Cantara spoke for a further five minutes. She mentioned the growth plans for the Sirius Solar Power business and described the new solar panel factory under construction in Luxor. She stressed she would be proud to work in partnership with the new division and she would be taking a personal interest in its success.
At the end of the formalities, Sam walked onto the stage and gazed at the clay model of the Sirius. It was an object of beauty and he was gripped by the same impulse that had persuaded him to sponsor Sir Roger Harmison’s original solar car. But as tempting as it was to develop the model to a working prototype, he knew Daingerfield was correct. It would be ruinous to pour any more resources into the Sirius and his best option was to sell the design rights to a major motor company.
‘Rex told me to stop you from doing anything rash with the Sirius, but I think we should build it. What do you think, Mr Jardine?’
Sam turned around and came face to face with Cantara. He was surprised how petite she was as he shook her hand. Her stage presence and confidence had made her seem larger than life. She was even prettier up close and she had had a mischievous glint to her honey-coloured eyes. Her fair hair was streaked with platinum and copper tones, as if she was trying to cling to a rebellious past despite her new role as a respectable corporate executive.
‘I’m honoured to meet you, Miss Sharif. I would love to build the Sirius, but Rex is right. Corporate history is littered with failed car executives.’
‘Please call me Cantara. I was worried you would miss the launch.’
‘Thank you, Cantara. And please call me Sam. I became distracted in the Cairo Museum. I’m so sorry I was late.’
‘No worries,’ she said. Her Australian accent was again noticeable. ‘We will make sure you have ample opportunity to explore our wonderful heritage while you are here.’
‘Where did you get your delightful accent from, if you don’t mind me asking?’
Cantara laughed. ‘You mean the Australian twang? My elder sister and I were educated at Pymble Ladies College in Sydney when our father was the Egyptian ambassador to Australia. We lived there for six years.’
‘So how did you end up working for an American fracking company when you are from such an eminent family?’
‘I always wanted to be a basketball player,’ she said with a hint of sarcasm, ‘but my father and sister decided I should do something useful instead. My sister, who is the minister for internal security, met Rex Daingerfield when they were searching for Sienna in the White Desert. They decided I should run his Egyptian business.’
‘Well, I’m delighted you took their advice. Your speech would have been wasted on a basketball player.’
Cantara laughed again. ‘You may not feel that way in a few months’ time. Rex has given me instructions to keep a strict eye on you and I have a reputation for being a wicked and mean-spirited boss.’
‘That’s how I like my bosses.’ Sam grinned at Cantara.
‘Then we will make a brilliant team.’ She rested a slender hand on Sam’s arm. ‘I was serious when I said I would be proud to work in partnership with your new division. I happen to be a passionate advocate for the environment. In fact, I only took the role because my sister let slip Rex was intending to launch his solar division here in Egypt.’
‘I would be honoured to work with you, Cantara. But I must warn you, your passion for the environment is greater than my own. I’m only here because Daingerfield made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.’
‘I agree, Rex is a hard man to turn down. Even so, by the time I have finished with you, you will be patting Red Sea dolphins and planting trees in Aswan.’
‘And what do your judgemental father and sister think about your green political opinions?’
‘You can ask them yourself. They have invited us both to lunch at the family house on Saturday. Please don’t be late this time.’ Cantara smiled at Sam and moved on to make small talk with the minister of finance.
CHAPTER 11
El Tod, Upper Egypt
A large, noisy crowd gathered in eager anticipation as they watched the handsome young Englishman prepare for his test of marksmanship. Dressed in the traditional flowing robe of a Bedouin tribesman, his face and hands filthy from the dust and grime that permeated the village, Jack Jardine nestled the butt of the Remington double-barrelled shotgun under his chin and flicked his blond hair out of his eyes. He waited for the ragged Egyptian boy to release the six hares into the shimmering heat of the western desert. Standing next to Jack with a second shotgun was his friend Jamal. To Jack’s left was Jamal’s brother, Tariq. He was also decked in a long robe and stood ready to hand over a third, ancient-looking shotgun that had been found in one of the dilapidated houses on the fringe of the desert. Money was scarce, but large sums were changing hands among the tough men of the village of El Tod. The womenfolk were banned from the spectacle, but many of the braver girls had defied the orders of the local imam to sneak a look at the handsome foreigner. Word of Jack’s uncanny accuracy with the shotgun had spread even beyond the small village of El Tod.
