Oasis of Night (34 page)

She kept her eyes down, her gaze humble and averted. “I… have angered you, my husband.”

“
Open it!”
he roared. I had never heard Sam shout; it scared the hell out of me. “Look through it, my wife, and tell me what you see.”

Tareenah murmured something, paging through the papers.

“I'm sorry.” Sam lit a cigarette. “I did not hear what you said.”

“My husband is displeased with me.”

Sam looked at me and laughed. He looked at Tareenah, still sitting with her head bent, flicking idly through the documents. “Your husband is displeased with you.” He nodded. “Mm. Have you nothing else to say?”

She shook her head mutely. Sam took the folder from her, turned it so I could see it. “Jack, if you please.”

They were telegraph carbons, left over from messages sent to Jonah Octavian in Newfoundland. There were a lot of them, and registered letters with recent postmarks, and reports sent by special messenger. Some of these had gone to Octavian while he was still overseas, and some had been sent here in Cairo; they were obviously coded, and I was willing to bet they didn't say anything good. “Jesus.”

“What did he promise you? Hm?”

She slumped in her chair, silent.

“I ask you again. What did Octavian promise you?” Sam pressed the button on his intercom. “Sergeant Samir, come in here.” The door swished open; Samir must have been waiting on the other side of it. “Take the woman to a cell.” Samir helped her up, and she went away without so much as a word to Sam or a look in his direction. The door closed behind them, and Sam buried his face in his hands. I ached to touch him, to offer such comfort as I could, but I knew now wasn't the time.

“How did you know?” I asked.

Sam raised his head. “MacBride. They'd had her under surveillance while I was overseas. His team reported unusual activity around my house during my most recent absences. When they tracked the source, it led to Tareenah.” He shook his head. “My sister will come from Alexandria to care for my children.”

“Sam, you aren't… you're not going back to….”

“I must.” He laughed humorlessly. “Already Rommel's forces are massing for a second attempt on Cairo. There are numerous reports from partisans loyal to the Allied cause that the Nazis have their sights set on other cities along the coast of North Africa. What can I do? In the face of such rampant destruction, of what significance is a disloyal wife?”

“Sam, are you sure?”

“I am not sure of anything!” He got up and walked several agitated steps toward the filing cabinet, his back to me. “Jonah and I… I had not seen nor heard from him for years and years. Suddenly, a few months ago, he appears as if out of the sky, wanting to renew our childhood acquaintance.” His shoulders were raised, his back stiff; he looked like he'd forgotten to take the hanger out of his coat before he put it on. “I am not a fool, Jack.” He turned slowly. “He must have known I would take precautions, that I would check. He must have realized that presenting himself to me was dangerous. I have never made any secret of my profession.”

“Except to me.”

He winced. “That isn't fair.”

“You're right. It isn't fair.” It occurred to me that maybe Tareenah was taking all the blame for something Octavian had cooked up, and that didn't seem right. “Can I… would you mind if I tried talking to her?”

He gestured at the door. “You may
try
. Ali!” A baby-faced cop appeared at the door, clutching a notebook. “Please take Mr. Stoyles to see Mrs. Halim. That is all.”

I started to say something but Sam had opened a thick file folder and was pretending to read it, so I decided to let things lie. I followed Ali downstairs to where the cells were. Tareenah was near the end of the row in the women's block, sitting on the bunk with her head down. Ali unlocked the door, and I slipped inside, sitting down on the opposite bunk. The cell was small and oppressively hot, and smelled overpoweringly of stale cigarettes and old urine and fear. What light there was entered through a tiny, barred window set high up in the wall.

“Mrs. Halim, Sam asked me to come and talk to you.” Not precisely true, but I was willing to make a nod to diplomacy. She ignored me completely. “I'd like to hear your side of things.”

We sat there in silence for maybe fifteen minutes, and I was beginning to think I'd wasted my time when finally she stirred. “He does not understand.”

“Sam doesn't?”

“There are things….” She clenched her hands. “Would you happen to have an American cigarette, Mr. Stoyles?”

“Sure.” I fished one out and lit it for her. “What doesn't he understand?”

“This man, Octavian. He is dead?”

