by Juliana Maio
Ironically, Café Riche, a haven for Egyptian intellectuals, was located in the heart of the foreign-dominated downtown. Kesner felt like hugging the owner when he got there. A friend of Sadat’s, he was a patron of Egyptian arts and a committed nationalist. He had made the bar in the basement available to the Revolutionary Committee as a meeting place, and though he would not allow Kesner to conduct his operations from the café, it was a perfect place for the spy to regroup.
Arriving in his shirtsleeves and sagging trousers, Kesner needed to wash up and change. He also needed a cup of coffee, some cigarettes, a telephone, and a pen and pad of paper. He had to formulate a new plan of action. If he could find Blumenthal, he could redeem himself in one stroke. If he couldn’t deliver him to Rommel alive, he would kill him to prevent him from falling into the hands of the Americans and Brits.
“It’s good to be among friends,” Kesner said to the owner as the Egyptian ushered him down the stairs into the main room, which was thick with cigarette smoke.
In a corner under the filtered light of a brass lampshade, Kesner rolled up his sleeves and began to write:
Things to do:
Number one: A place to stay.
The Windsor Hotel would do for a night or two, but he needed to borrow a private, furnished apartment with a telephone and basic amenities in a discreet building. He would have to force Abdoul back in line to find him such a place.
Number two: Must have radio.
It was vital for him to stay in touch with Tripoli, and Sadat, being a signals officer, would be his best bet. But he knew he would first have to address Sadat’s inquiries about whether Hitler had signed the letter promising Egyptian independence. He pulled out another piece of paper and began to write: Happy to confirm that the document is safely in Germany and has been signed by Hitler. Expect it back shortly. A lie of expedience. He would leave the note with the owner.
Number three: Men.
If he was to revive his mission, he would need help. The American spy needed to be followed. He had to put his personal feelings aside. As much as he would love to kill him, the spy could still lead him to Blumenthal. Here he would have to rely on Abdoul. He braced himself and called the fat idiot at his home.
“Hello? Hello? It’s me!” Kesner shouted into the mouthpiece, sure he’d recognized Abdoul’s voice before the line cut off abruptly.
Annoyed, he rang again, but this time a servant answered.
“Mr. Nukrashi is not here,” the fellow lied.
“But I just talked to him!”
“Sorry, sir. He’s gone out.”
“Fine,” Kesner barked. “I’ll call back in a couple of hours.”
“He’s not coming back until very late, sir.”
“It is urgent I reach him tonight. How late is late?”
“I don’t know, sir,” the servant said nervously. “He was dressed in his tuxedo for the cinema event tonight. Who can I tell him is calling?”
“Never mind.” Kesner hung up. If the mountain would not come to Mohammed, Mohammed would go to the mountain. The weasel was not going to get away so easily.
CHAPTER 38
Mickey banged on the door. “Open up!” he demanded. “You have no right to detain me. I am an American citizen,” he shouted, giving the door a solid kick. He’d been locked up at GHQ, the British Army General Headquarters, after being interrogated all morning about his interference with the ambush. His requests to talk to Kirk or Donovan had fallen on deaf ears. Making matters worse, they’d refused to let him know the outcome of the entrapment operation. Given the way he’d been treated, he had to presume that the German spy was still at large.
He passed his hand through his hair, dejected. The chief of police had been livid, saying that he ought to be shot for interfering with a military operation. Men with rifles had been stationed behind the gateways of the compound, and thanks to Mickey’s amateurish and disastrous interference, the man they were chasing had changed course, escaping into the market below instead of running into their waiting arms at the guarded gateways. Mortified, Mickey felt like the foolish amateur that he was.
He understood he’d messed up, but still, he was a friend, not an enemy. He paced his five-by-ten, windowless cell restlessly. The premiere of Gone with the Wind would be starting in two hours, and he did not want to miss the opportunity to see Maya there. He needed to confront her and find out why she had her uncle lie about her leaving the country.
“Let me out,” he yelled, hammering at the door again.