Beneath the robe, Jack was dressed in a white tee-shirt and jeans, but he had taken to wearing the Bedouin kufiyah around his head to protect himself from the ferocious desert sun. His complexion was fair and he had suffered from sunburn during his brief stay with Jamal’s family and friends in Upper Egypt.
An excited murmur rose from the throng of onlookers as the boy minding the hares lifted the lid on the wicker basket. He kicked the basket over on its side and the six hares scattered in all directions as they dashed for cover. The long-eared rodents were lightning fast and their erratic movements and rapid leaps made them difficult targets. A loud boom rang out from the Remington and the first hare was obliterated by Jack’s first shot. Half a second later, the second hare flew a metre in the air as it caught the full force of buckshot from Jack’s shotgun. Jack tossed the smoking Remington to Jamal’s young cousin while Jamal handed Jack the second shotgun. As the four remaining hares accelerated away, Jack fired both barrels in a blur of sound and movement. Two more hares went down but the last pair were running in opposite directions and had made good ground towards the scrubby bushes at the desert’s edge. A groan went up from the crowd when they saw Tariq had dropped the rusty double-barrelled shotgun into the rock-strewn sand in his haste to hand it over. Jack scooped up the shotgun and pulled it to his shoulder without once losing sight of the furthest hare as it dived for the shelter of the bushes. The hare disintegrated into a furry ball of flesh and bone as the old shotgun boomed fifty metres away. The recoil from the unwieldy gun was brutal, but Jack absorbed the shock like a seasoned professional. He bent his knees and used the momentum to swivel the gun to his left. The Egyptian throng went silent as Jack caught sight of the last hare at the limit of the old firearm’s range. Jack frowned as he realised the inaccuracy of the gun would probably result in a miss. The rusty firearm thundered again as Jack pulled the second trigger. His vision blurred as smoke and flame erupted from the old barrel. In the distance, the sixth hare stumbled and collapsed on its side. Its back legs twitched four times then froze as it gave up its fight for life. There was complete silence as the crowd absorbed the extraordinary feat of marksmanship they had witnessed. Many had tried, but no-one had ever accomplished the same result in living memory. An appreciative murmur spread throughout the crowd before they surged forward to take a closer look at the shy young Englishman. Jamal and Tariq looked at their young colleague, awestruck by what they had witnessed.
‘I thought the last ’un had got away,’ Jack admitted to Jamal with an awkward smile as he handed the smoking relic to Jamal’s young cousin. A pretty adolescent girl in ragged clothing touched Jack’s forearm before giggling and running off, and a hundred eager spectators surged towards Jack to share his success.
‘Allah guided your aim,’ Jamal responded. ‘It is a sign he requires you for a higher calling.’ Jamal looked at his brother, who nodded in return. Jamal put his hand on Jack�
�s shoulder and looked into the young man’s bright blue eyes. ‘Jack, it is time for you to leave your childhood behind. We are going to take you to a place called Syria. It is dangerous and there is much death and destruction, but it will make a man of you.’
Jack looked uncertain but did not want to let down his friends who had given him so much respect and self-belief. ‘I’m not sure. I don’t think me brother Sam would want me to go there…’
‘We have been through this many times before, Jack. Your half-brother abandoned you when you needed him most. You said yourself you must reject the past and make a new life.’
Jack looked at his feet. He knew Jamal spoke the truth. He kicked a loose stone on the ground and nodded his head.
