Invasion (8 page)

The next day, the palace guests took a coach to the coast, visiting a desalination plant and a local farm that had been built using reclaimed land and operated on advanced irrigation technology. All very impressive, admitted Cooper, but he was utterly bored. At midday, as the temperature climbed to the low forties, they were thankfully whisked back to the comforts of the palace, where they enjoyed an exquisitely prepared lunch. The afternoon itinerary was
flexible and some of the more active guests played tennis or swam. Cooper decided on a walk through the gardens.

He was deep into the oasis, where the sunlight was filtered by the huge palm fronds above, when he saw her again. From the corner of his eye he caught a movement, a vivid splash of colour, and there she was, crouched in a small clearing, picking flowers and placing them in a basket. For a moment Cooper hesitated, a sudden dart of uncertainty tempering his excitement, the setting suspiciously contrived. Then she turned, her face lighting up with a broad smile. Cooper’s heart galloped away from his intuition.

‘Hello again.’

The girl nodded, her smile radiant. ‘Sir.’

‘My name’s Geoffrey. Geoffrey Cooper.’

‘I know who you are,’ the woman smiled. ‘I’m Aleema.’

Cooper was totally captivated. He spent the rest of the afternoon with the girl, describing the paths their lives had taken and what had brought them both here to Sharm El Sheikh. He learned that she was twenty-seven years old and had worked at the palace for a year, that she’d studied English at school and secretly listened to western radio stations, a practice that she made Cooper promise never to reveal.

She also knew that Geoffrey Cooper was an intelligent and powerful man. She’d
seen him many times on the news networks and realised
he was
an important figure in his country. He was also very handsome. She enjoyed the company of older men, she admitted, more so than men of her own age. They were just so childish. Boys, really. When the time came for them to part, her fingers brushed lightly along his arm. It was the most delicate of touches, yet Cooper felt the electricity almost crackle between them and, from that second, he was lost. No, more than that. For the first time in his life, Geoffrey Cooper had fallen deeply in love.

At dinner that night, as the object of his desire flitted between the other guests, Cooper cursed the ambition that left him, after two messy divorces, without a wife. When Aleema palmed him the note during dessert his heart raced. The horses were supplied by a friend at the stables and Aleema led Cooper out into the desert, far from the watchful eyes of the palace.

She was an expert rider and she guided them to a distant ridgeline out in the wilderness, where they built a fire and enjoyed hot sweet tea under the black dome of the night sky. They held hands and Aleema kissed him with a passion he’d forgotten existed. She too felt the same love, she explained breathlessly. She gave herself to him that night and afterwards he held her tightly under a blanket, gazing at the stars in the sky. If there was a heaven, Cooper decided, this was it.

Packing his suitcase the next morning, Cooper felt almost physical pain as
Cairo beckoned. Aleema was nowhere to be found and he didn’t dare look for
her. He thanked his hosts for their gracious hospitality and waved goodbye, a smile frozen on his face, but inside his heart was breaking. His eyes roamed the balconies of the palace, the ornate gardens, the sun-dappled
clearings amongst the palms, but Aleema was nowhere to be seen. They eventually reached the landing tower and, with a heavy heart, Cooper boarded the waiting helicopter. Twelve hours later he was back in London, utterly dejected.

As the weeks went by, his mood only worsened. He felt totally depressed and threw himself into his work to escape the memories of Aleema that invaded his consciousness. So, four months later, when the Foreign Secretary died of sudden heart failure and Cooper was subsequently
promoted to replace him, he was simply overjoyed. It was a sign, he decided; fate had brought them together once and now it would keep them together.

His immediate priority on taking office was to renew his friendship with Arabia, albeit in a more senior capacity. A diplomatic trip was planned, destination Cairo, and it wasn’t long before a trip to the palace at Sharm El Sheikh materialised. Cooper could barely contain himself and that very afternoon he found himself, once again, circling the helipad above the oasis. At dinner there was no sign of Aleema, and his heart ached at the thought that she may have moved on to pastures new. Maybe tomorrow he would make a discreet inquiry. If he dared.

