by Stan Schatt
I turned down Al-Sheikh Rihan road. I saw the American University in the distance and knew Kahlu Hamza lived in an apartment complex nearby. I had been there once when we worked on a school project together and prayed his father was not home. I pulled the Jeep up in front of the apartment building. I called information for Kahlu’s number and then called him, praying he would be home. When he answered, I asked him to come out and meet us.
Kahlu was small for his age. He was as dark as Neguib, but his distinguishing features were his huge ears. They stood almost straight out. When most of the other students weren’t ignoring him for his peasant lineage, they made fun of his ears. The boy ignored most of the taunts and concentrated on his one love: his computer. He was a born hacker.
Kahlu told us his father was on active duty and would not be home anytime soon. When I explained what I needed, the boy beamed. Kahlu loved challenges, so he invited us in. He would have to bring his laptop out of his room into the sitting room since his mother would think it unseemly for him to invite two girls to be alone with him. Taylor and I helped Paul sit back up, and then helped him walk the path to Kahlu’s door.
Kahlu’s mother was polite but distant. She stared at Paul until I explained he had a concussion. She motioned for us to sit him down in an armchair and soon returned with a towel holding some ice. She helped him place the ice pack on his head and then handed him a couple of aspirin. The woman gave a disapproving look at the uniforms Taylor and I wore.
Taylor explained we were in a special program to prepare us for a career in the army. I didn’t think the woman believed the story, but she made no effort to argue. Even though I knew we looked ridiculous in our army uniforms, her lifelong training required her to be hospitable to guests took over. She busied herself preparing a plate of sweets for her son’s guests.
I watched Kahlu’s fingers sweep across his keyboard. Paul stumbled over to a seat beside him and the two boys traded ideas. It sounded like a foreign language to me, but they meshed perfectly; one would suggest something, and the other would add a new wrinkle. They both looked as happy as I’d ever seen them. It was magical.
While Kahlu was quiet and differential to everyone at school, at home on his computer working side by side with Paul, he was a master. He began hacking into the Twitter database, using various key words, looking for anything related to the ‘Lions of Islam’. Paul kept suggesting new phrases to Kahlu, who would nod and then try them.
Kahlu was uncomfortable with Taylor, probably because she always ignored him. She smiled at him, but he chose to ignore her and concentrate on his typing. He muttered phrases to himself as his eyes scanned his screen.
Fifteen minutes later Paul and Kahlu were all smiles as the screen displayed a number of tweets. Kahlu pressed a key and sent the report to a printer. He handed me a page.
“They’re at the Mosque of Mohammed Ali Pasha,” he said.
I let my breath out slowly. Of course, why make it easy? The Mosque of Mohammed was located in the Citadel, visible from all of Cairo. It was easily defended.
I went there once with Dad and remembered getting into the huge complex had cost 150 Egyptian dollars.
“It usually has army people stationed there,” I said.
I felt my brow wrinkle as I thought of the three of us facing real soldiers.
“You haven’t heard?” Kahlu said.
“Heard what?” I said.
“The demonstrators stormed it and took it over this morning. They released the soldiers unharmed, so the army hasn’t done anything to them yet. I think they’re still trying to decide what to do.”
“We need help,” Taylor said.
“I could help,” Kahlu said.
“Your father would kill you if you got involved. Besides, it’s not really your fight. You’ve helped us more than you could know. You’ve been great,” I said.
The three of us got back in the Jeep. Paul discarded his ice pack and now claimed he felt good enough to join us.
“We do need more people,” Taylor said.
“I think Olivia is scary enough without anyone else,” Paul said.
He stared in horror at the soldiers and their wounds when he regained consciousness.
I felt my priestly outfit clinging to my skin.
“I agree with Paul. We should have enough firepower. Do either of you know how to use one of those rifles?”
“No, but I can use a pistol,” Taylor said.
Paul just shook his head. He looked embarrassed, probably because his father must be an expert.
