“Nasser was a very misunderstood man in the West, you know,” Kabuzak said. “The prejudice against him can only be described as pathological. He was called a dictator, a Hitler of the East. Yet how many of his detractors ever bothered to read anything he’d written? His Philosophy of the Revolution reveals admissions of profound sensitivity, soul-searchings, and misgivings that no Western politician would dream of admitting to publicly. Try it when you get a moment, Eva. I recommend it.”
“I will get a copy,” Stephanie promised.
“Better, I’ll send you one.” Kabuzak sipped his tea and waved a hand briefly above the table. “No, he was not a man of violence. He tells a story of when he was a young revolutionary, he was involved in planning an assassination—of a very bad man. Well, it was all carefully organized and went as planned. The victim appeared in the right place, on time. The death squad fired and withdrew, protected by a cover party. ” Kabuzak raised a finger for emphasis. “But not before they heard the wailing of the victim’s wife and the screaming of his terrified child. Those sounds echoed in Nasser’s mind all night, and he stayed awake praying to Allah that the man would not die. In the morning, he rushed out for a newspaper and was overjoyed to read that the man whose death he had plotted was destined to live. And his revolution, when it came, was bloodless.”
Stephanie hesitated for a second, not wanting to be argumentative, but at the same time not too much of a patsy either. “But wasn’t it he who created the Fedayeen and trained them for terrorist raids against Israel? And it was his mobilization, surely, that provoked the 1967 War.”
Kabuzak sighed wearily. “Israel itself was a state founded in terrorism. Terrible things happened to the Arabs in Gaza in 1948… The British never believed it would survive after they pulled out. The true tragedies of history don’t arise from conflicts of right versus wrong; they are soon resolved. The big tragedies come from right versus right, where neither side will give way, and it goes on for ever… But why are we talking about things like this? Anyone would think you and I are the heads of state. The day’s work is over and we should be relaxing.”
“I’m finding it interesting, really.”
Kabuzak waved a hand. “No, enough. The next time you’re in Cairo, you should make some time to come and see the older part of it. The hotel I’m staying at down on the river, not far from the zoo, which is opposite Roda Island.” His eyes twinkled. “You know the story, of course. That was where that pharaoh’s daughter, no doubt with a very wicked smile on her face, said she found a baby in the rushes by the Nile…”
As Stephanie laughed, Kabuzak looked up and saw Talaat Ali, who had been standing at the entrance to the bar, waiting to attract his attention. Kabuzak nodded, and Ali disappeared back out to the lobby. Kabuzak finished his drink, leaned across the booth, and took Stephanie’s hand. “I’m afraid my pumpkin coachman has arrived. I have to go now. Thank you for the company, which has been every bit as charming as informative. I have learned a great deal. My only hope is that it has proved equally useful for you.”
“Very. And delightful, thank you. We’ll see you again tomorrow, then, Mr. Kabuzak.”
“It will, how do you say, make my day.” He released her hand and stood up. “Good night, Eva. A busy day tomorrow. Nothing like an early night for an early start, they say, eh?” And with that he left.
So did the two plainclothes Egyptian secret-service men who had been keeping an eye on things from two tables away.
• • •
“Welcome to Cairo International Airport, ladies and gentlemen. The local time is ten minutes after nine. Please remain seated until the captain has turned off the seat-belt sign, and refrain from smoking until you are inside the terminal building. Remember to check around your seats and in the overhead compartments for any items you may have brought on board. Thank you for flying with British Airways. We look forward to having you on board again in the future.”
John with the red beard, in the seat next to Mel, already had his books and magazines packed, jacket over his arm, and was ready to go. “I always think the worst thing about flying is being squawked at by loudspeakers wherever you go, from the time you walk into the terminal until the time you get out. And then in some places they get you outside, too. I mean, there’s no escape from it,” he said.
“Right,” Mel said.
“If they changed it around and made it a bit different sometimes, it would help. But they always have to say the same thing. No imagination, that’s what it is. Same everywhere these days.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
Passport control was somewhere in the next county from the gate, as usual. Sure enough, the lines at the booths on either side moved on through, while Mel stayed rooted to the spot. He watched in disbelief as a fat woman at the booth in front of him carefully positioned her collection of purses and bags, spread her elbows for comfort, and launched into an explanation of her life history to the immigration officer. Mel shuffled from one foot to another, unable to suppress his impatience.
“Don’t worry about it if you’ve got bags to collect,” a voice said from behind him. It was John. “You’ll have a long wait at Baggage Claim when you get through, anyhow… if they show up. And then there’ll be Customs.” He patted his carry-on bag knowingly. “Me, I always take one change of clothes and toilet stuff with me. It’s nice to feel clean while they’re finding your bags and getting them to your hotel. They usually show up by camel.”
“Let’s hope you’re wrong this time.”
The fat woman eventually passed through before expiring, and Mel moved forward to the booth. There were no hitches.
