Authors: N E. David
Lee Yong accepted his statement and went on with her line of questioning.
“Mrs Biltmore says she thinks he’ll be tortured. She says she’s
read that the police in Egypt do things, horrible things, and that’s how they carry on here.”
“Mrs Biltmore has a vivid imagination.”
“That’s not to say she isn’t right.”
“Maybe…”
“You don’t deny it then?”
He’d tried to divert her but she’d soon seen through his ploy. Unless he was to lie again, it left him no option.
“No, I don’t deny it, it’s quite possible.” She’d eventually force it from him anyway so it was best to be straight with her now. “Well, to be frank, it’s likely.”
His openness failed to shock her. It was the answer she’d been expecting and she was prepared for it.
“I can’t let that happen, Mr Blake. We have to do something about it.”
We? Where had that come from all of a sudden? Why did she assume that he was involved in all this? Her presumption caused him to bristle.
“So what do you suggest?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “That’s why I’ve come to you. You know the country. There must be something we can do. What about the British Embassy?”
He’d wondered how long it would be before someone raised that subject. Somewhere along the line he must have let it slip out – but even if he’d still been employed, it would have been of no use to them now.
“That’s no good. Reda’s an Egyptian national. If he were a British subject it might be a different story and we could press for his release. But as he’s not and we’ve no grounds for an appeal, it wouldn’t work.”
“What then?” A look of desperation crossed her face. “You have to help me, Mr Blake.”
As reluctant as he was, when she looked at him in that heart-rending way, he knew he could not deny her. Like a notice on the
adjacent board, she had him pinned to the wall and he could not escape without some form of commitment. He didn’t want to admit it but he’d committed himself the moment he’d picked up Reda’s mobile phone and wallet. As much as he’d deny it, he could never have disposed of them as easily as he liked to imagine – all he’d been waiting for was the right moment to act. Was that the real reason he’d put them in his pocket and brought them with him? A few minutes ago he’d stood in exactly the same spot and told David and Keith there was nothing he could do. And yet for Lee Yong, it was different…
“There might be a way…It would cost money of course.”
He regretted sounding so mercenary. He didn’t want her to think it was he who needed rewarding. Although the remark did not seem to concern her – on the contrary, it gave her hope.
“That’s not an issue, Mr Blake. I’m prepared to pay.”
“How much have you got available?”
“Whatever it takes.”
He didn’t doubt it. Back home in Malaysia, the wheels of a whole industry were turning to provide her with whatever funding she required. But that was of little practical use – he would need it here and now.
“No, I meant here, in cash.”
“There’s ten thousand US dollars in the purser’s safe. It was meant to be my spending money for the trip.”
That was more than enough for Blake’s purpose. What he’d had in mind was more like ten thousand Egyptian pounds.
“Hopefully we won’t need that much.”
“So you’ll help me?”
Once again, she’d seen straight through him. There was the straw she’d been looking for and she’d grasped it with both hands.
“I’ll do what I can – I can’t promise anything.”
“Thank you, Mr Blake, I’m very grateful.”
Even now he’d relented, she could still not bring herself to call
him Michael. What had he expected? He attempted to cover the moment by raising a practical issue.
“You don’t happen to know the whereabouts of Reda’s computer, I suppose?”
If that fell into the wrong hands, it could be disastrous.
“I’ve already taken it, Mr Blake – it’s in my room.”
In that case…
“How much did he tell you?”
“About what?”
There was a sense they were testing each other out, probing at the edges.
“The Brotherhood, Al-Wasat Al-Jadid, that sort of thing.”
“Everything.”
“I see…” So there were no secrets between them – and yet she’d seemed so shocked at his arrest. “You’ll need to give me some time.”
“Take as long as you need – I can wait.”
“I don’t mean now – I’ll have to go and work on it. I’ll come and find you when I’m ready. In the meantime, you’d better go and talk to the purser.”
“Very well…”
She nodded, then opened the small shoulder bag she was carrying and began fiddling with the contents. For one precious moment Blake thought it might be the prelude to some moment of intimacy – but it was not, and she snapped the bag shut and confined herself to a small wave of the hand before starting out across the foyer.