After dinner, Cooper bid his hosts goodnight and retired early. He got undressed and slipped between the cool sheets of his emperor-sized bed. Sleep evaded him as he lay there, listening to the night breezes that hissed through the palms beneath his private balcony.

It was just after midnight when he heard the quiet tapping. He slipped on a robe and opened the door, his heart nearly bursting from his chest. Aleema put her finger to her lips, pushing past him into the room. Cooper quickly closed the door and swept her into his arms. They embraced silently for a long time and then, without a word, Aleema led him to the bed. For Geoffrey Cooper, it was the night of his life. For a young girl, she displayed a surprising wealth of expertise between the sheets and Cooper made a mental note to get back into the gym. As the sky in the east slowly paled and the first rays of the sun streaked across the horizon, they both succumbed to a deep sleep. He awoke a couple of hours later to find her gone. On the pillow was a handwritten note:
Meet me in the oasis at noon. By the waterfall. Love, A.

Thankfully, the mid-morning meeting he was due to attend in the conference centre had been cancelled. As casually
as he could manage in the blistering midday heat, Cooper wandered across the gardens and followed the paths to the waterfall. He reached a clearing amongst massive, slate-coloured
rocks where a crystal-clear stream cascaded twenty feet into a deep pool below. It was a magical setting. Aleema appeared from the
tree line
and they kissed passionately. Suddenly she pulled away, the tears running down her cheeks.

‘What’s the matter, my love?’

‘I have a confession,’ Aleema admitted, staring at the ground. Cooper’s heart skipped a beat. ‘What? What is it?’

‘I’m not who you think I am. I’m not a waitress. I work for the Foreign Ministry and I’m here because of my language
skills. My job is to listen to the conversations of our foreign guests, to gather information and report back to my superiors.’

‘A spy?’ Cooper whispered. His face slowly drained of colour and he sat down heavily on a flat rock.

‘No, not really,’ Aleema protested. ‘It’s just small things. You
know, opinions, ideas, enough to give the Ministry an insight, something that might give them an advantage in negotiations. Every country does it.’

Cooper’s political instincts screamed at him to walk away, to leave this desert paradise and never return. But his emotions held him prisoner,
as if he were chained to the
very
rock he sat on.

‘So I was your target?’

Aleema shook her head, the delicate black ringlets whipping across her face.

‘No, Geoffrey. You remember the Spaniard? On your first trip?’

Cooper vaguely recalled the man, the debate with the Turk about immigration.
‘Sort of.’

‘He was my assignment.’

Cooper’s eyes flashed. ‘You slept with him?’

Aleema’s face darkened. ‘Is that what you think, Geoffrey? That I’m a whore?’ She turned away from him and Cooper went after her, spinning her around.

‘
Wait,
Aleema! For God’s sake, I don’t know what to think!’

She took his hands in hers and squeezed them gently, her deep brown eyes searching his. ‘I’m in love with you, Geoffrey. Don’t you realise that?’

Cooper thought he was going to faint. Was it possible? Could a girl like
Aleema seriously want to be with someone like him?
‘How do I know you’re telling the truth? That I’m not a target?’ He could tell his words were like knives, stabbing at her heart. The tears rolled down her cheeks and her hands trembled in his. No, that level of emotion couldn’t be faked, not even by an Oscar-winner. ‘I’m sorry,’ he blurted. ‘I take that back. It’s just so confusing, so much to-’

‘I want to go to London,’ Aleema declared, the words tumbling from her lips. Cooper looked at her uncomprehendingly. ‘That’s right, London,’ she repeated.
‘That’s where I really learned
English, as a teenager. I fell in love with the city, with the people. But most importantly I fell in love with the freedom.’ She guided Cooper back to the flat rock and sat down, snaking her arm in his. ‘Do you know what it’s like to be a woman in Arabia, Geoffrey? To be told when
you can and cannot speak, to be unable to drive a car, to walk behind men in the street, to never feel the sun on your skin outside of this palace?’