Miraculously, it opened this time.
“Stay back,” warned the gruff sergeant posted by the doorway. “This way, Ambassador.”
In his white dinner jacket, Kirk was the picture of elegance. Mickey leaped toward him, never having been more glad to see him.
“This man is no criminal. You can leave us alone, and please close the door.” Kirk dismissed the sergeant. Once alone, he turned to Mickey. “Mickey, Mickey, Mickey!” he reprimanded forcefully, his lips tight, his expression severe. “What have you done? Why on earth did you go there when you were specifically told not to?” He enunciated each word with great severity and crossed his arms.
“I wanted to see the son of a bitch get caught,” Mickey admitted sheepishly. “I owed it to Dorothy.”
“You owed it to Dorothy? Messing up the capture of her killer? Making all of us at the embassy look like imbeciles?”
“I’m sorry. I guess I haven’t been thinking too clearly these days.”
“That’s right, you haven’t. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but that was plain stupid,” Kirk cried out. “The man you were chasing was the German spy.”
Mickey was speechless. He slammed his palm against the wall in frustration, wishing he could undo his egregious mistake.
“It’s not all bad, though,” Kirk sighed. “They’ve arrested a number of people connected to the Muslim Brotherhood. One of them was the spy’s driver, Mohammed Rafat, who is Hassan al-Banna’s number-two man. MI5 put pressure on his son, who admitted to participating in their kidnap attempt and said he saw the spy crossing the Zamalek Bridge. The field police believe he must be living on the other side of Gezira Island. They sent a truck with radio-detecting equipment into the Agouza area, and guess what?” Kirk asked, the trace of a smile beginning to peek out.
“I wouldn’t know,” Mickey answered as he took a seat.
“The fellow was operating out of a houseboat. He even had the audacity to put a small antenna on the roof. I don’t know how they didn’t notice it sooner. Anyway, he blew up the boat and vanished just as they were closing in on him.”
Mickey shook his head. “I can’t believe that the one guy I chased turned out to be the spy.”
“They’ll get him sooner or later,” Kirk said. “The net is closing around him. They’ve arrested a lot of people who they think are in cahoots with him, including that dancer, Samina.”
“Samina?” Mickey said as it dawned on him that he’d been played. “Shit, I bet my winning the lottery for the dance with her was rigged. She pretended to be so interested in me,” he said as he shook his head. He jumped to his feet. A sparkle of light. Here was a chance to redeem himself. “I can help nail her.”
“Whatever you can tell MI5 will be useful, but I have to warn you, Mickey, they want you out of the country. This time there is nothing I can do about it.”
A silence fell over them. Rather than argue, Mickey let it slide. With the spy at large and Maya still in town, he had a lot to do. “Fine. I’ll leave,” he said. He rested a hand on Kirk’s shoulder. “But now, I need you to get me out of this cell, Ambassador. Right away.”
CHAPTER 39
“We can’t let you in unless you hold a ticket, sir, and we can’t deliver your note until intermission,” insisted the American marine at the entrance to the Museum of Antiquities, where the American Embassy was holding the Egyptian premiere of the smash hit film Gone with the Wind. The grass plaza in front of the museum had been co
nverted into an outdoor cinema, and through the railing Kesner could see row after row of chairs, holding perhaps as many as a thousand people.
“This letter is urgent,” he explained, pressing the envelope into the marine’s hand. “I know Mr. Nukrashi would want to learn of this situation immediately. What is your name?” he threatened, pulling a note pad from the inside pocket of the Polish uniform he now wore.
“I’m not even sure where Mr. Nukrashi is seated,” the marine said, giving ground quickly.
“He is only the king’s public relations minister,” Kesner said. “Where do you think he would be seated?”
The marine took the envelope and signaled to a colleague to watch the entrance as he disappeared inside the gates, making his way down the red carpet, which was lined on both sides with lighted votive candles.
Kesner strolled around the outside of the compound, waiting for the marine to come back. Though he was at a distance, he could still see the screen.