Reda’s mobile phone and wallet were still in his pocket. He’d considered giving them to her to go along with the computer – but had then thought the better of it. After their conversation he’d begun to feel more comfortable with them. Reda was something they shared, a bond that held them together, and he did not want to see it broken.
Above his head, the TV continued to pump out its message of
defiance and, despite the attentions of the police, the protestors in Tahrir Square maintained their vigil over the nation. Their persistent presence said one thing –
We will not be beaten
. In a similarly determined mood, Blake turned toward the stairway and set off in the direction of his cabin.
David was right about the telephone lines – there were few to be had, and even less that were working properly. Luckily, Blake had remembered to charge his mobile overnight and for once it gave better access. Besides, this was another call he wanted to keep private and he didn’t trust the ship’s system.
Eventually he got through, but the switchboard at the Embassy was permanently engaged. No surprise there, he thought. Every mother in the UK with a loved one in Egypt would be worried.
After half a dozen unsuccessful attempts he resorted to using the direct line into the Trade Section. It bypassed the switchboard and was for use strictly in emergencies – but if this wasn’t an emergency, thought Blake, then what on earth was? And anyway, it wasn’t as if they could sack him for using it now.
Carpenter must have been sitting on top of the phone as it answered after just two rings.
“Hello? Who’s this?”
“It’s Blake. I’m calling from the ship.”
“Good Lord. I wondered who on earth it could be on this line.”
“I couldn’t get through via the switchboard.”
“No, you won’t do, old boy. We’re totally overrun.”
In the background he could hear the sound of voices, movement and the scuff of heavy furniture being dragged across the floor.
“What on earth is all that noise?” asked Blake.
“We’re packing up ready to leave. We’re on Code Red, you know.”
Carpenter had to bellow into the mouthpiece to make himself heard.
“Why, are you under attack?”
“Everything but. We’re just making sure we’re prepared. You
know what the Old Man’s like – he doesn’t want to be seen taking chances. They’re talking about boarding up the ground-floor windows. Wouldn’t surprise me if one got smashed any minute.”
“Really? So what’s it like up there?”
“Absolute bloody chaos. Here, listen to this.”
Blake heard the sound of a catch being freed, a window being opened, then the familiar noise of chanting and the continual wailing of sirens.
“It’s been going on all day,” said Carpenter. “And most of last night – barely got a wink of sleep.” The window closed, dulling down the clamour. “It’s a warzone out there. Burnt-out cars, rubble all over the streets. There’s an overturned bus on Talat Harb and they’ve been using it as a barricade. I took my life in my hands getting into work this morning, I can tell you.”
“How did you manage?”
“Well, hardly any buses are running and it’s pointless using the Metro and trying to come through Tahrir. The exit at Sadat is blocked so I got off at Gezira and walked across the bridge. That was an experience I wouldn’t want to repeat. The police are everywhere, running about like chickens with their heads cut off. They’re all a bag of nerves. I thought one of them was going to take a pot-shot at me. God knows how I’ll get back home tonight. I may have to doss down here if it gets any worse. Fortunately, I’ve plenty of supplies in.”
In addition to the bottle of Scotch in the bottom drawer of his desk, Carpenter kept a strategic reserve in one of the filing cabinets.
“So how’s the First Secretary coping with it all?”
“Totally demented, as you’d expect. He’s spent the whole morning charging round like a bull in a china shop. I’ll give him credit though, at least he’s made the effort to get in. There’s a lot that haven’t. Anyway, how are things with you?”
“Fine. We’re all safe aboard the boat. Although half the crew’s done a bunk and we’re stranded here for twenty-four hours until
the captain gets things sorted out.”
“So where exactly are you?”
“Aswan.”
“Any signs of trouble?”
“Are you kidding? It all went off with a bang here last night.”
“Really?”
“Yes, and it looks as though it was our boy who lit the blue touch paper.”
“You mean Mr Eldasouky?”
“Indeed.”
“Well, well. It seems you had him pegged. I take my hat off to you, Blake. You certainly saw it coming. It’s been a shock to the rest of us, I have to say.”
Clearly it had. And yet, he’d given them as much warning as he could although that was of no consolation now.