* * *
Katameya Heights, New Cairo
Sam stared out of the window of his Land Rover Discovery in wonder. He had driven through mile after mile of inhospitable desert on the ring road south-east of Cairo, and pondered how any living thing could survive such a barren landscape. Then he turned right along Gamal Abdel Nasser Street into the satellite city of New Cairo and was greeted by an oasis of lush green lawns, rambling villas, swimming pools and sports clubs. He headed towards the exclusive suburb of Katameya Heights and pulled into the long gravel driveway of a gleaming white, three-storey villa. He watched as sprinklers sprayed jets of water across the immaculate grass lawns that would have graced any English country mansion. A white-gloved doorman opened the door of Sam’s Land Rover and beckoned him to the impressive front entrance of the Sharif residence. He followed the doorman through the large hallway and into a grandiose lounge where the Sharif family awaited. Sam’s nerves settled when he saw the welcoming smile of Osman Sharif, the family patriarch and ex-deputy president of the Republic of Egypt.
‘Welcome to our humble family home, Mr Jardine. Cantara has told me so much about you.’ Sam noticed the impeccable British accent.
‘It is an honour to meet you, Mr Sharif. Likewise, your daughter has not stopped talking about you and the rest of your eminent family.’
‘All good, I trust?’ he replied, winking at Cantara.
Sharif was a tall, broad-shouldered man. He had thick grey hair and a thin pencil moustache; only his protruding stomach belied his excellent physical condition.
‘Of course. She is most respectful whenever she mentions her parents.’
The women in the room laughed as if Sam had made a hilarious joke.
‘May I introduce you to my beautiful wife, Yasmin.’ Sharif indicated the elegant woman who was seated next to Cantara on a luxurious leather sofa.
Yasmin stood to greet Sam with a firm handshake. The petite woman’s eyes flashed with humour, like those of her youngest daughter.
‘And my eldest daughter, Rania. When she is not relaxing at home, she is sometimes known as Her Excellency Doctor Rania Sharif, formally chief economist of the International Monetary Fund and now Egyptian minister for internal security.’
Cantara stuck out her tongue at her father in a display of mock jealousy as he espoused her sister’s accomplishments. Rania stood to shake Sam’s hand. She was as tall as her father and had the radiant good looks of a Hollywood movie star. Her shoulder-length light brown hair was held in place with a neat bow and she wore an elegant white blouse and a knee-length Schiaparelli skirt that had graced a Parisian catwalk the previous spring.
‘Welcome to Egypt, Sam,’ her silky voice and poise were so elegant that Sam caught his breath. He wondered how one person could be endowed with so many gifts.
‘And of course, you have the misfortune of working with my rebellious daughter, Cantara.’
Sam smiled and executed a low bow. ‘It is indeed my pleasure to work with such a talented captain of industry,’ he said, trying to catch the mood of playful formality. Cantara acknowledged Sam’s show of deference with a curtsy of her own.
‘Mr Jardine, I hope you are hungry,’ said Osman Sharif. ‘We have prepared a meal fit for a sultan. Please be so kind as to follow me to the dining room.’
* * *
‘We are living in troubling times,’ said Sharif as he finished off a mouthful of tabbouleh. ‘The days of political stability and economic prosperity in Egypt are but a distant memory. I fear there will be further social unrest before things improve.’
‘You’re such an old conservative, Father,’ said Rania. ‘We are getting on top of the extremist elements in society and some parts of the economy are flourishing. You only have to look at the suburbs of New Cairo.’
‘Would you like another serving of lamb, Sam?’ asked Yasmin Sharif.
‘Yes please, Mrs Sharif,’ Sam replied, passing his bone china plate over for a second helping.
‘So, what do you think of our country so far?’ she asked Sam, as she heaped huge slabs of meat onto Sam’s plate.
‘Egypt’s history and culture are fascinating. But I’m also struck by the contrasts between the raw energy of central Cairo and the almost European feel of the new communities such as this one in Katameya Heights.’
‘New Cairo was supposed to relieve the chronic congestion in the main city of Cairo and over one million houses were planned. Unfortunately, the ordinary Cairenes have not been able to commute here as the costs of living out here are so high. So far, only one hundred thousand residents call New Cairo home and it has been labelled as a haven for the rich.’