I looked at Taylor. “Your Dad lets you shoot?”
“He made me to go through a class so I could protect myself. I’m actually pretty good.”
“Of course you are,” I said.
There weren’t too many things Taylor didn’t do very well.
“Could you actually shoot a person?”
Taylor looked at me, and I had never seen her look more serious. Her voice was level. For that reason, what she said made even more of an impression on me.
“I would if it meant saving my father.”
We piled back into the jeep and headed towards the Citadel, a fortress that contained several mosques. I drove in the direction of the Muqattam Hills that towered over Cairo. I saw the silver dome of the Mosque of Mohamed Ali glinting in the setting sun. When we reached the Midan Salah Al-Din, we were surprised to see the large square deserted. Shopkeepers had closed up and gone home; maybe the demonstrations scared away tourists. We stared at the walls and towers that rose from the fortress.
“There’s a back entrance,” Taylor said.
“How do you know?” I asked.
“My Dad and I went on a VIP tour once. I know they have special entrance in the back to avoid the crowds of tourists.”
“I wouldn’t know,” I said.
I remembered waiting in line with Dad. It irritated me that Taylor and her father had received special treatment. Still, it probably was an entrance that the guerillas might not know.
Taylor pointed out where the small gate was located and turned to Paul.
“Don’t you remember? Your family came with us.”
I felt left out. There was so much history between the two of them. I pushed that thought aside because I knew I had to concentrate on finding our parents.
I parked the Jeep on the street. The three of us strapped on pistol belts although I worried about how Paul would distinguish between the terrorists and us. I thought about taking one of the rifles, but decided it was too noticeable. Guerillas might not pay attention too much attention to three kids, but they would react to the sight of kids carrying rifles.
We made our way towards the gate, using the shadows cast by the thick walls to shield us from view. One of the many minarets broadcast a call to prayer.
“We’re in luck,” I said.
I knew the guerillas would be among the most anxious to show their devotion and would not be concentrating on the gates right now. If anyone were up in the tower, they also would be focusing on their prayers.
The small gate was surrounded on both its sides by high walls of solid stone. I stared at the lock tightly wrapped around the gate. We could shoot it, but I knew any shots would attract the guerillas calling themselves the Lions of Islam.
Think, I told myself. There had to be a solution.
Taylor picked up the padlock and studied it.
“No problem,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
Taylor pulled a pin from her hair and began wiggling it in the lock. She hummed as she worked. I saw just how graceful her fingers were. It looked like she had just had a manicure and not crawled through a filthy cave. It was easy to dislike her, but I had been through too much with her now. She was starting to grow on me. There was a click and the lock opened. I couldn’t believe it.
“How did you learn to do that?”
Taylor smiled. “My Dad used to give me time-outs and put a lock on the cabinet where he put my phone and laptop. I paid a boy at
school to show me how to pick a lock. He also said he could teach me to hot wire a car, but I didn’t need to know that.”
“You’re amazing,” I said, and I meant it.
“She has all kinds of skills you’d never expect,” Paul said.
I couldn’t tell if he was being serious or sarcastic. Taylor looked over at him but didn’t say anything. We slid the gate open, and then closed it behind us, leaving the padlock on so it looked like it was still locked. The complex was overwhelming. The museums were down at the other end, and I figured that part of the Citadel was empty now.
The Citadel’s tall towers used to be manned by soldiers. I hoped that if any solders were present, they would be looking down towards the road below and not behind them at the complex itself. I looked to the right and saw a bazaar with the mosque behind it. Although most shopkeepers had taken down their goods, a few stragglers remained. These sellers were intent on cleaning up and didn’t look in our direction.
The mosque itself was imposing, and Dad always that it reminded anyone seeing it for the first time of the Turkish influence in Egypt. The roof was covered with intricately drawn mosaics. The building formed a square with tall turrets capped with domes on two sides and minarets on the other two sides that rose far above the Citadel’s towers. I remembered the entrance was actually in the back and the exit in the front.
