Grains of Truth (18 page)

The conflict within him at times was unbearable. The attraction had been instantaneous, and irresistible. Over the weeks, months, and years, it had only grown deeper, making it impossible to imagine life without her. But what could that life be? Taking her as a second wife had seemed the only answer. Reality demolished his dreams as he acknowledged the improbability of that ever coming to pass. He could barely support one wife. How could he even think of taking another?

Oh, of course, Julia had her own financial resources. That fact only brought more guilt. She’d always been wonderful and creative in the generous ways she devised to help him. He smiled, remembering her many kindnesses, not only to him but to his family as well: the gifts at every holiday on the calendar, always including something for Shahida. And then there was Shahida. His taking another wife would break her heart. He struggled endlessly to reach a decision about the future, but remained torn. His conscience made the path clear. Each time he beheld Julia, or even heard her voice, his heart veered violently from that path.

And now this. The torment was compounded a thousand-fold by this outrageous stunt. What in the name of Allah was she doing? What was she thinking? He knew that she knew, and had thought she understood, the very real danger that existed here, ever-present, barely beneath the surface of the superficial tranquility presented to visitors. The threat from the government was bad enough. Stories were commonplace of unwarranted detainment in unspeakable Egyptian prisons and unlawful torture. 

The militants presented another worry altogether. They played by no rules whatsoever. Any atrocity was permissible that furthered their cause of establishing Islamic governments ruled by Islamic law. Egypt’s proximity to Israel and the long, bloody history between the two countries produced a constant state of turbulence and unrest among the Egyptian fundamentalists. They steadfastly supported the Palestinian cause: a cause which most historians and authorities on Middle Eastern politics credited as the deep-rooted source of the global Jihad.

Julia knew all this. They’d discussed it many times. In spite of all that, here she was, somehow involved in it all. And a man was dead.

He approached the barman to ask for an orange juice as the arms dealer and the English woman crossed his path.

“Good evening,” Alexander said pleasantly while Fiona preened at his side. “We were about to have a drink. Won’t you join us?”

Mohamed eyed the American with suspicion. A diversion from his dismal thoughts had some appeal. Besides, he wanted to know more about Alexander Bryant—a whole lot more. “Why not?”

Fiona practically swooned at her good fortune in being the only female in the company of the two most attractive men on the boat. In fact, the two most attractive men she’d ever been with in such close proximity. A sigh of transparent satisfaction escaped her bright red lips as they all sat at a table near the bar.

“Quite an unfortunate incident this afternoon,” said Alexander.

“Incident. Yes,” agreed Mohamed quietly. “We were lucky to have been allowed to leave so quickly.”

“Did anyone learn who the victim was? Or why he was killed?”

Mohamed studied the other man closely as he spoke. “He was a vendor in the suk. The police believe it concerned a feud over the theft of a donkey.”

“Well, I for one am of the opinion that the police had no business detaining us at all,” sniffed Fiona. “After all, what in the world could we possibly have to do with such a tawdry affair involving one of the natives?”

The two men exchanged a wordless look.

“Anyway,” she went on, oblivious to the fact that one of the “natives” sat beside her, as well as to the clear disapproval of her callous remark, “we’re back on schedule now, aren’t we, Mr. Zahar? What time will we be passing through the locks tonight?”

Mohamed suppressed the spark of anger at the thoughtless insult and flashed one of his devastating smiles. “The captain says ten o’clock. Inshallah.”

He knew, of course, that the schedule might change and wasn’t the least surprised when it was, in fact, long past midnight when the Isis slipped through the locks that controlled the flow of the river from Aswan.

~

Julia lingered before the dresser mirror fastening a heavy gold ring in her ear. The unexpected jangle of the telephone next to her bed, louder to her ear than it probably was, made her jump, causing her to drop the earring. It bounced off the dresser onto the carpet and rolled under the bed as the phone continued its strident ring.

“Good evening, Julia,” came the dreaded polite voice. “Were you planning on joining me for dinner?”

