Birds of the Nile (11 page)

Hot, and a little bothered, he returned to the launch feeling sadly deflated.

It wasn’t that he doubted himself – and if anything, the events of that morning had strengthened his suspicions. He had convinced himself that Reda and Lee Yong’s decision not to communicate was just as deliberate as their sitting together in private at the Egyptian evening had been the night before – they were anxious to conceal their relationship and not to arouse suspicion. Were things otherwise, they surely would have spoken to each other.

His theory was all very well, but it still wanted proof. And having failed to obtain it in tangible form that morning, he determined to get it at lunchtime – although the possibility that Lee Yong might not come down to their table caused him to alter his plans. He dropped his stuff off in his cabin and rather than go straight to the dining room, took a deliberate detour past her room in the hopes of determining her whereabouts.

Her cabin door stood open, and in the corridor outside a pile of dirty linen lay next to a janitor’s trolley. From somewhere within came the steady thrum of a hoover.

Inside, a young girl was cleaning, but on Blake’s entry she turned her machine off to deal with his enquiry.

Was the lady in?

The girl shook her head.

Had she seen the lady?

Yes, she’d returned a few minutes ago but had gone straight out again.

Did she know where she’d gone?

No, she did not.

Was the lady alone?

No, a gentleman had been with her.

What kind of gentleman?

An Egyptian.

And what had he looked like, this Egyptian?

The one with the face of a boy.

So he had been right after all…

Blake thanked her and pressed a small note into the palm of her hand. In this country, it was wise to pay for such services – you never knew when you might need them again. He returned to the corridor as the door closed and the hoover resumed its rumbling.

It was obvious then – having denied themselves any form of contact that morning, with the afternoon ‘at leisure’ they had decided to take advantage and go out somewhere together. That much was clear, but to be on the safe side Blake hurried downstairs to check.

In the dining room, the customary haze of chatter floated amongst the part-filled tables. No, it was just as he’d surmised, they weren’t there, and his instinct told him that they must have left the ship. On an impulse, he elected to forego his midday meal and took an apple and a banana from the buffet bar and crammed them into the pockets of his linen jacket. From his table in the corner, Keith cast a glance in his direction and raised an enquiring eyebrow. Blake chose to ignore it, and affecting an enforced sense of urgency, set off back toward the foyer. Wherever they were, he would find them and discover their secret.

But first, he would return to his cabin and collect his trusty telescope and binoculars.

In the ten minutes or so that had elapsed since they’d left her room, Lee Yong and Reda could not have gone far. It was unlikely they would have rushed – it was hot and with the time having just turned half past twelve, the sun was at its highest. The best they could manage was probably a steady stroll – but in which direction? Blake gathered himself together on the quayside and considered the possibilities. They were three in number.

Directly in front of him lay the town of Aswan. The immediate prospect was of a large open square leading up to the
Governorate building. Perhaps they had crossed the Corniche and walked up toward the railway station – in which case they might now be sitting outside one of the cafés at the top. A quick scan with his binoculars revealed that they were not, and besides, having been so circumspect that morning, Blake thought it unlikely that they would choose somewhere so public for the afternoon.

It was just as unlikely that they’d gone south along the Corniche toward the Old Cataract Hotel. Here there were equally as many tourist attractions – the Coptic Cathedral and the Nubian Museum drew many visitors. If they were seeking privacy, this would also be a poor choice.

So unless they’d taken the ferry across to the Tombs of the Nobles (yet another public place), the most plausible solution was that they’d gone north. In that direction there was nothing but the pathway which petered out into open fields along the riverbank. Quiet and secluded, it seemed the perfect location for a secret assignation. Blake set up his telescope and pointed it up the path. There, in the far distance and wobbling in the heat haze, two figures were walking side by side.