“I couldn’t find him,” the soldier announced with a long face when he returned.
Kesner resigned himself to waiting—he wouldn’t budge until he confronted that weasel, Abdoul. He positioned himself to watch the film from behind the railing. Even though it was at a far distance and at an odd angle, he became fully captivated by it, right up until the last image of part one, Scarlett O’Hara’s silhouette against the dawn light, her fist clenched toward the heavens. When the lights came up, rousing him and the rest of the audience from their hypnotic state, he inquired again at the entrance, only to find the marines besieged by latecomers who’d been refused admission until the intermission. Kesner was preparing to wade into the fray and protest when he caught the shimmer of a white satin blouse behind the barred gate. He had to look carefully to be sure, but the girl looked a lot like Marianna Blumenthal, the scientist’s sister. She was shaking the hand of a tall man in a dark business suit and a grey tarbush.
Praise be to Allah … It was the lawyer, Léon Guibli.
CHAPTER 40
After a quick shower and a change of clothes, Mickey made it to the museum during intermission. He snaked his way through the boisterous premiere crowd. “Pardon me,” he repeated as he hurriedly danced between lines of people holding plates loaded with hush puppies, corn bread, fried oysters, and shrimp. He had no time to waste. Intermission was only forty-five minutes long, and the first thirty minutes were already gone.
“Not so fast.” Mickey felt a hand tugging on his jacket.
It was Sally, surrounded by friends, including Randolph Churchill. She flashed him a big grin and grabbed his hand, intertwining her fingers with his and pulling him toward her crowd.
Mickey tried to free his hand, but Sally held it tight. “You haven’t even called me!” she pouted.
“Sally, why don’t you tell everybody about the king’s Italian entourage,” a blonde in a khaki uniform sputtered with laughter.
Sally laughed. “Oh, you have to hear this one,” she said to the group as Mickey squirmed, eager to move on, but Sally wouldn’t let go of his hand. “As you all know, Ambassador Lampson loathes the king’s Italian friends, and he’s been trying for months to oust them as enemy nationals. Of course, Farouk won’t hear of it. These fellows are practically his family. So he came up with the solution of having them convert to Islam and making them Egyptian citizens.” She began to laugh uncontrollably.
“The poor lads had their circumcisions today!” the blond finished for her, sending the group into paroxysms of laughter, except for Mickey, whose eyes kept searching the crowd.
“Give her my regards.” Sally blew him a kiss, finally setting him free.
He ran into a dozen people he knew, including Léon Guibli, the lawyer, who was accompanied by a flaming redhead half his age. Each greeting was an unwelcome impediment as he searched for Maya. Kirk was mercifully brief, not wanting to appear too friendly, since the chief of field police was attending the premiere as well.
Red and white lights started to flash, signaling the audience to return to their seats. Frantic to find her, he almost knocked over the life-sized cardboard cutouts of Vivien Leigh and Clark Gable that flanked the museum entrance as he dashed inside and jumped over the red rope that blocked the stairs. He ascended them two at a time to the upper floor, oblivious to the Tutankhamen treasures housed in the room. From the balcony he had a bird’s-eye view of the front lawn. The lights were dimmed but the moon was full, and he could vaguely make out the faces of the guests. He was determined to find her, even if it took him the entire remaining hour and a half of the movie to comb through every single row, and search every nook and niche of the garden.
Biting her nails, Maya stared at the screen, though she couldn’t pay attention to the movie. She’d seen Mickey in the crowd exchanging words with none other than Allegra’s brother, Léon Guibli. Alarmed at the danger this could bring, she’d ducked away. He hadn’t noticed her, and she hoped that she could avoid him by hiding in the crowd. But now she spotted him again, standing on the balcony looking down at the guests. She started to panic—there was a good chance he would see her this time. She leaned forward, cupping her chin in her hand, her elbow propped up on her crossed knee, blocking her face.