Cooper nodded silently. As a diplomat, he’d trained himself to ignore the shackles of Sharia under which Arabian women lived, the surreal streets of Cairo where every woman was draped head to toe in black, the frequent looks of despair behind the veils that kept them prisoner.

‘I’m supposed to be married now,’ Aleema continued.

Cooper’s head snapped up. ‘Married?’

‘Twice. And twice I’ve faked a barren womb, so the man my father had chosen for me would find another. I don’t want to live like that, Geoffrey. I want a man to love me for who I am, not to be traded like a goat at the market. I want to be free, with you. In London.’

Cooper’s stomach churned with excitement at the thought, his mind ra
cing ahead. He’d have to resign
of course
, b
ut he’d find something else, something lucrative in the private sector. That was the way in government, a considerable civil service pension pot, topped-up handsomely by a six-figure salary in consulting. Easy money. And Aleema, she’d be with him every step of the way, living together in Wimbledon, holidaying in the south of France, her nubile body soaking up the warm rays of a Mediterranean sun…

‘How?’ he blurted. ‘
How c
an you travel? To London, I mean? Once you get there I can process your asylum application, get the ball rolling. I know a decent lawyer.’

Aleema sighed and shook her head. ‘It’s not as simple
as that. I can get to
Cairo, but my job forbids foreign travel.’

‘Then how do we do this?’

Aleema stared at the ground. ‘There is a way, but it is one you will certainly disapprove of.’

‘Go on,’ Cooper urged.

‘There’s a man in London. His name is Ali. He works at your passport office.’

Cooper couldn’t help himself. ‘Who is he? An ex-lover?’

Aleema chuckled, gently stroking Cooper’s
chubby face. ‘No, my love. A second cousin, on my mother’s side. If you approve, then he will deliver a passport to you, in my name. The next time you visit us, here at the palace, you will give it to me. I will then travel to Cairo and board a plane for London, using my new identity. It’s the only way.’

Cooper thought about the proposition. What she was asking wasn’t that much, merely smuggling a passport in a diplomatic bag. Better still, Cooper would carry it on his person. But the passport was faked, a crime in itself. No, when Aleema got to London they’d destroy it once she was through customs, do things the right way. The main thing was getting her onto British soil.
‘What about an entry stamp, into Arabia? They’ll check at Cairo.’

‘Ali will take care of that.’

‘Resourceful chap, this Ali.’

‘You must get together. How about your private office in Whitehall?’
Aleema suggested. ‘Can you meet him there?’

‘Of course,’ scoffed Cooper. ‘No-one questions my authority there. In fact, the office is probably the best place to meet. People coming and going all day. I’ll keep it informal, get Charlotte to put him in my diary. All very low key.’

‘Really?’ gushed Aleema. ‘Does that mean you’ll-’

Cooper lunged forward, planting his wet lips on hers. ‘I’ll do it. As long as we’re together.’

‘Oh, Geoffrey,’ sighed Aleema, returning the kiss. ‘My God, my heart is beating so fast. Here, feel.’ She brought his hand to her breast and Cooper felt the firm flesh beneath the thin material of her sari. ‘Together, in London,’ she exhaled happily. ‘It’s like a dream.’ Then the smile slipped from her face, unease clouding her eyes. She took his hands in hers and gripped them tightly. ‘My future, my whole life, rests in these hands. Without you I am lost.’

Cooper looked into those brown liquid pools and his head swam. ‘I won’t let you down, Aleema. Ever,’ he breathed.

Cooper met Ali three weeks later, at an informal reception inside the Foreign Office building in Whitehall. He was a slim, bearded Asian in his early thirties, good-looking in a well-cut navy suit. Cooper was instantly jealous. They
shook hands. Ali’s grip was firm, his voice low in Cooper’s ear.

‘Foreign Secretary. Your friend in Sharm El Sheikh sends her fondest regards.’ Cooper could have cried out with joy. Instead, his face remained a mask of formality. ‘Good to know,’ he muttered. ‘No problems with security, I trust? You
gave them the right name?’