“Alan…” Unlike Lee Yong, Blake reverted to Christian names as soon as he needed support. “I need to ask another favour.”
“Ha!” Carpenter gave a derisive snort. “You’re pushing your luck, old boy, under the circumstances. They’ve cut the internet and we can’t get a peep out of the computers.”
“I know that and I’m grateful for what you’ve done already. But Mr Eldasouky, God bless him, managed to get himself arrested and I need to bail him out.”
“Bail him out? What on earth for?” Carpenter sounded shocked. “I can only assume he owes you money. Although there must be a better reason than that – but I don’t suppose for one moment you’re going to tell me.”
“Let’s just say it’s for a friend.”
“A friend?” It was said with an element of scorn but Blake could understand his surprise. As far as Carpenter was aware, he didn’t have any friends. “I haven’t a clue what’s going on down there, Michael – I just hope you know what you’re doing.”
“To be honest, Alan, I’m not sure what I’m doing.” It was true – he was confused. He’d gone away on a birding trip but he’d met
Lee Yong, there’d been a revolution and somehow things had all got tangled up – and it was too late to go back on it now. “But I’m going to go ahead and do it anyway. Do we still have our contact in the police force?”
“Yes we do. He’s the one I got the information from in the first place. Although he’s probably out and about at the moment rounding up protestors – but I can always try. You realise we can’t help you with this – it’s entirely unofficial. You’re on your own, you know.”
“I’m aware of that. But if you could get me a name and a number for someone in Aswan, someone who’d be prepared to do business, I’ll take it from there.”
“And is that it?”
“That’s it.”
Another filing cabinet scraped across the floor. He heard Carpenter giving instructions –
Careful with that
– and then he was back on the line.
“Alright. Give me ten minutes and I’ll see what I can do. It might be easier if I rang you back.”
“No, don’t do that. I’ll hang on if that’s alright. It’s hell’s own job getting through and I don’t want to lose the connection.”
A dull thud told him that the receiver had gone down on Carpenter’s desk, then he sensed his colleague lumbering off toward the office doorway. In the background, somewhere between the rustle of paper and the occasional graunch of metal, he could still make out the chants and sirens reverberating beyond the closed window. He focused on them for a moment, knowing that at any second the tenuous line that bound him to them might be cut. It was a slender thread that linked him to this piece of hope, this vague wild idea that he could somehow help to gain a young man’s freedom – and even save his life if it came to that.
And then there was Carpenter – it frightened Blake to think how much they depended on him now. Soon, like a soppy
Labrador sent to run after a stick, he would come lolloping back to the phone, bearing whatever information he could find – although it wouldn’t surprise Blake to find that while he’d been away, he’d stopped to sniff out the latest cricket score…
He took the full ten minutes he’d suggested and finally returned, unhurried and without even affecting to be out of breath.
“Blake? Are you there?”
“Yes.”
Indeed he was, ready and waiting.
“Well, that wasn’t easy. Have you got a pen and paper?”
“Wait a moment.” Blake scrabbled on the desk top and located his notebook and pencil. “Go ahead.”
“The man you want is Hossein Rasheed. He’s the one who runs things in that part of the world. Very much feared by the locals apparently. Our contact knew him straight away.”
“Is he venal?”
“Aren’t they all, old boy? And I’m sure he will be. Must be a nice little number, Aswan, tucked out of the way in the sticks. He’ll be looking to make a few bob out of it that’s for certain. You’ll need his number by the way.”
Blake took it down next to the name.
“Alan, I’m eternally grateful. How many bottles is it I owe you now?”
“Four, at the last count. I tell you what – why don’t you make it a round half dozen and put yourself in credit?”
“I’ll have a serious think about that.”
Although in the foreseeable future, he hoped he wouldn’t need any more help.
“Well, whatever you’re up to, I wish you the best of luck with it. Let me know how you get on. I’d use my home number from now on if I were you. Can’t guarantee being here much longer.”
The muted wail of sirens and the continuous scraping of furniture lent his suggestion audible support.
“I will do,” said Blake. “And thanks.”
He shut down his mobile phone and sat back on the bed – then crossed his fingers and prepared himself to make another call.