Taylor gazed up at the minarets.
“I think our army clothes will make us even more of a target since these guys were just fighting with the Army. We could just wear our regular clothes, but I have a better idea. There’s still one guy over in the bazaar selling tob seblehs. Maybe we should wear them so we will fit in.”
“I don’t have any money on me,” I said.
“I have enough for all of us, although I’m not sure if Paul will agree,” Taylor said.
I looked at Paul who shrugged.
“Of course you do,” I said.
I thought that it was handy sometimes to have a rich half-sister.
I asked Paul to wait for us. Meanwhile, Taylor and I took off our army uniforms and hid them behind a bush. The shopkeeper stared at my robe until Taylor spoke in fluent Arabic and told him they would pay a fair price for the three garments she pointed at. The man was obviously thrilled at the unexpected business. The negotiation took several minutes. Finally, he smiled and agreed. We took the garments and slipped them on along with hijabs we purchased.
We walked back to where we’d stashed our uniforms and guns and stuck our pistols in the large hidden pockets. Paul blushed when we handed him his female disguise but he began putting it on over his clothes. The hijab covered his short hair. I hadn’t realized just how practical the garment was.
Paul’s olive complexion meant he could pass for an Egyptian woman as long as he didn’t open his mouth. I looked at Taylor. She was far too fair to pass as an Egyptian. I explained what needed to be done much to Taylor’s horror. She agreed reluctantly after I insisted that she would blow the cover for us all. I rubbed some of the sandy soil on her face and she grimaced. She did look more authentic as long as no blond hair stuck out of the hijab. I thought she could pass for a native at a distance.
“Let’s go in the exit,” I said pointing to the door facing them as I pulled off my shoes.
I knew if anyone saw us inside with shoes on, it would cause a commotion. Each of us put on the plastic booties placed there by people leaving the mosque. I realized one advantage of the booties was that they would deaden our footsteps.
The prayer session ended, and the area leading into the prayer room was empty. The three of us walked as quietly as we could. I looked through the open door facing us and saw the large prayer room also was empty. Prayer rugs covered the floor while chandeliers hung down bathing the area in bright light. The ceiling, covered in intricate designs, stretched far above us. I couldn’t help staring at the patterns because Dad said that people became almost hypnotized while mediating and looking up at the ceiling. I shook my head to shake off the thought and decided there was no time to play the role of a tourist.
The room smelled musty, probably from all the bare feet that had trod through it for ages, while the rugs looked threadbare in places. A bone-chilling cold made me shiver. I looked at the thick walls and realized they kept the sunlight from warming the room.
“They wouldn’t keep anyone here in the prayer room. I know there’s a second story where some of the mullahs are supposed to live. Maybe that’s where they’re keeping our fathers,” Paul said.
I nodded. It sounded like a good plan. Taylor agreed as well and pointed to a door leading out of the prayer room. We walked out into a courtyard. Stairs led up to a second story built around the courtyard and dominated by a planter filled with blooming flowers. The flowers smelled overwhelmingly sweet. I realized I smelled a combination of the perfume from the flowers and strong incense burning nearby.
“Women are not allowed in this area.”
A man with a commanding voice spoke in Arabic in a tone that told me that he was used to addressing large audiences that never dared to question him.
I looked up and saw an older man with a curly beard of white and black whiskers. A white turban covered his head, and his eyes were dark—almost black. I hesitated because I knew my Arabic would give me away as an imposter. I pondered what to do. Before I could decide, Taylor responded. She spoke in a voice which sounded like it came from a middle-aged Egyptian woman used to having her way.
“Allah says it is permitted if it a life or death matter. You should know that!”
Although the mullah was no taller than Taylor, he commanded respect. He seemed taken aback by a woman who directly challenged him.
“Allah also says a devil can take many forms. Who are you and what do you want? Answer quickly before I have you both thrown out, or worse. You could have called for help from outside, rather than entering when it is not women’s hours.”