He folded his telescope away and prepared to go after them. And if anyone should think it odd that he was wandering along the riverbank in the full heat of the day, equipped as he was, he was quite ready to play the part of the eccentric Englishman – mad dogs and all that. Young lovers too, by the look of it…

It reminded him of the only time he’d ever really ‘twitched’. Some four or five years before, it had been the last working day of the week and he’d been sitting at his desk at the Embassy after lunch, the window flung wide open. The metal overhead fan had been turned on full blast to moderate the stifling heat and a light breeze was riffling through his papers. A trade mission was due from the UK at the end of the month and there were arrangements to be made. It had not been the most engaging of tasks and
with the prospect of two days off yawning before him, he was on the point of packing up and going home when Carpenter had reached across in that nonchalant way of his and dropped something casually in front of him.

I thought you might be interested in this, old boy
.

It was a cutting from the English-speaking paper bought by the ex-pats. The headline read
Rare bird turns up in desert
. It was not the first time he’d been ‘alerted’ – there were any number of rarities you could go and gawp at – but he prided himself on being a more sophisticated class of bird-watcher. He did not normally react, but the news had found him at a particularly low point. An unfulfilling weekend pottering through the hot, sticky markets of Cairo and a return to his desk on Monday was not exactly enthralling. He thought about it for barely a second, then picked up the phone – and first thing the following morning found himself in an old ex-US army jeep with a native driver bounding down the rocky road to Wadi El Natrun in search of a Spectacled Warbler. He’d never been to El Natrun and he’d never seen a Spectacled Warbler. Sometimes you needed an injection of excitement into what was an otherwise uneventful life.

Out in the desert, the wind had pushed sand into their faces. The jeep bounced like a bucking bronco and with one hand hanging on for dear life, he’d been forced to use the other to cover his mouth and nose with a scarf. He’d felt like Lawrence of Arabia, charging toward some violent military encounter.

The reality was far more mundane. They found the bird flitting about in the low scrub, but in winter plumage it was hard to distinguish from Common Whitethroat. Although that was not the point – the day had been about the effort and the chase and if the end result was disappointing, so be it. Now it was different. He expected to find something sensational and he was not going to give up until he’d got it.

He shouldered his telescope and walked northwards along the
pathway at a steady pace – but it was still a full fifteen minutes before he reached the open fields and the point at which he’d seen the two distant figures. The high sun seared at his skin, but with his straw hat, neckerchief and the long sleeves of his linen jacket covering his arms, he felt quite well-protected. Soon, he thought, his quarry would need to find shade.

Blake took out his handkerchief and mopped his brow. It was hot and enervating work. To his right, the parched fields wilted in the sun while to his left, the cool waters of the Nile slid languorously by. What he wouldn’t give to bathe in their refreshing stream right now.

Somewhere in front of him were Reda and Lee Yong – but just exactly where? He raised his binoculars to find them – and for a moment panic set in as he realised that the two figures he’d seen were no longer on the pathway.

They must have wandered off into one of the fields and he began to scan the landscape in front of him. In his mind’s eye he had constructed a vision of what he expected to see – heads propped on hands and elbows, they would be lying on their sides facing each other. Spread between them would be the contents of an open backpack, a napkin from the dining room, some pieces of fruit (Blake’s own apple and banana still languished in the pocket of his linen jacket – he’d not even given them a thought). They might even share a pot of yoghurt, although at this distance it would be difficult to tell. Then, with their impromptu picnic done, they would talk, their mouths moving silently in his eyeglass, spilling out their words…

He wouldn’t be able to hear them. In truth, he didn’t need to – he knew in his heart what they would be saying. It was part of an age-old process. They would be sharing themselves, their thoughts, their hopes, their dreams, intimate details, secrets of the soul, all would be poured out and consumed with their picnic. Then they’d return to the ship and digest what they’d heard.

