Birds of the Nile (19 page)

“You can have your precious Mr Eldasouky.” His decision came barbed with scorn. “He’s a worthless son of a bitch! Why keep these minnows when there are bigger fish to catch. I tell you straight, I’m only too happy to throw this one back. It’s not
worth the price of keeping him. I know the type, he’ll tell us nothing. He’s had his lesson!”

There was an element of sour grapes in his tirade. He’d reached a decision he didn’t much like and felt the need to justify it to himself. And even if he believed Blake’s story, there was no attempt to spare Lee Yong’s feelings. Blake glanced toward her, hoping she’d stay quiet. With the battle won, the last thing he wanted was for her to give a feisty response and upset the deal.

“So, you know who the ringleaders are then?”

It sounded as though he was fishing, but his hope was to move the discussion elsewhere.

“Don’t you worry, Mr Blake – we know what’s going on. These Islamists think they’re going to take over the country, but we know better than that. We’ll soon sort them out – then you and your American friends can sleep easily in your beds.”

He evidently believed his own propaganda.

Throughout the policeman’s provocation, Lee Yong had remained thankfully silent, but Blake could not resist rising to the bait, just as he’d done with the First Secretary.

“But this has nothing to do with Islam. It’s a popular uprising. In Cairo…”

“But we’re not in Cairo,” Rasheed cut in. “We run things differently here.” He gave another sneer. “The authorities in Cairo are weak. They should never have allowed that protest to take root. They ought to come to Aswan – we could show them a thing or two. It’s still like the old days here. We kicked the British out of Suez in ’56. We kicked the Israelis out of Sinai in ’73. You don’t suppose we’re going to let a little upset like this worry us?”

The scenes Blake had witnessed had been horrific. If they were anything to go by, he could well believe it – there’d been an element of ruthlessness about them he’d found chilling.

While Rasheed had been speaking, Blake realised he was in danger of falling into the same trap that had been laid for Lee Yong. He decided to concede the point.

“I’m sure you’re right.”

“Certainly I’m right, Mr Blake.” Rasheed wagged a bloated finger. “And when we’ve cleared out this little nest of sedition, make no mistake, you will thank us for it. You must think—”

But whatever it was that Blake was supposed to think, he never did find out as the phone jangled on the edge of the desk and cut the fat policeman off in full flow. Rasheed took the call, then turned his back on them and began a fast and furious conversation, becoming ever more agitated until finally he was shouting into the mouthpiece just as he’d barked into his megaphone the night before. He spoke angrily in Arabic, but in a form that Blake could not fully understand.

Blake exchanged glances with Lee Yong and raised his eyebrows as a means of enquiry as to her wellbeing. There was no response. With her hands still firmly in her lap, she seemed calm enough.

Rasheed slammed the phone down and turned back to face them.

“These renegades are like flies. They buzz about everywhere and make much noise. They’re harmless and they carry no sting – but it annoys me that they keep me so busy. Now I have work to do and it’s late. You’ll have to excuse me. Your Mr Eldasouky will be waiting…”

He dismissed them with a wave of his podgy hand and went back to his telephone.

Blake retrieved his passport and as soon as they were outside in the corridor they could hear his angry voice start up again. Blake ignored it. His first priority was to apologise.

“I’m sorry about that little story I concocted in there. But after that business about Reda being a spy, I felt I had to offer some other explanation. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, not at all.” Lee Yong shook her head. “Anything…”

So even though they were now alone, she still didn’t bother to deny it…

They headed back down the corridor toward the front office.

Reda was already sitting on one of the plastic chairs, in much the same position as his neighbour, the jiggling Egyptian. He’d spent just the one night in jail and yet Blake expected him to look somehow different, as if the experience had fundamentally altered him. But he did not and he was easily recognisable, still as rotund as ever, and his face carried the same chubby weight of flesh as it had the day before. His clothes were soiled and he appeared a little dishevelled, but there was nothing to suggest he’d done anything more than have a bad night out on the town. It was not until he saw them approach and stood up that they noticed any change.

He hobbled to his feet and visibly winced as he leant to one side, trying not to clutch at the small of his back which was evidently the source of his pain. Movement of any kind was clearly difficult.

