Authors: Lydia Crichton
Although she sympathized with the complexities of dealing with these global nightmares, she felt strongly that many of them were of “their” own making. For years, U.S. actions and interventions had led to destabilization throughout the developing world. Julia loved her country but she feared her government and their questionable agenda and choices. And they had yet to shed any light on why they were telling her all this.
“You’re probably wondering why we’re telling you all this.”
Julia’s eyes widened in surprise. Was she that transparent?
“Let me emphasize—in the strongest possible terms—that everything you learn within these walls is strictly confidential: Top Secret. Two days ago, one of our operatives in Egypt disappeared. Her assignment was to maintain contact with an undercover agent who has infiltrated the Muslim Brotherhood. We have reason to believe that a radical splinter group, not the Brotherhood itself, may be involved in planning new attacks.”
As Brad leaned in closer, Julia caught another whiff of his primal scent.
“She’s our only link to the undercover guy and was scheduled to make contact with him this weekend. We have no way of knowing if the information he might pass is of importance. We don’t even know for sure that any information will be passed. But because of the Egyptian connection in prior terrorist activities, we can’t risk missing any communication.”
Again the two men exchanged a high-voltage glance.
“What we’re asking is that you attempt to make the contact and pick up the information.”
Chapter 6
Bob Bronson, sensing Julia was on the brink of delivering an adamant and unequivocal refusal, once again intervened. “Julia, wait. Hear him out. It isn’t what you think. Just listen for a moment longer. Please.”
Brad didn’t wait for her response. “All we’re asking is that you fly to Cairo, spend one day there, then go on to Luxor. You and your friend Mohamed will take a nice Nile cruise to Aswan. As you know, the boat makes several stops along the way at sites of antiquity: Esna, Edfu and Kom Ombo. We’ll provide you with a detailed itinerary. At some point during your excursions, the agent will make contact and pass the coded information. When you reach Aswan, arrangements have been made for you to send it on, safely and discreetly.
“As simple as that. The rest of the time you’ll merely be on holiday in a country you seem to enjoy—all at government expense.”
Julia looked incredulously from Brad to Bob—who watched her with a measuring eye—then back to Brad. Beneath the sudden hush, she could hear the muted sounds of traffic from the street. Forcing her voice past the lump in her throat, she croaked, “You must be joking. Surely, you are joking. Why me? Why not one of your own people?”
Bob, the good cop, sighed. “No, Julia, we’re not joking. This is a most unusual situation and therefore requires an unusual solution. We know you’ll have a number of questions and objections but, be assured, there is a logical response for each of them.”
Still holding the slender file, Brad opened it and removed a photograph. He passed her the glossy black and white image.
“This is the agent that disappeared: Abeer Rashad. Her parents are Egyptian but they came to the U.S. in ’54 as students after the ‘liberation’ and she was their last child, born in New York. Her cover is that of a photo-journalist for Egypt Today, a popular magazine there. Egyptian Intelligence is aware that she’s on our payroll.”
He scowled. “We believe that’s part of the problem. Up to now we’ve mostly tried to comply with them in their request that they be apprised of all U.S. Intelligence activities in their country. Unfortunately, we’re now certain there’s at least one snitch—close to the top. We can’t risk sharing this new information with them for fear it might leak to the militants. We need someone who’s unknown to them as working for us—above suspicion—and who will remain so.”
Julia felt sick. She looked down at the young, vivacious face of Abeer Rashad.
“But surely, surely, you have someone more qualified to send? Anyone would be,” she pleaded, opening sweaty palms in apprehensive appeal.
Bob sat motionless, watching his subordinate answer.
“Unfortunately, we have reason to believe that the Egyptians are either fully aware of, or suspect, the other agents we currently have in place there, as well as several others throughout the Middle East. Fortunately, so far, they’re ostensibly unaware of the identity of the undercover man—the mole—although we believe that they may suspect that one exists.”
Julia’s brain struggled to wrap itself around this.
“We have to send a woman. The mole expects one. And any new face with an American passport or traveling alone will attract attention and be closely monitored. We cannot, under any circumstances, risk a delay in receiving—or even worse, the loss of—this potentially valuable information.”
Brad Caldwell once again picked up her file, removed a sheaf of photographs and lined them up across the table, one by one. Julia’s mouth fell open as she looked down at images of herself, alone and with Mohamed: in the Valley of the Kings near Luxor, on the corniche in Alexandria, boarding a train in Cairo, in a Bedouin village in Sinai. And on and on.
“You, on the other hand, have the perfect cover. The Egyptians are also aware of your visits there. Since your second trip, you’ve been closely observed. Your travels alone and with Zahar throughout the country have been monitored, including your excursion to the Western Desert, which is heavily screened by military security. After careful assessment, they’ve dismissed you as a threat—or of working for us.”
The two men’s eyes met briefly. The Egyptians might be convinced that Julia Grant was squeaky clean. Neither of them, however, was satisfied that Mohamed Zahar wasn’t somehow involved with the militant faction. Using her for this mission had the double advantage of retrieving the communication while learning more about the tour guide’s connections. They had agreed it best not to mention this to Julia.
Bob spoke matter-of-factly. “They’re convinced your reasons for coming there are of, ah, a strictly personal nature. No actions on your part for this trip would be unprecedented. Or likely to attract undue attention.”
Julia’s hand, without conscious thought, came up to her chest where, beneath the silk scarf, a golden charm in the shape of an angel lay against her skin—skin that now crawled with the realization that the invasion of her privacy was even more offensive than she’d first thought.