It was almost eight-thirty. Dinner started at eight. “Yes, Mohamed. I’m coming. I, ah, I’m running late. Sorry.” Recovering from the shock from reading those sickening words on the heels of the gruesome murder had taken a considerable amount of time. Neither the herbal tea she’d ordered to her cabin nor the long, hot bath had dispelled the turmoil raging inside. One irrevocable conclusion became unmistakably clear: The situation had changed.

It had changed radically from the simple mission with “practically no danger” to one of imminent peril, for both her and Mohamed. He had the right to know what was going on. She, and the instigators of this ill-fated affair, had no right to jeopardize his safety—innocent husband and father—without his knowledge or consent. What they had done to him was wrong. She determined to tell him everything. Everything. Then she would insist that he return straight away to Cairo, the minute they reached Aswan.

~

Upon entering the crowded dining room, Julia felt dismay to see the English twit seated between Mohamed and Alex. The presence of the Langleys almost made up for it. Almost. All three men rose as she approached and Ali, her devoted waiter, appeared out of nowhere to pull back the chair on Mohamed’s right, who looked askance at her attire with a decidedly disapproving eye. He wasn’t the only one who noticed.

A long silk scarf didn’t completely camouflage the knit pants and top clinging provocatively to her curves. In the private company of fellow westerners, Julia saw no need to strictly adhere to the more modest form of dress she assumed in public.

“Please accept my apologies for being late,” she said, forcing a smile. “I had an ugly headache.”

“Apology accepted,” pronounced the officious Ms. MacDonald while she looked Julia up and down. Her beady black eyes glittered with envy, and perhaps a touch of malice, as she added, “Small wonder that you should have a headache after all the unpleasantness this afternoon. Fortunately, I have the constitution of a horse—nerves of absolute steel.” She flipped a hand, as if swatting at a fly, to prove her point. “No, no. No silly vapors for this girl.” She practically preened as she leaned in close to Alexander.

He turned to regard her with utter disbelief. It would seem that her insensitivity knew no bounds. He noted for the first time that her oversized upper teeth presented a subtle equine-like resemblance, to go along with the professed constitution.

At a complete loss for words, Julia stared at the woman as if beholding a kind of rare and unpleasant reptile. Mohamed pressed his leg against hers under the table in camaraderie and smiled at the reptilian rose. “You are most fortunate indeed, Ms. MacDonald. Many people find it difficult and disturbing to witness the death of a fellow human being.”

Henry and Henrietta had remained silent throughout the tense exchange. A slight frown tugged at the corners of his mouth while Henrietta reached across the table to pat Julia’s hand. “Now, I’m sure we’re all sorry for that poor man.” Then she made it clear that the subject was closed. “What’s on your agenda for tomorrow, dear?”

The meal progressed interminably, thankfully with the men doing most of the talking. Henrietta sat quietly, glancing frequently at Julia with evident concern. Not once did Julia look at the face of Alexander Bryant. She ate sparingly, smiled occasionally, and added little to the conversation, clearly disturbed. Once her decision had been made to confess all, she wanted to get on with it.

Mohamed declined, with perhaps more vehemence than necessary, Alexander’s invitation for after-dinner drinks in the lounge. He led Julia determinedly up to the deck. They headed for a secluded corner at the stern where he turned—back to the rail, arms folded across his chest—to face her. She sat on the edge of a lounge chair looking out over the river. An awkward silence hung between them. After several long moments, Julia tore her gaze from the mesmerizing water, looked him squarely in those reproachful eyes and began at the beginning.

“Say something,” she said hoarsely. He’d stood motionless throughout the mind-boggling tale. Julia had to admit, as the incredible story unfolded, it sounded—even to her ears—a far-fetched fiction. 

“If I didn’t know you better, Julia, I would say that you are lying. But I do know you and I know that you never lie. Except,” he added in a deceptively soft voice, “you have been lying to me since you first arrived.”