The bags from Flight BA207 would materialize, the monitor said, out of Carousel 5, which jammed before disgorging anything. Everybody moved to Carousel 3. Mel called Shepheard’s Hotel and tried to contact George Slade, but Slade couldn’t be located and didn’t respond when he was paged. Mel told the hotel to keep looking, and to give Slade the message that he’d be arriving shortly. It was urgent. Then he went back to await his suitcase.
“Which way are you headed if we ever get out?” John asked beside him.
“Shepheard’s. It’s in the city, by the river, I think.”
“Nice place. In fact I’m staying not far from there myself. Care to split a cab? I have to make a couple of phone calls first, though.”
“Thanks, but I’m in a rush. I’ll get my own.”
“Okay. It’s been nice meeting you, anyhow. You don’t find too many good conversationalists around these days. People don’t have any imagination. I enjoyed listening to you.”
“My pleasure.”
“Wait until you get out. The traffic will be terrible.”
• • •
Doris, one of McCormick’s secretaries, intercepted Stephanie halfway across the lobby. “Eva, there you are. I’ve been looking for you. How would you like to join us for a nightcap?”
“Who’s us’?”
“Everyone. The group. Theo and George have just got back. They went for a walk by the river and ended up going a lot farther than they intended. So now they’re getting a few drinks in Theo’s suite to cool off. Everyone’s invited. Interested?”
Stephanie thought for a second. “I haven’t had a chance to clean up yet. I’m going up to my room to shower and put on something fresh. I’ll be there in, say, thirty minutes. How’s that?”
“Fine. I’ll tell the others.” Doris drew Stephanie closer behind a potted palm at the base of one of the pillars lining the lobby. Her voice fell to a whisper. “What’s he like?”
“Who?”
“Kabuzak. You hear all these things. Did he try to… well, you know.”
Stephanie shook her head, at the same time smiling exasperatedly. “He’s gone back for an early night and behaved himself perfectly. I also think he’s one of the most thoughtful people I’ve talked to since we got here.”
“Oh.” Doris seemed disappointed.
“So if you laid any bet
s, you all lose. Talk to you later.” Stephanie crossed the lobby to the front desk. One of the clerks looked up inquiringly. “Could I have my key, please? It’s seven-one-six.”
“Certainly. ” The clerk turned to the pigeonholes behind and took out the key. There was a small white envelope with it. He took it out. “Ms. Eva Carne?”
“Yes.”
“There is a telephone message for you.”
“Thank you.” Puzzled, Stephanie took the envelope and retired a short distance to open it. The slip inside read:
Change of plan. Am in Cairo. Must talk tonight. Will send cab to side door at 10:15 sharp.
Dave F.
She glanced at her watch. Forty-five minutes. She stuffed the note in a pocket of her dress and walked slowly across the lobby to the elevators, wondering how best to work it.
After her cozy-looking talk with Kabuzak, and especially with the kind of talk going around that Doris had intimated, she could hardly tell the others upstairs that she had changed her mind and then disappear without its looking more than a little suspicious. And then there would be the problem of getting out. All of the delegation were in a block of rooms on the same floor, and George Slade kept two of his security men posted at opposite ends of the corridor day and night. Also, it was chilly out, and she would need a coat.
She arrived at her room and took a shower while she thought about it. A possible way suggested itself. When she had dried herself, she called McCormick’s suite.
“Is Doris there? This is Eva.”
“Eva! We were wondering what’s happened to you. Are you on your way?”
“No. Look, I’m sorry about this, but I’ve had a terrible headache come on, and on top of that I’m exhausted. I’m going to give it a miss tonight.”
“Oh gee, that’s too bad. Can I get you anything?”
“No, I have some stuff, thanks. What I’d really like is just a quiet early night to sleep it off. Apologies to everyone. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
She hung up, then walked over to the closet and put on a dark top with a low neck, a skirt, and the bathroom slippers provided for guests by the hotel. Then she put the voluminous bathrobe that came with them on over everything else and pulled the lapels close around her neck while she checked herself in the mirror. None of the clothes showed. She took a short green topcoat and rolled it up tightly around her outdoor shoes, added her purse, then nestled the items in the crook of her arm and draped a large bath towel over them. Then she let herself out into the corridor and walked toward the elevators. The security man on duty looked up from his table.
“Hi, Mike. Just going down to the hot tub.”
“Wish I could join you. Not partying tonight?”
“Maybe later. I just called and told them I was feeling out of it, but I might change my mind later.”
“Maybe the tub’ll help.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Take care.”
“You too.”
She got off at the second floor and found a ladies’ restroom in a corner at the end of a row of meeting rooms. She went inside, put on her shoes and coat, and left the hotel’s things. Then she emerged once more and went on down to the lobby. The concierge was standing nearby when she came out of the elevator. She walked a few paces, then stopped and looked around uncertainly. “Er, which way is the side entrance?” she inquired. “A taxi is supposed to be picking me up there.”
“This way, madam.” He escorted her past plants and shops, around a corner and through a series of connecting halls to a carpeted vestibule, where he called over the doorman and said something in Arabic. The doorman took Stephanie outside, and a cab that had been waiting a few yards back drew forward. The doorman opened the rear door, she climbed in.