“Yeah.” I remembered the clean arc the big Greek's knife had made, the spray of Octavian's blood against the white wall of the house. “Yeah, he's dead.”

“My husband does not know the full scope of my relationship with Jonah Octavian. He sees me only as a traitor, a betraying wife.”

“What was in that file folder was pretty damning, Mrs. Halim, as far as evidence goes.”

“I did it, Mr. Stoyles. I will not lie to you. Oh yes, I did it.”

“Why?”

She held my gaze and didn't flinch. “He threatened to kill my children if I did not help him.” I made a face, but she stumbled on. “No, you can smile if you wish. One day I went to collect Stamos and Tabia at their school. The teacher said my children had already gone—their uncle had picked them up and taken them home. My children have no uncle.”

“Octavian.”

“Yes.”

“Why not seek Samir's help?” I didn't understand why she hadn't gone to the police immediately. “Surely you knew Samir would help you. Why not go to him?” Samir was loyal to Sam; she could hardly compromise her husband by confiding in his subordinate.

“Do you think Octavian is stupid?” She shook her head. “I had reason to believe I was being closely watched. He would know I had gone to the police.”

“So you just went along with him.” Sam deserved better than this.

“Think of me what you will, Mr. Stoyles, but I did what I had to do in order to protect my children.” She drew hard on the cigarette, her expression ravaged. “Now go. Persuade my husband to return to Canada with you, or wherever it is you are going.”

“Newfoundland,” I said quietly. “Not Canada. It's not quite the same thing.” I drew a deep breath, wishing to hell I knew how to proceed. “Mrs. Halim, I understand why you did this. If Octavian was threatening to harm your children—”

“If! You do not believe me either.” She shook her head. “It does not matter.”

I didn't have to wonder how she rationalized all this to herself; I knew. But I wondered if she really understood the implications of what she'd done. Did she realize there were men out there in the desert, men who would die because of what she'd done? “Yeah, I believe you.” I stood up to go. “And I'm trying to understand why you did it. I really am.”

I called for Ali. He came and let me out, and I went back up to Sam's office. He was on the phone when I got there, but he motioned me in, so I sat down across from him and waited till he was done. Sam's conversation was in Arabic, and I didn't understand any of it, but he seemed agitated. Finally he put the phone down and looked at me. “What did she say to you?”

“Octavian was threatening the children.”

“She claims.” Sam's composure wavered for a moment, and he pressed a hand to his forehead, shielding his eyes from me. “Jack, I confess I do not know what to do.”

“Sam, are you sure she's safe here?” I saw his look and hastened to explain. “I mean, if Octavian's boys are still around, they're bound to know she's let the cat out of the bag. Don't you think they might come looking for her?”

“Cat?” He tilted his head on one side. “Jack, my wife does not keep a cat. Ah, yes, I see. This is one of your American expressions.” He was silent for a moment, stroking his mustache. “There is a chance Aaltonen or someone might come looking for Tareenah, yes.” His gaze met mine. “You are familiar, I take it, with the phenomenon of using bait to lure a predator?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Your expression says you despise me for using my wife in this manner.” He was trembling. “Allah protect me! My back is against a wall, and I swear on the heads of my children, Jack, I do not know what to do.”

I shut his office door and turned the key in the lock. Then I went around his desk, knelt down on the floor, and took him into my arms. He was trembling the length of his body, shuddering like a leaf in the wind, and I turned his face and kissed him. “We'll figure it out. We will, Sam. You and I. We'll get through this together.”

It was fine and good to make such lavish promises, but in reality, I didn't know a damned thing about espionage, and I sure as hell had no idea where to start.

 

 

M
Y
FIRST
thought upon waking was that somebody was in the room. It wasn't even a thought as such, just a general and immediate impression. My body was up and halfway out of the bed before my brain had even registered I was awake. “All right, start talking.” I reached for the bedside lamp and switched it on. The man known as Mukbar sat in the chair beside my bed, his arms neatly folded in his lap.

“Did you know, Mr. Stoyles, your snoring is unduly loud for a man of your age and physical condition.”

“What the hell do you want? How'd you get in here?”

