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I stepped off the airplane and into an unusually warm spring day. Cairo bakes in the summer, but the really hot weather was still a couple of months away. Just my luck -- the city was experiencing an early heat wave. Sweat coursed down my back before I finished climbing down the airplane's stairs. The French flight attendant mumbled something as I passed by.
"Merci," I said in my best high school French.
"You speak French?" Mahmoud asked.
"A little."
"Well, what did she say?"
"I'm not really sure. Either 'Enjoy your stay' or 'Your dog is very homely.'"
Mahmoud laughed. It was the first time he'd laughed when he wasn't beating me at something. I followed him across the tarmac to the door. We'd flown in a private jet -- I assumed it belonged to his father -- and played "Old Maid" and "Go Fish" almost the entire trip. At that point, I owed the kid three weeks salary.
Several cars were there to pick us up. Mahmoud's father, Abu Assad, and some men I didn't know left in one limousine. A second took Phil and the other staff members. The third one was for Mahmoud and myself.
The driver, replete with a uniform and a hat pulled down to the top of his sunglasses, jumped out and ushered Mahmoud into the back seat. Just as I was preparing to climb in beside the kid, the driver slammed the door and gestured to the front seat.
"OK, James, I get it. The help rides in front," I said, and walked around to the front seat while he finished loading our bags in the trunk. I shut the door and turned around to speak with Mahmoud when the driver climbed in and started the car. A window closed between the front and back seat.
"Hey! That wasn't nice. After all, I am the kid's nanny. What if I want to ask him if he knows the capital of South Dakota?"
"Then you'll just have to look it up for yourself," the chauffeur said in a voice I knew as well as my own.
"Blake!"
"Who else?" Blake looked at me over his sunglasses.
"How in the heck did you manage this?"
"Ve haf our vays," he said.
"But how did you find me? I was really sweating it when I realized we were going to Egypt and I had no way to let you know," I had a sudden, panicky thought.
"Hey -- won't the kid hear us?"
"Nah. I cut all the intercom wires. Right now he's listening to the Rolling Stones with the volume just short of painful. Come across anything new?" Blake expertly pulled out from the airport and into Cairo traffic, which was worse even than the traffic in New York. Horns honked, while colorful Arabic curses floated out of the open car windows. There was a peculiar yellowish haze over the city.
"What's that yellow-looking stuff?" I asked.
"Smog -- look we have to be quick. Assad lives in a penthouse in the Zamalek district. That's where we're headed. It's an upscale part of town. Lots of rich Arabs and Europeans live there. Assad owns the building -- in fact, that's where his business is headquartered. I think his office might be on the 29th floor, but you're going to have to confirm that through the kid."
"OK. You want me to find out where Daddy's office is. Anything else?"
"Yeah. Case the building security. I need to know exactly how to break in without getting caught."
"I think I can do that. Is that all?"
"One more. Be careful, Eileen. These guys are playing rough."
"I know that."
"I know you do, but the stakes have gotten higher."
"How so?" I turned slightly to check on Mahmoud, who was singing along with Mick and the boys in the back seat.
"We had another operative inside Assad's organization..."
"Had?" Now that caught my attention.
"Had. He's disappeared and we're not sure what happened to him. The smart money says he's probably shark bait by now." Blake stopped for a police officer directing traffic around an accident -- a fender-bender, by the looks of it. I was struck by a thought.
"Hey Blake, did this operative -- the one you've misplaced -- know about me?"
"Nope. Just like you didn't know about him. The only one who knows all the players is the control."
"Who is?"
"You're riding with him, Sweet Cheeks." So Blake was my control. Well, except for his tendency to get me into quicksand all the time, I trusted him at my back for many years. I guessed I could trust him now.
"Our guy was using the name Hadhi. If you hear that name mentioned, listen...but don't get caught. Hadhi's probably dead and it's contagious in these parts."
"What about the Chandler connection?"
"We're still working on that one. I'll let you know. Now listen carefully: Reach into the glove box and you'll find an envelope." I did as I was told.
"Yeah, that's the one. There's a calling card in it. Take it out and put it someplace safe. On the back is a code that you can use to call me. If you need to reach me, slip out of the place and dial that number. I'll answer. If I don't, trust the person who does, OK?"
"OK. But how do I get to a phone?"