She had to be honest with herself. Though she’d jumped at the opportunity to accompany Lili and Fernando to the premiere to meet and thank their benefactor, who had at last obtained all of the family’s papers for Palestine, part of her had been secretly hoping to run into Mickey at this very American affair. She longed to see him, even if she’d have to come up with more lies. What did it matter? She was leaving in two days and had to be gone before the imminent transportation strike could thwart their plans. But right now Mickey had to be regarded as a danger. How on earth did he know Allegra’s brother?
She squirmed in her seat, trying to devise an escape plan, while Lili, next to her, irritated her by noisily cracking pumpkin seeds with her teeth in the tradition of Egyptian cinemagoers. Maya snapped to attention when she heard her name whispered. She didn’t need to turn her head; she knew who it was.
“Psst,” Mickey hissed a couple of times despite the growls of nearby spectators.
She ignored him. She had nothing to say to him. She owed him no explanation.
“Psst, Maya,” he called again, louder this time.
“Shh,” the guests protested.
My God, he was making a scene, and she couldn’t ignore him. She felt Lili’s elbow in her ribs and straightened in her seat. Her heart pounding, she slid her eyes sideways to the aisle. Mickey’s white jacket glistened in the dark.
“It’s your American friend,” Fernando whispered. “I ran into him yesterday.” He waved at Mickey.
Maya reluctantly turned to face Mickey. It was too dark to see his expression, but she could make out the gesture he was making with his index finger—Come over here.
“Later,” she mouthed, waving him off.
“Maya,” he insisted louder, disregarding the increasing rumbling around him. “I must have a word with you.”
Maya saw a marine guard heading their way. She exchanged a nervous look with Lili, and rose to her feet. She squeezed through the row of seats, flushed with embarrassment.
“We need to talk,” he said when she joined him in the aisle.
“Can’t it wait until the end of the movie?”
“No, it can’t,” he responded, looking sternly at her while the guests escalated their protests.
Maya looked toward Lili. She and Fernando were craning their necks. Mickey signaled for her to proceed down the aisle in front of him, which she did, feeling like Marie Antoinette on her way to the guillotine. She tried to think of Erik and Vati and how they needed her, but when Mickey took her elbow to direct her away, she melted instantly from his touch. She was so glad he was all right. She’d worried a great deal about the things he was mixed up with.
He stopped when they reached one of the luxurious palms that were interspersed among the mango trees and ancient statu
es in the vast courtyard.
“I can tell you the ending,” he said. “She loses the guy because she’s stubborn and stupid.”
“Her life changed her,” Maya retorted. “It made her hard and defiant.”
“That’s too bad, because underneath she loved him all along.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Just the truth,” he said, pinning her to the palm tree. “If you’re capable of that.” He looked daggers into her eyes. “I see you’re wearing the perfume I bought you.”
She shrugged.
“You put too much on,” he said matter of factly. “A lady should be more subtle.”
“I don’t like what you are insinuating.” She pushed him away hard and took a step back, but he grabbed her.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just don’t want to be toyed with. I thought we laid out the ground rules on our first date.”
She looked away.
“Why did you have your uncle tell me you had left Cairo?”
She wished she could say, “Because you talk too much. You know too many people. I saw you talking to the very man who is helping us get our papers tonight. You’re dangerous to my safety and to those I love.” But she swallowed the impulse and instead just murmured, “You wouldn’t understand.”
“That’s not good enough,” he shot back. “The fact that you needed to lie is baffling to me. Did you think I was going to disregard your wishes?”
“You are disregarding my wishes,” she fired back, but then sighed deeply. “Mickey, I’ll be leaving Cairo in less than forty-eight hours, and I’ve already explained to you that I don’t want to see you anymore.” She met his eyes straight on. It was a mistake. They were disconcertingly intense and vulnerable, and she couldn’t resist being drawn into them. The light from the projector danced across the frown on his forehead. She had a powerful urge to smooth it by pressing her lips against it but closed her eyes instead. She opened them again. “I’m not Scarlett O’Hara,” she declared calmly, “and you’re not Rhett Butler.”