Glenn Meade (33 page)

Haider fought his way through the
crowd towards the station food stalls, busy with a group of boisterous
Australian soldiers.

He bought two beers and they made
their way to one of the upright tables. Rachel said, 'What's the matter? You
look like you've seen a ghost.'

'Don't look now,' Haider said
hoarsely. 'But there are two men in civilian clothes near the barrier. They're
plainclothes military and they're looking for us.'

 
'How do you know?'

'One of them is the sergeant we
sent on a wild-goose chase.'

I Rachel was stricken. Haider
said, 'You'd better prepare yourself for another shock - the second man is
Harry Weaver.' 1 For a moment she looked totally astonished, then she turned
round sharply, looking towards the ticket barrier. It was a distance away, and
Haider saw her try to focus. 'Don't stare.

You'll only attract attention,' he
warned.

But Rachel was hardly listening.
She had noticed the sergeant, standing near the ticket inspector, and from the
look on her face she had recognized Harry Weaver instantly. He was looking a
little older, and wearing a lightweight linen suit. He was too far away to
notice them, preoccupied as he watched the Passenger queue.

Rachel-' Haider's voice brought
her back. She was completely stunned.

'I - I can't believe it.’

Mr Haider swallowed a mouthful of
beer. 'It's certainly a small world, full of surprises. The kind of destiny the
ancient Egyptians liked to believe in - meeting again in another life.'

Rachel made to look round again,
but Haider caught her hand. 'Don't make it obvious. It's Harry, all right, no
question.'

'But - what's he doing here? 'A
good question. But I suppose it makes some kind of sense.

He speaks reasonable Arabic, so
it's hardly surprising he's serving in
Egypt
. At a guess, he's probably
military police or army intelligence.' He looked at her. Her face was still
confused. 'Are you all right?'

'It - it seems so unreal. Seeing
him again in these circumstances.

I don't know what to think.'

'That makes two of us. And I'm
pretty sure Harry would be surprised if he knew we were here.'

Rachel seemed totally bewildered.
'You don't think he knows that it's us he's looking for?'

'I doubt it. How could he? But as
much as I've always loved Harry's company, I don't think we ought to stick
around for a chat.' He shook his head, added uneasily, 'Whoever would have
guessed? Harry and us on different sides of the fence at a time like this. It's
a frightening thought, and I'm not sure I like it very much. It makes you
wonder if there's someone up there pulling strings and laughing at us.'

Haider guessed she wanted to look
back at Weaver one more time, but he reached across the table and gripped her
hand.

'We're going to leave now. Better
drink up - you're going to need some Dutch courage. Seeing as Harry and the
sergeant are in plainclothes, you can bet there are others close by, and
they're probably covering the exits, which could make things difficult. I
spotted a man at the ticket booths earlier who looked suspicious.

He's probably one of Harry's
comrades.'

Rachel hadn't touched her beer and
Haider noticed that her hands were shaking. 'Are you sure you'll be OK?'

'I think so.' ‹ 'If anyone tries
to stop us, let me do the talking. But be ready to move if I tell you.'

'You don't give up easily, do you,
Jack?’

'I never could see the point.' He
forced a smile, took off his jacket and loosened his tie. Then he slipped the
revolver from his pocket and put it under his jacket.

'What happens if Harry and his
friend should come after us?'

Haider's face tightened with
anxiety. 'Save me the thought.

It's bad enough I'm up against the
closest friend I ever had. The last thing in the world I'd want is for Harry
and me to have to face each other in a showdown. So nice and easy does it, and
stay close to me.'

As they moved back into the crowd,
Haider squeezed her hand.

'Once we make it outside, we'll
try to head back towards the promenade.'

'You mean if we make it.'

'Remember that old Arab saying? To
survive, you have to laugh in the face of despair. If we look desperate, we're
dead. So just try to act perfectly calm and normal, even if we're stopped.'

He shot a quick glance back over
his shoulder, but there was no sign of Harry Weaver or the sergeant following
them. He steered Rachel towards the station exit, looming ahead through the mob
of passengers. 'This is it. Here we go.'

The walk towards the exit seemed
to take an eternity. Bodies milled past them in either direction, and as they
pushed their way through, Haider anxiously watched the crowd for any sign of
danger, but they reached the exit doors without anyone stopping them. He paused
before they stepped out, trying to scan the busy square outside the station.
Buses were lined up on the kerb, but he didn't see any parked military
vehicles. The pavement was too packed to get a proper look, but he noticed no
one who looked as if they might be plainclothes military or police. The two
Egyptian traffic cops he'd seen earlier were still there, chatting and smoking,
totally uninterested in anything happening around them. Directly across the
square was a maze of back alleyways, the entrance to a teeming bazaar.

'That's where we're headed,' he
told Rachel. 'Everything seems normal enough. Are you ready?'

'Yes.’

Haider tightened his grip on the
revolver under his jacket.

'Keep your fingers crossed. And
remember, if anyone stops us, let me handle it.'

They pushed into the crowds
pouring through the station's massive floor-to-ceiling doors, and stepped out
on to

They'd hardly gone a dozen paces
when a voice said from behind, 'Excuse me, sir, madam.'

Haider turned. His heart sank. It
was the man with the eye patch.

Weaver was getting frustrated. So
far, the sergeant had spotted no one else resembling the man and woman. The
train for
Cairo
was ready to leave the platform, whistles sounding and the flag men moving up
and down the carriages, slamming doors. As the ticket inspector hurried the
last passenger through, the sergeant said, 'We're not having much luck, are we,
sir?'