She’d been followed. She’d been photographed. Clearly, her email had been infiltrated. This, she could live with. But one of the two governments—or both—must have also either tapped her phone or Mohamed’s because they’d always been careful in all their emails. Some of those phone conversations had been pretty steamy. Now, it seemed, not only did the U.S. government know intimate aspects of the relationship—so did the Egyptians. This not only put both of them in an unbearably embarrassing situation, it also placed Mohamed in real jeopardy, as a criminal in his country.
“But …,” she began, before Bob once again forestalled her.
“Julia, we really need your help on this. The situation developed unexpectedly and if we had someone—anyone—else to send they’d already be on their way.” He ran a hand over his thinning hair. “All you have to do is take the trip, receive and pass the information and come home. There’s practically no danger involved.”
Practically no danger. Easy for him to say.
Brad again became businesslike. “We’ve made reservations for you on a flight to London tomorrow afternoon, then from there to Cairo. You will, as you’ve done in the past, obtain your visa at the airport upon arrival. You’ll take a taxi to Mena House, again where you’ve stayed before. Your reason for this trip is to do research for a book that you’re writing about your travels in Egypt. This will be validated by the Empire Publishing House in New York, in case anyone should check.
“Arrangements have already been made through Empire directly with Zahar for his services as your personal guide throughout the trip, for which he will be generously compensated. His presence is necessary for continuity and to allow you freedom of movement. He’s unaware of the identity of his client, only that he’s to check into Mena House by eight on Thursday morning and wait in his room to be contacted. He’s already been sent a retainer and an itinerary for the tour. You’re to visit several sites in Cairo together that day, then fly to Luxor on Friday morning. Reservations for two cabins have been made on one of the tour boats.”
“Zahar’s presence is necessary to deter interest from Egyptian Intelligence,” Bob reiterated authoritatively as he saw her again on the verge of protest. “Besides, Julia, you’re a very attractive and striking woman. Traveling alone in that environment, you’re bound to draw unwelcome attention that could complicate things. Be assured, neither Mohamed, nor anyone else besides the three of us in this room, will know anything of your real purpose.”
He pushed himself from his chair with a funereal smile. “Again, thank you for your time today. We certainly can’t insist that you take on this assignment. But may we respectfully request that you give it serious consideration before making your decision? If you’re unable to agree today, please wait until tomorrow morning at this time to let us know. I sincerely hope that your answer will be yes.”
Julia also stood, on unsteady legs, and took his outstretched hand. She felt the current of energy coursing beneath his composed exterior. There was definitely more to calm and convincing Bob than met the eye. He left the room without further comment.
Brad placed a hand under her elbow and steered her to the door. “The flight leaves at four forty-five tomorrow afternoon. You have my card. Call me by nine tomorrow morning with your answer. We need you here by noon for a briefing and then I’ll drive you to the airport. It’s crucial that you discuss this with no one, Julia, absolutely no one. If you want to speak with me in the meantime, call any time, today or tonight.”
He turned to face her with that deceptively lazy half-smile.
“Of course, you’ll also be well remunerated for your time and trouble. And,” he added as if an afterthought, “we would never have approached you on this unless we had the utmost confidence that you could handle it competently.”
The door opened again and there stood the efficient Ms. Manning, who proceeded to lead her back down the endless corridor. Julia heard the faint click of the door as it closed behind them.
Chapter 7
Julia found herself out on the sidewalk with no memory of having gotten there. She drifted toward the square in a kind of daze. The great Civic Center Plaza, as always, swarmed with a diverse cast of characters. City Hall, majestic with its impressive black and gold dome, anchored the scene. Massive clouds in shades of gray tumbled across the sky, parting now and then to allow rays of the late morning sun to set the dome’s gilded flourishes alight.
Tourists and locals alike entered the spectacular Asian Art Museum to view its world-renowned collection of treasures. Students and academics came and went from the San Francisco main library. Clusters of the homeless loitered in the park, with shopping carts full of the sum of their worldly goods. At that moment, Julia would have gladly given all she possessed to trade places with any one of them.
Still in a state of confusion, she reached the car and sat behind the wheel, trying to focus. The blast of a horn jarred her abruptly from her stupor as another driver nudged her to relinquish the precious parking space. The sound reminded her that San Francisco lore says if you’re driving around the city and find a rare vacant space, you should park there and see if you can’t find something to do in the neighborhood.
She started the engine and pulled slowly away from the curb, still in a fog, with no idea where she was going. The car seemed to have a mind of its own as it turned onto Van Ness Avenue, moving in the direction of the Marina. As she caught sight of the bay up ahead, her destination became instantly clear.
A left turn on Lombard took her in the direction of the Golden Gate Bridge; soon the celebrated red steel towers appeared over the treetops of the lush forest of the Presidio. Crossing the Golden Gate now, and the Bay Bridge as well, always made her a little nervous. Both landmarks were well-known to be possible terrorist targets. No, Julia thought sadly, we’re no longer safe even here in our beautiful “city-by-the-bay.”
People weren’t safe anywhere as long as fanatics were willing to die in order to destroy the lives and the way of life of those they considered their enemies, all for some twisted version of an otherwise supposedly peaceful religion. It was unimaginable to her that anyone could truly believe that their god—any god—would condone death and destruction in his name. What kind of god would that be?
Reaching the other side of the bridge, she turned onto the road leading up to the Marin Headlands. A few minutes later she stood on the cliff, looking out over the endless magnificence of the Pacific Ocean. White foam frosted surging swells in a palette of icy blues. Great masses of clouds billowed across a big sky. Ships steamed along, coming and going beneath the bridge; on the far horizon, where water merged with sky, they receded into miniature toys.
Julia inhaled deeply as the insistent wind chilled her face and tugged her hair from its neat twist. To perch here—on the edge of the world—always recharged her spirit, as if the fresh sea air swept through her mind, heart and soul, blowing away all the clutter and debris, making it possible for her to think—and to feel—again.