Blake had imagined that Lee Yong might rush forward and fling herself round Reda’s neck, but she hung back – although whether this was because he’d mistaken their relationship, or because she didn’t wish to add to the young man’s discomfort, he wasn’t sure. Instead, she stayed firmly by his side.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

Reda gave a weak smile and tried unsuccessfully to straighten up.

“A light beating, that’s all. It’s nothing to worry about, I assure you.”

He held up a hand as if to say,
I’m fine
but then sank back down onto the chair.

“He can’t walk back to the ship like that,” said Blake. “We’ll have to get him a taxi.”

Fortunately, along with his passport and Lee Yong’s money, he’d remembered to bring his mobile phone. A tattered poster pinned to the wall near the entrance doorway gave him a clue as
to a number. Overhead, the ceiling fan whirred uselessly on like an old clockwork toy, and with the phone clamped to one ear, Blake covered the other with his hand to hear himself speak.

“Yes, yes, the police station – as soon as you can…”

In front of the row of black plastic chairs, Lee Yong was trying to set Reda upright.

“Here, let me help you with that.”

Blake pocketed his mobile and went to her assistance. Between them they managed to haul the young Egyptian into a standing position and with an arm round each of their shoulders, he hopped awkwardly toward the doorway.

They were about to pass through the opening when their progress was halted by an imploring cry from behind.

“Hey! You forgot to sign!”

On the other side of the counter, the desk clerk was waving a pen and tapping at his grubby sheet, his oversize tunic hanging off him as if he were a scarecrow.

Blake gave a sigh of irritation. In his desire to get his charges back to the ship the matter of paperwork had slipped his mind. As always, it would have to be dealt with.

He looked outwardly displeased, but at heart he understood the desk clerk’s need. He’d once been a bureaucrat himself. In fact, he’d once been part of the greatest bureaucracy the world had ever seen, Her Majesty’s Foreign Office with all its memos, manuals and forms, and yet somehow he’d survived. Now he was free and rid of it all, but it was not beyond him to recognise when a fellow worker needed help. He untangled himself and having propped Reda’s hand against the door jamb, returned to the counter where he took the proffered pen and signed off the sheet with a flourish.

The desk clerk beamed his thanks. His duty was done and he could go home that night with a clear conscience. For a few precious moments, Blake had made his impoverished life bearable, and he was happy. The chief would be pleased –
although whether he would remain so was open to question. It would depend, thought Blake, on how long it would take him to discover that his most important prisoner had just been released into the custody of a certain Mickey Mouse.

High above their heads, the ceiling fan reached a vibrating crescendo and shuddered at the prospect.

Getting Reda into the back of the taxi proved difficult. His body didn’t want to bend in the required places, or at least, not without pain. They finally settled for putting him in the front where they could push the seat back and allow his legs to remain straight. Lee Yong took up a place in the rear. Blake gave directions, then joined her and at the end of Sharia Abtal they turned down onto the Corniche and sped along the carriageway.

Framed against her side window, Blake watched as the light of each street lamp flickered across Lee Yong’s face. She still had a dour, almost sullen look as if every care in the world had been heaped on her, and whatever relief Reda’s release may have brought had not yet turned to joy. She’d said little since they’d left the ship and had remained mercifully quiet during the meeting with Rasheed, content to let Blake take the lead. He’d thought it a ploy designed to draw sympathy from the fat policeman, but she’d maintained her silence and he’d come to think of it as her normal state as if she became introverted when under pressure. Beneath that calm exterior, her mind was probably in turmoil and she was bursting with questions. She shortly turned towards him, and thinking she was about to speak he put his finger to his lips and gave a little shake of his head. They were not yet alone, and for their driver, the price of having a poster on display in the police station was almost certainly the provision of information.

They might keep their thoughts to themselves but they could not disguise their destination. On the quayside next to the Corniche, the cruise ship loomed large and was ablaze with lights. With a good deal of help they prized Reda out of the front seat and sat him on a bollard at the top of the steps leading down to the gangplank.

“Wait here,” said Blake. “I’ll go and see what’s happening on board. We need to be as discreet as we possibly can.”

They’d succeeded in setting Reda free but that was not enough – his whereabouts needed to be kept secret and the ship was full of prying eyes and wagging tongues. Blake crossed the gangplank and slipped unnoticed into reception.