'I guess not.' Weaver called Myers
over. 'The couple still might turn up. You'd better keep the men posted. When
does the train for
Port Said
leave?'

'In an hour, sir. And the next one
for
Cairo
at
six.'

'Tell your men to take turns
having a break, but to keep watching the local arrivals and departures.'

'You want me to tell
Lieutenant-Colonel Sanson, sir?'

Weaver shook his head and loosened
his tie, feeling totally despondent. The station was stifling hot and he needed
air, and a break from the milling crowds. 'No, I'll tell him myself Haider was
trying to decide whether to shoot the man with the eye patch when another burly
figure in plainclothes joined him.

He spotted a third man in civilian
clothes positioned near the entrance, watching the proceedings as he had his
shoes polished by a shoeshine boy. He guessed the men were military police or
intelligence. The bazaar was only fifty meters across the square, but too far
to make a run for it without the risk of being shot.

'May I see your papers, sir?' the
man with the eye patch said briskly. His comrade stood beside him, a bulge
under his open jacket, one hand on his waistband, ready to move.

Haider tried to look affronted as
he regarded the two men.

'Who the hell are you?'

'Lieutenant-Colonel Sanson,
military intelligence.' Eye Patch showed his ID.

Haider said calmly, 'Well, in that
case, sure.' He handed over his ID wallet.

Sanson said, 'You too, madam, if
you don't mind.'

Rachel fumbled in her bag and
offered her papers. Sanson scrutinized both sets of documents, as carefully as
a bank clerk might study bills he believed to be counterfeit, taking his time
as he studied the photographs, then rubbing his thumb on the print. Finally, he
looked up, and Haider saw the suspicion in his face. 'Were you about to board a
train, sir?'

'Why do you ask?' Haider sounded
irritated.

'I noticed you both enter the
station ten minutes ago. Now you've come out again. I wondered if there was any
reason you might have changed your mind about travelling.'

'Listen, buddy, we got off the
train from
Cairo
earlier. My lady friend here realized she mislaid one of her bags. Now it turns
out it's been lost, and we'll be lucky to get the damned thing back.' Haider
tried to sound suitably upset. 'But that's the Egyptian rail service for you.
Pretty goddamned useless.'

Sanson gave a brief, cold smile.
'Your papers say you're an American and your name's Paul Mallory.'

'What about it?'

Sanson seemed unsure of something
as he looked Haider up and down. 'You mind me asking why you're not serving in
the military, sir?’

'I hardly think that's any of your
business.'

'I could make it my business.'

'If you must know, a medical
condition ruled me out.

There's a document in my ID wallet
to state that fact. Now, how about you telling me what's up here?'

Sanson found the medical document
in the wallet, examined it. Then he studied them both again, still suspicious.
'May I ask the purpose of your visit to Alex?'

'I'm an archaeologist, lecturing
with the American University in Cairo.'

'That wasn't what I asked.'

'The chief curator of the Alex
Museum invited us to examine some artifacts discovered recently near Rashid.'
Haider smiled. 'But I guess it's really an excuse to visit old friends.' He
could see that Sanson still wasn't convinced. In desperation, he tried his last
card. 'In fact, we just bumped into one in the station. Harry Weaver. Seeing as
you're in the same line of work, I take it you know him?'

I Sanson raised his eye. 'You're
friends of Lieutenant-Colonel I Weaver's?'

'Harry and me go way back.'

I Sanson appeared suddenly to
relax. 'I see.' He looked at I Rachel. 'You're German-Jewish, Miss Tauber?'

'Yes.'

'Might I ask what exactly your
relationship is to this gentleman?'

'We're colleagues. I'm an
archaeologist also.'.

II Sanson handed back their
papers. 'I won't detain you any longer. Thank you, madam. And you, sir.'

Haider slipped his papers inside
his pocket. 'You still haven't said what all the fuss is about.'

'There's a major security
operation in progress,' Sanson answered simply. 'Or didn't Lieutenant-Colonel Weaver
tell you?'

Haider smiled. 'Not a word, but
then that's Harry for you.

Always plays his cards close to
his chest.' The smile vanished as III he looked past Sanson and froze as Harry
Weaver came out through the station doors. He looked away sharply.

'Is something the matter?' Sanson
asked.

'Nothing.' Haider forced a smile.
'I think we've delayed enough. Good-day. This way, my dear.'

He held tightly on to Rachel's
arm, started to cross the square towards the bazaar, but he knew they were
already too late. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Harry Weaver stop dead in
his tracks as he came towards Sanson. There was a look of incomprehension on
his face, as if he had seen the dead get up and walk. He stared at them
open-mouthed, his eyes falling on Rachel, and his face went chalk white.

It happened quickly. Sanson
registered their reactions, sensing that something was wrong, but in an instant
Haider pulled out his revolver.

Sanson stepped back, fumbling for
his gun. 'Christ!'

Haider shot him in the hand and the
big Englishman staggered back, clutching his wound. The square erupted with
screams as people ran for cover, and the area around them cleared almost
instantly. Sanson's comrade already had his gun out, but Haider fired first,
hitting him in the shoulder, and the man screamed in pain and went down. As the
plainclothes man near the station entrance tried to get off a shot, Haider
fired twice again, punching him back against the wall.

Harry barely reacted. He was still
in shock, looking from Jack to Rachel in utter disbelief. Haider raised his
gun, aimed at him, but still Weaver didn't move, and then Haider broke the
spell and grasped Rachel's arm.