Taylor drew up to him and pulled out her pistol. She held it directly against his forehead.
“You will do exactly what we say or you will meet Allah right now.”
She pushed him up against a wall.
I took off the man’s rope belt, pulled his arms behind his back, and tied them as tightly as I could.
“Where are the ‘Lions of Islam’?” I asked.
The man started to shout, but Taylor pulled off her hijab and stuck it in his mouth. We dragged him back into the prayer room and towards a closet. I ripped off some cloth from the man’s robe and blindfolded him before using another piece of the robe to tie his legs. I placed a piece of robe in the man’s mouth and gave Taylor back her hijab. She looked at it, wrinkled her nose, and hesitated before putting her damp head covering back in place. I closed the closet door.
“I’m glad we didn’t have to shoot him,” Taylor said.
“You’re glad? I’ll never be able to get over what I did to those soldiers back at the dig. Let’s hope he doesn’t get free before we find where they’re keeping our dads,” I said.
“We have to get out of sight. Let’s see if a room is open upstairs,” Paul said.
We climbed the stairs very cautiously. This was the most dangerous part because we were exposed in the open. We tried the first door we saw, and breathed a sigh of relief when we opened it a crack and saw it was empty. I heard men’s voices getting louder, so we ducked into the room and closed the door.
The men’s voices grew even louder. The number of voices discouraged us because they sounded like a mob. I peeked through the crack in the door and saw it was only four young men wearing tee shirts and jeans. They climbed the stairs and heading our way. Three of them sported full beards, while the shorter, darker one looked familiar. I stared in disbelief when I realized Neguib walked proudly besides the others. Taylor also recognized him and gasped. She described what she saw to Paul in a hoarse whisper.
The group was in a jovial mood and chanted as they moved further down the corridor. I found myself automatically transl
ating the Arabic.
“Freedom! Down with Mubarak! Foreigners go home! Kill All Zionists!”
I glanced at Taylor and saw she was tight-lipped and focused on the words as well.
“We don’t know if our dads are still here,” Taylor said.
“We’ll have to ask one of them,” I said.
If we could isolate one of the men, we could force him to reveal where the Lions of Islam were. I hoped we could rescue our fathers without having kill Neguib. I watched the group walk around the corner towards the opposite wing of the building. The moon was behind a cloud, and the building was bathed in darkness. We listened as voices rose from the room that the men had entered. Taylor was stunned by what she heard.
“What are they saying?” I asked.
“One yelled to ‘kill the Zionist slowly and make him suffer’. Another asked what they should do with the other foreigners.”
“The others?”
“Yeah. I think they’re talking about her dads.”
Taylor pulled out the pistol from under her clothing and stared at it.
“I hope your Ark thing works here.”
“The Zionist must be my father,” Paul said.
His voice was shaking. He pulled out his pistol.
“I hope I don’t hit any of you, but I’m not going to let them hurt him or my mother.”
I had much the same thought, so I checked my pistol just in case my priestly clothes didn’t work. We opened the door slightly and made sure no one was nearby and then began moving quietly towards the room where the men had entered. We moved slowly, trying to stay in the shadows as much as possible.
Soon there was only one door to go. We heard several men talking loudly. Suddenly we heard a bloodcurdling scream.
“It’s Dad!” Paul said and moved forward.
I nodded to Taylor, and we moved almost in lock step as Paul opened the door. The voices in the room stopped as the men stared at what looked like three strange looking Egyptian women. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw several men gathered around a body on a table. It was Mister Hargrove! He was in his underwear and wounded.
I saw blood dripping down from the table. My eyes scanned the rest of the room and saw Dad, Mister Thornton, and Mrs. Hargrove. All three were gagged with their arms tied behind the chair. I saw Mrs. Hargrove had a wild look in eyes and knew Dad recognized me because of the shocked look on his face.