“Carne?” the cabbie said.
“Yes.”
He nodded. The doorman outside closed the door, and the driver pulled away without another word.
• • •
Theo McCormick watched as his senior aide poured scotch into the glass over a pile of ice cubes. “Whoah, that’s plenty! What are you trying to do, destroy me for tomorrow?”
“Just a little unwinder. You deserve it. It went well today.”
“Well, let’s remember that this is just a little social gathering,” McCormick said. “It’s not supposed to be a party. Save that till we get back.”
“I’ll have to come back someday when there’s more time,” the group’s economics adviser said. She was standing with two of the secretaries. “I had no idea Cairo was such a lovely place.”
“People should make more time to get out and see the world,” McCormick agreed.
“It’s a pity that Josef didn’t make it,” Doris said.
“Josef?” Clare, who was next to her, queried.
“Joe Kirkelmayer. ” Doris looked uncertainly at McCormick for a second. “Do you think what they said about him is true, Mr. McCormick—about why he was replaced by Eva?”
“I don’t think this is the place to try and decide that,” McCormick said.
“Are we in good shape for when we get to Israel?” somebody else asked from across the room.
“Oh, I think so.” McCormick took a sip of his drink and popped some peanuts into his mouth.
“What’s the thing to remember with Israelis?” Doris asked. “Is there a rule?”
“Oh, they like practical jokes. That’s why they’re always switching countries on everyone. If you really want to make them laugh, tape some railroad flares to an alarm clock and hide it in your baggage. They’ll love it.”
Everyone laughed. The phone rang in the next room. “I’ll get it,” George Slade said, rising to his feet over by the door. He went through.
“Will we see the Pyramids?” someone asked.
“Well, I know it’s only supposed to be a quick working visit, but I’ll let you in on a secret,” McCormick said. “The reason tomorrow afternoon is left blank on the schedule is to get in some sightseeing. Not a lot, but it’s the best we could do. If things hadn’t gone so well and we thought we needed the time, I wouldn’t have told you.”
Approving murmurs came from all around. “I haven’t even seen a camel yet,” one of the group said.
“Is the Nile the longest river in the world?”
“I thought that was the Amazon.”
“Isn’t that supposed to be the biggest?”
“What’s the difference?”
Slade appeared in the doorway of the adjoining room again, caught McCormick’s attention, and beckoned him over. “Excuse me for a moment,” McCormick said. “George wants me for something.”
“What about those ones that flow north in Siberia?”
“I don’t know. Do you know anything about them, Harry?…”
Slade motioned McCormick through into the next room with a nod and eased the door shut. The phone was still off the hook. “It’s Melvin Shears,” he murmured. “He’s here.”
“Here?”
“Downstairs in the lobby.”
“What the hell’s he doing here? Why didn’t anyone tell us?”
“There’s some kind of trouble concerning Eva. It sounds serious. I’m going down there now to talk to him.”
“Okay. Call back up if you need me.”
Slade went back to the phone. “Okay, Mel, you stay right there. I’m on my way down.”
CHAPTER 55
“Jesus!” Slade breathed as Mel finished summarizing the situation. Mel had drawn him aside into a quiet alcove off the lobby and simply shoved his suitcase behind a chair. “They know? This is bad. Why in hell didn’t anyone radio it to us via the embassy?”
“They think it’s only Fenner who needs to be warned. I didn’t figure the rest out until after I was on the plane. It’s all been too hectic. I tried to call you from the airport but you were out.”
“We ought to wake her up and let her know now,” Slade said. “She went to bed early.”
Mel shook his head. “I already trie
d. There’s no answer from her room.”
Slade strode grimly over to the desk, brushing aside another guest who was complaining about something, and summoned the assistant manager. The assistant manager sent for the hotel security manager, who picked up a passkey, and the four of them went back up to the seventh floor. Mike, at his table looking along the corridor, stood up as they came out of the elevator. “We need to check Eva’s room,” Slade said. “There could be trouble.”
“She’s not there. She went down to the pool. Said she was going to take a hot tub.”
“How long ago?”
“Ten, fifteen minutes, maybe.”
Slade turned to the assistant manager. “Could you have someone check the pool area?” The manager nodded and hurried away. “We’ll try the room anyhow,” Slade said to the security manager. They went along to room 716, and the security manager knocked loudly, waited, then again. He opened the door and stood back with Mike while Slade and Mel went inside. Stephanie wasn’t there. The shower was wet and steamy, and there were some crumpled clothes on the bed. Slade looked around, his mind racing. “Why would she take a shower if she was going down to the hot tubs?” He went over to the closet and looked along the rack inside. “She has a green topcoat. I don’t see it.”
Mel was checking the pockets of the dress thrown on the bed. He found the slip of paper with the phone message on it, read it, and showed it to Slade. “ ‘Dave F.’,” Slade said. “That’s his name isn’t it—the guy you just told me about downstairs?”
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