Her head hung low, unable to meet the hard, well-deserved look of rebuke. “I know, and I’m sorry, Mohamed. I honestly believed that everything would go as planned and no one would get hurt. I know, I know. I was stupid and naïve,” she wailed as he snorted derisively. “They insisted on secrecy and I truly thought it was best for you not to know.”

“Ah, Julia,” he murmured with chilling contempt, “it is reassuring that you honestly and truly believed you knew what was best for me. And yet, after your many protestations of love and respect, you led me unsuspectingly into a situation that could easily result in my imprisonment. Or my death.”

Tears ran freely down her face as the cruel truth of his words bit into her heart. What had she been thinking? She’d been used and manipulated. She’d allowed him to be used and manipulated. How could she have done this to him? And what was she to do now? Because it was crystal-clear that she couldn’t just send on the message and walk away from the horrifying information she’d learned today. She couldn’t send the short, written message over the internet. It wasn’t safe. She really had no choice but to make direct contact with Brad. That might blow her cover. And further expose Mohamed.

After Kom Ombo, the terrorists might have her under surveillance anyway, and so might the Egyptian authorities. Well, she’d already made up her mind about his returning to Cairo. That’s what she would insist he do. He must be far away from Aswan before she took any further action.

“Mohamed,” she said, with as much forcefulness as she could muster, “you may hate me for what I’ve done, but, please believe me: I never meant to cause you any harm. In fact, when I learned that the governments of both our countries knew of our relationship, I thought my agreeing to the assignment would buy their discretion. It was a kind of blackmail—a bargain with the devil. I have never, ever, done anything willingly to cause you problems or pain. And never anything to knowingly put you in danger.”

His resentment evaporated at the sight of her tears. He reached out and grasped both her hands. “I know, Julia, I know. I’m sorry for being so hard on you. Please don’t cry.”

They struggled for a moment, as always pulsating with frustration that he couldn’t take her in his arms. When she managed to stem the flow of tears, she squeezed his hands once before removing hers to wipe her eyes with trembling fingers. After inhaling deeply, she said in what she hoped was a decisive voice, “Tomorrow morning, as soon as possible, you must leave the boat and fly back to Cairo. Act as if you’ve been called home on an emergency. Then you’ll be out of it. Safe.” 

He looked at her steadily before replying. “That won’t work, Julia, for several reasons. First, my leaving so abruptly after the murder would look suspicious to the police. Second, I would have to include Shahida in the fabricated emergency, which would make her suspicious. And last, but far from least, I could not think to leave you, knowing that you may be exposed to danger. And defenseless.”

He was right, of course. She hadn’t thought that far. Her only thought was to extricate him from this mess.

“What do you plan to do next?” he asked, with narrowed eyes and mouth molded in a frown.

She gave herself a mental shake, shifting gears from the issue of safety. “I’ll go as soon as possible tomorrow to send the first coded message. At the same time, I’ll send an email with a request to call my contact.” Galvanized by the thought of action, she came to her feet and stepped up to the rail. “It’s the only way I know to convey the second message. Once I’ve done that, my job is finished. Then I stick to the ridiculous itinerary and fly back to San Francisco.” As she spoke, she cautiously pulled the mutilated flash drive from her satin cocktail bag and let it slip into the murky depths of the river.

She found his wordless, sidelong glance unnerving, for once unable to even guess at his thoughts. Julia knew well that his sympathies lay with the Palestinians, along with those of most Egyptians. It made her uneasy to think there might be the slightest, most remote chance that his personal views on the subject might influence his actions in this appalling situation. Not that his feelings on the matter would alter his position on—or opposition to—violence as the answer to the problem.

She was sure of that. Wasn’t she?

“What about Bryant?” he asked, catching her off guard. “From what you have said, he’s involved in all this. It sounds as though he may be on the wrong side of it.” He looked thoughtful. “And he was at the scene of the murder in Kom Ombo when we arrived.”