Kill Them Wherever You Find Them (44 page)

With resignation, Jeff unloaded his burden on
the bed that creaked under the weight of the luggage, more loudly
protesting as he settled in to rest and organize his thoughts. The
bedspread and pillow case had a nice smell, as if they were washed
and then allowed to dry outside, in open air. Dank and moldy, at
least his new accommodations were clean. In Brazil he'd lived in
far worse. He concluded it best to man up, stop mentally whining
about the room. He only had to sleep there for a few days, not live
there the rest of his life.

Eyes awake! How long did he sleep? The
mid-afternoon sun had already relinquished to the dark of night,
how long ago he had no idea. Jeff bathed - there were no showers
after all, just stand-alone bathtubs with claw-like "feet," then
put on a fresh change of clothes. It felt good to be freshly
scrubbed after such a long trip. Next priority was to get some
food, thinking on an empty stomach never served him well in the
past. On the taxi drive here he saw, near the hotel, several
restaurants and street cafés.

Descending the flight of stairs, Jeff was
going to ask the man at the desk for suggestions to where to eat,
find a map of the city, along with other needful things he would
require during his stay. Seeing the surly look on his face, he felt
it best to strike out on his own, allowing the chips of fortune to
fall where they may.

~ ~ ~

"Will that be all?"

"Yes, thank you, it was delicious."

Waiting for the bill to arrive, Jeff was
grateful to have found this eatery. Preparing for this mission in
the facility, he researched Egyptian culture and mannerisms of the
1930s. Where food was concerned, Ful Medames was a staple food,
believed to have gone back to the time of the Pharaohs. Little
wonder it stood the test of time, coming out the victor. It and the
Egyptian bread bun in which it was served was, simply put,
delicious.

As with all other missions, Jeff set himself
to getting to know every meter of his new surroundings, starting
with his hotel, walking concentric circles in an ever-widening
pattern. He made meticulous mental notes regarding local civilian
and police foot and vehicle traffic patterns and schedules.

His target family was just a few kilometers
away. He considered relocating to a hotel nearer to where they
lived, but decided against it. Some distance may be of value,
besides which a pharmaceutical salesman would naturally stay closer
to the center of the city where the bulk of health clinics and
hospitals were to be found.

The second day in Cairo Jeff carried his
satchel and a handful of calling cards, dressing himself the part
of a salesman. To his enduring surprise, he again found himself a
natural at sales. If he had it to do all over again, who knows but
maybe that might just be the career route he would take? To his
amazement he enjoyed the work. As a real career there would be the
pressure of actually having to make genuine sales. Additionally, in
his time, sales were a lot tougher due to the scammers and so many
poor quality products that had the tendency to give salesmen a
collective black eye. He inwardly cringed when an order was placed
through him, so trusting and open customers of this era were. He
went to a pharmacy on the other side of town, purchased a similar
medicine and delivered it to this new "customer," a process he
would repeat several times during this brief career.

Jeff scheduled his sales route to take him by
late afternoon to the district where Abd's grandmother lived. Not
poor, not particularly well off either, there was no way to
introduce himself to the family in a natural, unscripted way. The
vast majority of Egyptians in this era, as well as his own time,
were a kind, good-hearted and generous people. He would have to use
this to his advantage.

Surveillance of her neighborhood revealed
good areas as well as dodgy, the latter being an area proper people
avoided, especially at night. Watching drunks stumble out the door
of what appeared to be an illicit tavern - not so much because laws
prohibiting alcohol were enforced as much as due to the shady
character of the building and its patrons - an inspiration was
formed as perfectly and quickly as a flash of lightning.

Previously identifying and confirming the
small home where the target family lived, the next evening Jeff
went to a tavern across the one lane, dirt road, paying a willing
accomplice a great deal of cash to land a few good punches to his
face.

Exiting the abandoned lot where the assault
occurred, right eye swollen, nose bloodied, disheveled, soiled and
ripped shirt, he stumbled to the residence and knocked on the
door.

It opened a crack at first, expelling a
slender beam of light, then wider as a man stared, mouth agape, in
bewildered shock. Fully opening the door, he hastily gestured Jeff
inside, calling to his wife for assistance. Jeff feigned dropping
to his knees, muttering the word "help" in English.