Blake felt a pang of envy. Even now he still hankered after that elusive liaison – whispered words late at night, the holding of hands in a restaurant – but above all, he missed the ability to exchange his inner self with another. Within the stifled confines of the Embassy and the boundaries of ex-pat life, all that had passed him by. Other friends he knew had taken lovers, but that wasn’t what he’d wanted – it was more than that. His chance had never come and he’d been left staring at life from a distance through his binoculars. And as much as he both liked and enjoyed them, you couldn’t talk to birds…

This was what he imagined, but for the moment his way was blocked. A hundred yards or so further on, an old boundary wall of crumbling brick topped by a tangled mass of thorns bordered the edge of the path, cutting off his view. He’d already decided to move on up to its corner when a slight movement above it caught his eye. His instant reaction was naturally
bird
but he quickly realised it was not as it resolved itself into a thin wisp of smoke. Had they lit a fire? he wondered. If so, what on earth for? His curiosity ever more aroused, he hurried on to the end of the old wall and carefully peered around it.

At first he could see nothing but a broad expanse of dry scrub dotted about with patches of twisted briar. He looked again for the smoke and soon found it on the far right, curling up from the vicinity of a clump of trees. Focusing in, he saw not one, not two, but in excess of a dozen people gathered beneath the broad outstretched leaves of a grove of date palms. To one side, a small iron tripod had been erected, a fire lit and tea was being brewed. This was no lovers’ tryst – something else was going on, and what looked like a business meeting was in progress.

He needed a better view and ducked back behind the crumbling brick and quickly began assembling his scope. There was no need for stealth as given the distance and the cover afforded by the wall and intervening scrub, he was sure he could not be seen. Even so, he still fumbled nervously with the toggles.
But soon he was ready and zoomed in again on the scene.

As far as he could tell, the group consisted entirely of men – Lee Yong was not amongst them. But Reda was there, dressed once more in his peasant’s clothes, and were it not for the fact that it was broad daylight instead of under the cover of darkness, Blake might have been looking at the self-same gathering as he had at Luxor on the night of his arrival, the Egyptian working class, at leisure after a day’s toil. Following the debacle with Joan’s luggage, it had amused him and he’d thought nothing more of it. Now he was puzzled – the day was barely half over and it was not yet time to relax. Why the assembly?

He looked again more carefully, searching for a clue. They were a close-knit band, tightly huddled. But it was not the same company as at Luxor and there were a number of different faces. And instead of being at ease, the language of their bodies spoke of tension, each one sat forward rather than back as they conversed. Reda seemed to be doing most of the talking and from time to time he would emphasize his point by slapping one hand hard against the palm of the other. Someone would respond, stabbing the air with his finger and what looked like heated discussion would ensue. Was it a dispute about pay perhaps? Or a political debate? If so, this sort of thing could go on for hours.

Blake gave a sigh of irritation. This was not what he’d come for, to watch some local council thrash out the minutiae of their lives in the searing glare of the midday sun. Another disappointment. Egypt had surprised him yet again – but this time for the worse. His shoulders slumped as if he were a burst balloon and he lowered his glass. What was he doing, for goodness sake? He’d missed his target and now here he was, a good mile or so up the riverbank, labouring in the heat to no good purpose.

He turned to leave and his attention was caught by a dark shape fluttering above the riverbank some hundred yards or so further down. A bird was hovering over the marshy fringes of
the river. Its distant presence brightened him a little – this at least was a legitimate target. He reassembled his telescope onto its tripod and trained it on the object. A medium-sized raptor came into view, predominantly grey but with prominent black patches on its wings.
Black-shouldered Kite
. At any moment it might swoop down to seize its prey. This was a good ‘spot’ by any standards – a first for the trip – and now he could go back with some feeling of justification for his afternoon’s exertions.

But there was something wrong. The image that was presented was not as it should be – birds should have two wings, not four. The picture was blurred and it appeared as if everything were double. He looked again and attempted to refocus. It made no difference and now he could see that the background was blurred too. There must be something amiss with his equipment – perhaps the eyepiece had come loose or there was some other problem. He stepped back to check and located the bird with his naked eye to establish a reference point. Still blurred – and whichever way he looked, it was the same. Across the river the tawny wastes of the Western Desert wavered in the heat – but it was not the haze that had made the sand-dunes double in number. So it clearly wasn’t his telescope at all…