"Don't use the phones in the penthouse. They're probably bugged and there's too great a chance you could be overheard. As soon as you can slip out, find a public phone you can use. You'll have to go out on the street and look. Oh -- I almost forgot -- just in case there's a problem and you can't get me by phone, meet me in the Khan al-Khalili say, day after tomorrow. At Feisel's. He sells jewelry. Be there between noon and three. Got it?"
"Feisel's between noon and three. What's the Khan al- Khalili?"
"It's a huge shopping district. Like a bazaar. All the tourists go there. No one will think it odd if you do."
"It's a big order, but I'll do what I can." Blake pulled up in front of a large building and stopped the car.
"Here we are. Keep you head down. Find a phone as soon as you can and if things start going sour, get out. Got it?"
"Sure. Hey, what about my family? Shouldn't I call or something? They're going to think it odd if they don't hear from me." Blake squirmed a little bit.
"They do hear from you."
"How's that?" I know I don't talk in my sleep.
"We have someone at headquarters who specializes in sounding like other people. She'll touch bases for you until you can do so yourself."
In other words, I had been replaced -- both at home and away.
"Is that right? Well, how thoughtful of WUSS. Remind me to thank old Alfred the next time I see him."
* * *
"That's my dad's office, on the 29th floor. That's where he stays when we come to Cairo," Mahmoud told me as the elevator climbed up to the penthouse.
"He doesn't stay in the penthouse with you?"
"No. He works a lot. But he has dinner with me sometimes," Mahmoud said. So Assad didn't sleep in the penthouse. That would make burglarizing his office a whole lot more difficult. I decided to pump the kid for information, but I had to do it gradually to keep him from getting too suspicious. He might have been just a kid, but he wasn't a stupid one.
We stepped out of the elevator and into the hallway to find a formidable looking fellow standing guard at the door. He was armed with a rifle and a sidearm. I gave him a big smile.
"Gosh, I wish I had known. I would have brought my grenade launcher," I said. I was probably lucky the guard didn't speak English, since he appeared bereft of a sense of humor. He scowled at me, but Mahmoud said something and the man stepped back.
"What was that all about?" I asked the kid.
"He's one of my father's guards. I told him to let you pass," Mahmoud said. He rang the doorbell and a housekeeper opened the door and admitted us. She didn't look too happy to see Mahmoud and I could only surmise she, too, was a victim of his gaming mania.
I was shown to my room, which was near the back elevator-- the one used by the staff -- and left to unpack, which I did. The room, while not exactly spacious, wasn't too bad. It was small and spare, but the bed appeared comfortable and there was a tiny, utilitarian private bathroom. Most importantly, it was air-conditioned.
I unpacked the few items I was allowed to bring and slipped the calling card Blake had given me into my skirt pocket. I decided to follow Blake's advice and find a phone immediately. The last thing I needed was to be stumbling around Cairo looking for a telephone with a band of thugs behind me. I told the housekeeper I was too wound up to sleep and was going to take a walk.
I took the elevator down, stepping outside onto the busy sidewalk. The bright sunlight made me blink as I tried to get my bearings. Finally I decided on a direction and made my way down the street, past other tall buildings. There were small kiosks selling magazines and cigarettes, but no phone.
"Let me see, where would I go if I was a telephone?" I muttered. Talking to myself is a bad habit I developed soon after I entered the motherhood zone. No one ever listened to me at home, anyway, so I was the only company I had -- in a manner of speaking.
I strolled down the street, looking for a phone or a sign that looked like one, without success. I was just about to reverse myself when I turned the corner on impulse and Voila! There it was -- a small shop with a sign that had a picture of a phone on it. I couldn't tell what kind of shop it was, but time was growing short and I decided I had nothing to lose by going inside.
I opened the door and stepped in. It was a mistake -- I knew that immediately. The inside of the shop was dark and smelled like cigarette smoke and Turkish coffee. There were several small tables in the room, but it was devoid of people. I wasn't sure what kind of business this was, but I knew an overweight American redhead probably shouldn't be in it. I turned around to leave and nearly stumbled over -- and no I wasn't drunk, thank you for asking -- a dwarf dressed like Lawrence of Arabia. He said something in Arabic. I shook my head. He could have been singing the Barney song for all I could understand him. I motioned for him to move, but he just crowded in closer, showing little yellow teeth. Extremely sharp, little yellow teeth.
"Get out of my way, Dopey, or Snow White's going to have to get along with only six of you," I said in my best authoritative voice. I reached to push him aside, when I suddenly felt a hand from behind clamp itself over my mouth, and someone pulled me back into the shop.
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