machine gun stepped down to get closer to the fun.
Isra ran. Winter took off after her, and the pair of them sprinted away from the checkpoint. They ran toward us, and then passed the Mercedes, pursued by a screaming band of armed Arabs. I let them pass and then started forward. When I reached the checkpoint, there was only one man left to man the barrier. He was looking up the street, anxiously watching to see the result of the pursuit. He glanced once at our expensive SUV, probably assumed we were diplomats or high-level businessmen, and waved us through. Five minutes later, we were outside the Nile Hilton.
I spoke to the doorman. He made a call and directed us to the underground car park. We left the weapons in the vehicle and went to check in, taking a suite with two bedrooms.
"Do you have any luggage, Sir?" The clerk asked, looking at Niall and me.
He was regarding our stained clothing with concern. I could hardly blame him. We looked like a pair of desperados. I gave him a hard stare.
"We've just come out of the desert after a long exploration for mineral resources. There's millions at stake for the Egyptian economy, man. Right now, we just need a shower and some food. We have a few personal possessions in the Mercedes AMG, and we’ll collect them when we've freshened up. My company will be sending round new clothing in the morning."
He still looked uncertain. I ignored him and looked at Niall.
"Damn, this could mean billions for the Egyptian economy. I wouldn't mind betting we’ll be asked to make a report to the President."
It did the trick. "Of course, if there's anything we can do, please ask. I'll send complimentary champagne to your suite."
I gave him an offhand nod, took the smart key, and walked away. Niall took the key and went with Sabrina to the Mercedes to start transferring the weapons to our suite. I went outside to wait for Winter and Isra. It took them almost an hour to arrive. They hopped out of a cab, looking tired and disheveled, but alive. I led them into the hotel and straight to the elevators.
"How did it go?"
Winter didn't answer but Isra gushed. "She shot one of them! The bastard was quicker than the rest of them, and he followed me down an alleyway. He got a hand to my dress, and I thought I was dead. Ugh, the stink. He hadn't washed for months."
"Isra, what happened?" I asked him.
"She shot him! Winter came back for me, saw he was starting to beat me, so she pulled a little gun out of her purse and shot him. He was going to kill me. I'd have been dead."
I looked at Winter. "You had to kill him? They'll be looking for you, and maybe they’ll link you to us."
"He was about to beat Isra's skull in with the butt of his AK."
"Okay, you had no choice." I checked my watch, "We need to check out the roof and find a place for Niall to take the shot."
"I'll come with you."
I nodded. Winter was central to the operation, and I was even starting to trust her. A little bit. A very little bit. Isra was all over her after killing the fighter, he was gushing like a schoolgirl crush. He was borderline hysterical, so I asked Sabrina to keep an eye on him. We left the weapons in the suite, just c
arried out concealed handguns, and went to the top floor in the elevator. When we emerged into the passage, the carpet was thicker, the woodwork more expensive and solid. I heard voices, someone walking toward us, and I gestured to them to go back inside the elevator. We went down to the floor below and crept back up the staircase.
The voices were guards patrolling the corridor, and at one point they came into view of the access door to the roof, Egyptians, Arabs, and something more. I didn't speak the lingo, but I recognized the language. Afghan. Niall recognized it too.
"Taliban. Fuck, what're they doing on the penthouse floor?" And then it him, "Jesus Christ, Mukhtar! He's staying here, in the same hotel."
"Yeah, obviously roughing it up here with the rest of the peasants, and not taking any chances after we attacked his villa."
"Does it make a difference?" Winter asked, "When he goes out to speak, the guards will go with him. Then we can go up to the roof."
I shook my head. "We need to go up now and check it out. If there's nowhere suitable, we'll need to go to plan B. We have to get past them."
I had an idea. "We'll have to divert them. Niall, as soon as you hear the commotion, go up to the roof, check it out, and then go back down."