“To help you. As to how I got in—” He traced the crease in his trousers. “Far too easily, I expect. Even considering the Acacia Court is a first-rate hotel, you would do well to put the chain on your door before retiring.” He smirked. “I might have killed you in your sleep.”

He was holding a small pistol fitted with a silencer, and it was pointed right at my chest. “You gonna do me in with that, Mukbar?”

“It shoots, Mr. Stoyles. Please, you will get dressed and come with me.”

“I'm not going anywhere with y—” There was a sound like a firecracker popping deep down inside a well, and a small hole appeared in the wall next to my shoulder.

“You will get dressed and come with me.” His large eyes blinked once or twice, slowly; he was easy in himself, and endlessly patient. “Come with me now.”

My watch read half-past three when Mukbar and his tiny gun escorted me down the back stairs to a waiting car. The moon hung above us, huge and ponderous, and immediately I thought of Sam. I'd hoped to have at least one more intimate interlude with him before I went back home, but if Mukbar's intentions were what I thought they were, I could forget about that.

“Go on, get in.” He prodded me, and I slid into the back seat beside a tall, thin man I immediately recognized: the Finn, Errki Aaltonen, the same man who'd taken Sam to the bank the day I'd shown up with the key.

“So nice to see you again, Mr. Stoyles. I fear our previous meeting was under less-than-salutary circumstances.”

“So you're in on this too, huh? I might have known. How'd you get out? Sam's jail is supposed to be one of the tightest in Egypt. Pay somebody off, did you, for a little inside job?”

He laughed, showing white, faintly feral teeth. “You're a smart man, Mr. Stoyles. Tell me what else you know, hm?”

“You and this creature were involved in killing Pasha Nubar. Where'd you learn to use a blow gun?”

The car jolted into motion, and Aaltonen chose to ignore my question, focusing his gaze on the view through the windshield. Cairo was quiet at this hour, but Mukbar was an indifferent driver, and more than once we nearly ran up onto the sidewalk as he veered away from some obstacle. I started thinking that if only I could distract Mukbar long enough to make him drive into something, I could easily get away from Aaltonen. I wasn't stupid, I knew both of them had guns, but maybe I could escape down an alley and….

And what? Lose yourself in the native quarter?
It was almost like I could hear Sam's voice in my head.
Get yourself knifed to death? Strangled?
It was better to stay put, and maybe if I kept my wits about me, I could get to a phone and alert Sam, and he could come charging in and arrest Mukbar and Aaltonen on the spot. That is, if they didn't kill me first, and if they didn't see Sam coming, and he and his men were able to approach without being seen, and thus ambush—

Skip it, my mind said. Keep your mouth shut and your eyes open, and you might still get out of this alive.

We were heading north out of Cairo, toward the desert. That wasn't good. I didn't see any provisions in the car and neither Mukbar nor Aaltonen were carrying water. My guesses might be good or they might be crummy, but it looked like I was being brought out into the desert, where they intended to leave me. Yeah, the heat and thirst would make short work of me, and by the time Sam or his men found me, I'd be nothing more than a shriveled husk. “So what is this, exactly? You boys planning to do away with me, or are you just giving me the scenic tour?”

“Mr. Stoyles, I dislike cliché almost as much as I dislike cheap sentiment, therefore I will be honest with you.” Mukbar sighed like he was genuinely sorry for me. “You know too much to be allowed to live. In Egypt, as in much of North Africa these days, knowledge is a dangerous thing. Your knowledge makes you extremely dangerous indeed, as does your ability to, shall we say, assemble the pieces.”

“So you are gonna knock me off.”

“Why don't you sit back and enjoy the ride, Mr. Stoyles? There will be no need for you to talk.”

Mukbar's command was punctuated by a jab in the ribs from Aaltonen's gun, and I did as I was told. My mind kept going back to Tareenah, sitting in her jail cell. What would happen to her? I knew the penalty for treason during wartime, but surely Sam wouldn't condemn his own wife. If Octavian had been blackmailing her, then she'd given him the information under extreme duress, and wasn't there some proof of that somewhere? As it stood, she was being railroaded, and she didn't seem to be doing a lot to defend herself. Why was that?