‘But there is so much greenery and water seems plentiful. Your own gardens are beautiful.’
‘Unfortunately, it isn’t sustainable. Water is drawn uphill from the Nile and there are frequent water shortages. What is needed is a giant desalination plant, but such a plant requires so much energy. Perhaps Sirius Solar Power will build us a solar farm?’
A servant collected the empty plates from the table and replaced them with an array of Egyptian desserts including baklava, umm ali, and a semolina sweet cake known as basbousa. Sam groaned as he was already feeling over-full from his main course. He watched as Rania heaped his dessert plate to overflowing and handed it to him.
‘Tell me, Sam. How do you feel about having a young woman as your boss while you are in Egypt?’ Rania said.
Sam watched as the Sharif family all leaned in to hear his reply. He could tell it was a loaded question. He knew in some Arabic societies, such an arrangement could have been considered demeaning. But he knew in cosmopolitan Cairo, women often had important leadership positions and Rania herself was a high-ranking government minister. The Sharif’s had high expectations of their womenfolk and Sam felt free to give an honest answer. He remembered his experience in the pharmaceutical industry when he had reported to the hard-working and talented granddaughter of the CEO, Rachael Beckett.
‘I have worked for several women in my career and some of them have been inspirational. I think Cantara will be one the best I have worked for.’ Seated to Sam’s left, Cantara smiled with genuine appreciation at his words and touched his arm with her hand. Sam decided to throw the challenge back to Rania. ‘But I understand when the solar factory opens in Luxor next month, attitudes to women will be poles apart from those in Cairo?’
Rania’s expression changed and she had a look of determination on her face. ‘Egypt has always been a tolerant society, but in the last twenty years many Egyptian workers have returned from the Saudi oilfields and have brought home intolerant Wahhabi philosophy and a poor attitude towards women with them.’
‘May I ask why many women in Egypt wear the hijab, but you and Cantara choose to wear Western-style clothing?’ Sam asked.
‘Modern clothing has become the norm in the business and political community,’ Rania replied. ‘What Egyptian women choose to wear has more to do with tradition and culture than religion. It is true that many more women in Egypt have chosen to wear the hijab in recent years. It’s a personal choice but it doesn’t make them any more religious for doing so—’
Osman Sharif interrupted his daughter. ‘Most Egyptians, including this family, consider ourselves to be devou
t Muslims. There is a small section of society that wishes to impose their strict interpretation of the Quran on others. They may consider themselves to be more pious, but their bigotry runs counter to the Egyptian tradition of tolerance for other races and religions.’
‘Are you referring to the previous religious government?’
‘Some within that government were indeed intolerant, but there are others who are much worse. The Quran doesn’t advocate the oppression of women, but they use the most ultra-conservative interpretation of the holy book to suppress women’s aspirations. When they took control of Egypt in 2011, the Brotherhood moved with alarming speed to dismantle Egypt’s democratic institutions. Praise be to Allah that my wife and daughters were in Australia at the time.’
Rania leaned forward and took on a stern demeanour. ‘Some religious extremists and many hardened criminals have joined forces in the remote parts of Egypt. Their goal is to create a murderous caliphate in the South in a direct challenge to the authority of the state.’
‘They have no basis in the Quran to justify their murderous activities,’ said Yasmin.
‘They are vermin intent on bringing down the Egyptian state. They will feel the full force of my internal security forces,’ said Rania. Her eyes blazed with passion. ‘They are undermining our way of life and I will not rest till they are driven out of Egypt.’
Sam was startled by her intensity and decided she was not a woman to be crossed lightly.
* * *
In the sunroom of Sharif’s rambling villa, Sam took a sip of foamy Turkish coffee and choked as the strong, bitter flavour hit his palate. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Cantara stifle a laugh.
‘How do you like your coffee?’ she asked. ‘My father spent half an hour preparing it before your arrival.’
‘Magnificent,’ Sam replied, thinking, I’d much prefer a cup of tea.
The Last Oracle: A Climate Fiction Thriller (Sam Jardine Crime Thrillers Book 3) Page 8