I explained what we needed to do. They were both doubtful, but in the absence of a better plan, we had no choice. Niall crouched ready like a sprinter on his blocks. I took Winter roughly by the hand, started up the last few steps, and rounded the corner into the passage. The guards weren't in sight, so I dragged her along to the end where it turned to the right and the left. Ten yards to the right, I saw them, four men, two Taliban and two Egyptians. They turned as they saw us, and the performance began.
"What's this then? Is this the rooftop restaurant?"
I shouted so loud they could probably hear me in the reception on the first floor. The guards ran at us, blocking us from getting any nearer to the room they guarded.
"Sir, there is no restaurant here," the older of the Egyptians protested, "You must leave this area."
I turned to Winter. "See, honey? I told you it was the wrong way."
"The fuck it is," she bellowed, "I know it's along this corridor." She pushed the guy in the chest, "Let's go this way, Chuck. Take no notice of these losers."
She started to push past, and the man put out his hand and gripped her arm. "You cannot pass, Miss. I am sorry. This area is restricted."
"Go fuck yourself, buster!" As she spoke, she gave him a hard push, and he fell backward and tumbled to the carpeted floor, "Let's go, Chuck. Motherfuckers!"
I followed her, and we managed to get another two paces. The other Egyptian ran up to her and physically restrained her, putting both his hands around her body.
"Hey, shithead, get your hands off my tits, you bastard," she screamed.
I guessed that was my cue. I drunkenly stumbled forward, bunched my fist and swung. It hit the guy on the side of the head, harder than I'd intended, and he went down like a truck had hit him. His buddy stepped forward, waving his arms.
"Stop, you must stop this! I will call the police."
I turned to face him. "What fucking police? We're looking for the restaurant, and you're trying to stop my wife getting there. And this man touched her tits, little creep. If anyone calls the police, it'll be me!"
The altercation continued for several minutes, during which time we slowly backed toward the bend in the corridor, all the time, the two Taliban fighters watched, their faces impassive. But I could bet their fingers itched to squeeze the triggers of their AKs.
It's a cultural thing. Most babies get rattles to play with, Afghans get assault rifles. When we played Cowboys and Indians, they played executing the infidel, for real.
Eventually, I saw the reflection of movement behind me. Niall was slipping back down from the roof to descend the staircase. I turned to Winter.
"Let's leave it, honey. There's no need to raise the roof over just a little disagreement."
"Well, if you're sure..."
"Come on, we'll find a restaurant in the square."
For the first time, I saw the Taliban fighters grin, knowing damn well the square would be cordoned off for Mukhtar's talk. Suddenly, they turned as the door behind them opened. Mullah Mukhtar looked out, said a sharp word to them, and ducked back inside. Winter went rigid so close to the enemy, but I pulled her away.
"Let's go, honey." Under my breath, I continued, "Anytime you want to commit suicide, you do it when I'm not around."
"Schaeffer, we could have got him."
"Yeah, and Terry Taliban would have stood by and done nothing. They have assault rifles. We have pistols. We're in a hotel on the edge of Tahrir Square, with hundreds of cops and military guarding Mukhtar. You pop him, and they'll tear us into little pieces and sell our bone fragments as souvenirs."
We went back down to the suite. Niall opened the door for us, and Winter immediately questioned him about the roof.
"It's clear," he affirmed, "No guards and a good, clear line of sight to the rostrum. All I need is for those Taliban guards to disappear, and that'll be when then they take him out into the square. Then I get the M-60 up to the roof. Afterward, it's up to you."
I nodded. "I'll go downstairs and scout out the escape route. You recall the British film The Italian Job?" They all shook their heads, "A bunch of Brit crooks stole a heap of gold bars in Turin. Place was crowded, just like Cairo is today. They escaped along little known lanes, bridges, even arcades and sewers. I reckon we're going to have a similar problem, so I'll see if we can get out without being seen."
"Through the sewers?" He was doubtful.
"Maybe not the sewers. Get some rest. I'll be back a couple of hours before midday."