He returned five minutes later and found Lee Yong pacing anxiously up and down. Reda, unable to move, had to content himself with subtle changes in posture to remain comfortable.

“We’re in luck,” said Blake. “Everyone’s in the Forward Lounge watching television. The captain’s found a video copy of
Casablanca
and he’s put it on to keep them occupied. They daren’t go out for a run ashore in case there’s a repeat of last night. It looks as though half the crew’s there as well, so if we make a move now we might just get away with it.”

He turned to Reda who was beginning to get fidgety. “Here, put these on.”

He’d taken the opportunity to visit his cabin and had fetched a lightweight green gilet, his battered Panama and the pair of dark glasses he’d bought a day earlier.

“It’s better than nothing and there’s a chance you won’t be recognised. Oh, and I found this too.” In the crook of his arm hung a wooden walking stick. “I’ve no idea who it belongs to, but they really should take better care of it. When we’ve finished I’ll put it back where I found it, but in the meanwhile it’ll come in useful. Now come on, let’s get you ready.”

Reda struggled to his feet. He was in no position to resist and allowed himself to be dressed. Much to Blake’s satisfaction, the resultant disguise was quite effective and in a matter of moments the young Egyptian was transformed into an elderly gentleman with a bad back and a limp. Crouched forward and heavily reliant on the stick, Reda had no need to act the part. It came all too naturally and it was painful to watch as he hobbled gingerly down the steps, across the gangplank and into the foyer. Fortunately, the reception desk was unmanned and the lobby
empty.

That was the easy bit
, thought Blake.
Now we have to get him upstairs
.

But Reda had other ideas and began by heading down toward his old quarters below decks. Blake held him back.

“No, I think not. If you don’t mind me saying so, I don’t think that’s wise. That’s the first place someone’s going to look – you’d be better off elsewhere. You see, it doesn’t end here. I know these people – they’ll come after you, trust me.”

Reda was in agreement.

“Unfortunately I think you’re right, Mr Blake.”

He turned to come back, planting his stick firmly on the stairway. But if he could see the logic of it, then for the moment Lee Yong could not.

“I thought we’d paid their ransom – doesn’t that count?”

“You have a point, and that’s fine for Aswan,” said Blake. “But it won’t matter a damn where we’re going. Things will be different in Luxor.”

“So he’s not exactly free?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“Well, I’d be happy for Reda to share with me,” said Blake. “I’ve a twin-bedded room and he won’t inconvenience me in the least. He may feel differently of course.”

“No,” said Lee Yong firmly. “That’s far too obvious. I’ll make space.”

She was quick to make the proposal, although it was no more than Blake had expected. Reda, he noticed, did not object.

The stairs were as troublesome as Blake had imagined, and it was some while before Reda was ensconced in Lee Yong’s room. Despite what she’d said earlier she made no pretence about ‘clearing a space’ and they lowered the young Egyptian straight onto the bed where he lay propped up by pillows. He expressed
his thanks between grimaces.

“I’m very grateful, Mr Blake.”

“It’s not me you should be thanking,” said Blake. “It’s Lee Yong. I’ll let her explain. Well, I think I’m going to cut along and leave you both to it.” He’d already decided not to hang around – his continued presence was superfluous and a potential embarrassment. “I’m in Room 23 by the way. Call me if you need me. But don’t use the internal phone – you’re better off using a mobile. Here’s my number.” He found a scrap of paper on the desk and jotted it down. “I’ll leave it turned on just in case.” He took a last look round. “Well, goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Mr Blake – and thank you.”

Lee Yong showed him to the door. They were as safe as he could possibly make them, but her face still carried that careworn look.

“You needn’t be so worried – it’ll be alright.”

She did not appear convinced.

He found himself alone in the corridor for the second time that day. Before departing, he’d recovered his belongings from Lee Yong’s room. Draped over one arm was the green lightweight gilet while one hand held the dark glasses and the other the Panama hat. He put them on and affecting a pronounced limp, headed towards the stairway. To all intents and purposes, an elderly gentleman with a stick had gone into Lee Yong’s cabin and one had come out. If anyone should ask, he’d decided to say he’d sprained his ankle coming up the gangplank.

It wasn’t until he got back to his cabin that he remembered he still had over eight thousand US dollars of Lee Yong’s money in his back pocket.