Sabrina insisted on coming with me, and this time she pulled her veil into place.
"This is a kind of religious gathering, and a man walking with a veiled woman won’t attract any attention."
I agreed. Besides, I was more than happy to spend as much time as possible with her. Winter and Isra stayed in the suite, and once again I was suspicious. They were fast becoming bosom buddies, and I just couldn't get used to the idea of a complete change coming over the CIA attack dog.
We walked out of the hotel into Tahrir Square. There was a real buzz in the air, thousands of people, shoulder to shoulder, even with hours to wait before the main event. We threaded through the outside and escaped into a side street that ran around to the rear of the hotel. Opposite the parking garage exit, we saw a narrow lane, a tight fit for the Mercedes, but I made a rough calculation that we would just about make it through. There were garbage heaps and dustbins at intervals along its length, but the big, heavy SUV would shrug them aside if we came through. We walked its length, avoiding the miasmic stench of garbage that had stood for weeks, if not months, without being removed. After a hundred yards, the lane emerged into a small square that was almost empty of people. Not surprising, it looked like every Egyptian for miles around was either in or heading for Tahrir Square. I looked at Sabrina.
"This'll do it. Once we reach this square, we can find a route out of the city. It's perfect."
"Except for that building across there," she replied.
I looked in the direction where she pointed. I'd missed it because the sign was in Arabic, but as I watched, a cop emerged. It was the local police post, unlikely to be a problem, but worth knowing about.
"Noted. I don't expect it'll be manned while the main event is taking place. They'll all be around the square, taking care of security."
We walked around the area, making sure of likely routes, but it all looked doable. Then we headed back to the Nile Hilton. The atmosphere inside our suite was tense. Niall was fiddling with the M-60, Isra was in the bathroom, presumably attending to his hair and makeup, and Winter was sitting in an armchair and staring into space.
"Everything okay?" I asked the room in general.
"We're fucked," Winter hissed, "Tell him!"
He sighed. "We heard a lot of
noise on the staircase, and Winter went upstairs. They've beefed up the security and put sentries on the roof."
"How many?"
Winter replied, "I estimate there are six of them, maybe seven or eight. Whatever, it makes no difference. We can't do the job from up there. I think we’re finished. It's not going to happen. Not here, not today."
I looked at Niall and he stared back at me. We'd been in these situations plenty of time in the past. All that was needed was to rework the plan.
"That bastard goes down today," I told her. I could see Niall nodding his agreement, "No matter what it takes, today sees an end to it."
She gave me a sneering look. "Oh, yeah, and how do you plan to do that? What's Plan B?"
I didn't need to think about it. There was only one way to get to Mukhtar, and that was here, in this hotel.
"We'll go upstairs, get into his room, and blast him."
Her eyes widened. "Are you serious? We're in a five-star hotel in the center of Cairo, and you plan on shooting up the room of its most famous guest. Don't you think the cops and the military may have something to say about it? Let alone Christ knows how many Taliban and Egyptian guards who're tagging the place. What are you planning, another of your fucking diversions? I tell you, Schaeffer, it's not going to work. We have to get out of here and think of another way to get to him."
I stared at her. "Winter, if you want to go, just get out. Niall and me, we're staying here to finish the job. It's been too long, and too much is at stake. Were not running away from this."
"I will help," Sabrina said. I'd forgotten about her. She was still standing inside the door.
"It's appreciated," I said to her, "but this will be a job for soldiers. You need to stay out of it."
She was already shaking her head when Isra emerged from the bathroom. He'd taken special care with his clothes and make up, and if I hadn't known, I would have assumed he was some kind of fashion model.
"I'm with Sabrina," he asserted, "On a job like this, you need some glamour to make them look the other way."
Winter raised her eyes skyward. "Jesus Christ, what is this, a suicide pact?" Before anyone replied, she continued, "Okay, I'll buy into it. I've had enough screwing around with these people. How can we do it?"