After a bit of a struggle to help him to his
feet, his body mostly dead weight, the husband and wife team laid
him on the small divan in a room that appeared to serve as
combination dining room, family room, and tucked-in-a-corner
nursery for an infant wailing in a crib.

"What happen?" The husband spoke in
heavily-accented, poor English, assuming that to be the language of
their visitor.

"Attack, thief, take." Jeff pointed to his
satchel of broken vials and his face, hoping that at least one of
the three words would be understood, within the context of his
appearance.

Conversing in rapid Arabic, the man and woman
seemed to disagree over something, of what he had no idea. Soon,
though, she left his side to return with a wet cloth and a bottle
of some kind of strong-smelling astringent that she applied to his
wounds. The paid assailant did an excellent job, the cuts and
bruises hurt like the devil.

The man's wife, it turned out, spoke less
English than he, resorting to a form of sign language to
communicate. Frustrated at the lack of progress, her husband called
out to an unknown presence, who then entered the room quiet as a
mouse, so shy as to veritably shrink into the corner.

"Father wants to know why, you, here." By
this point, his right eye had nearly swollen shut. Peering at her
from the good left eye, she appeared to have a striking likeness to
the few photos that still existed in his time, but she also had a
sister who looked very much like her.

"Please tell your mother and father thank you
and my name is Jeff."

A quick exchange with her father, then
mother, the girl's attention returned to him.

"Your hurts, they pain you very much?" For as
young as she was, speaking in very broken English, Jeff was
nonetheless impressed with her ability to communicate ideas. He was
as impressed with the level of education here as he was in the much
wealthier Tehran.

"Yes, there is pain. In my bag" pointing to
the satchel, "medicine for pain. Give to me, please?" With some
hesitation, the girl approached the bag, giving it to her mother as
she whispered something in Arabic.

"Aspirin?" The mother held up a cracked
bottle that nonetheless managed to stay sufficiently cohesive as to
maintain its contents intact.

"Aiwa, shookran." Jeff's use of Egyptian
Arabic for "yes, thank you" gave the little girl the giggles -
suppressed by a stern look from her mother. Her father, obviously
on her side, gave her a wink and small grin himself before turning
his attention back to his ward as he spoke.

"Father say you welcome." Now Jeff smiled,
first to the father, then to the mother.

"What are your names?" The girl looked
hesitantly to her father. Another nod from him assured her that she
could speak openly with this stranger.

"Father he Karim, mother she Dina, I me
Hala."

She's the one, confirmed by sight and
name.

"Thank you, Hala. Please tell your mother and
father I am grateful for their help." Jeff tried to keep his
sentences as basic as was possible, while still communicating what
was needed.

A discussion between Karim and Dina went on
for a minute or two. Finally, Dina instructed the girl to translate
as best she could.

"You can walk?"

Jeff knew full well he was able to walk,
dance for that matter. It was critical to spend more time here,
build trust, as he figured out his next move in this unfolding play
in which he was a main actor - one who had to figure out how to
exit the stage with grace as the curtains came down.

Pretending an attempt to stand up, he allowed
himself to tumble back down. Rapid chatter and then . . .

"You be here tonight. Father and mother
help."

"Thank you very much." Gesturing as he spoke
in a way that would be universally understood, Jeff again rested
his head back and closed his eyes very briefly. Inwardly he was all
smiles, outwardly he slightly groaned for good measure.

Sent back to her room, Jeff was again alone
with her parents. It turned out Dina's English was better than
first indicated. She and Karim took seats in the small room and
watched him as their surprise visitor rested before asking for
water.

Accepting water from Dina, he thanked her,
drawing small sips through cracked lips. Finally, looking at his
hosts, Jeff drew money from a front pocket in his pants, offering
the large roll of cash to them. Eyes wide with surprise, both
hurriedly shook their heads "no," then once again talked.

"Rude of us, you not understand Arabic?"

"No, only a few words."

"Okay. You American?"

"Yes, I am."

"Love America. Love American people. Love
Coca Cola!"

Jeff was grateful to be in an Egypt where
America was still viewed positively. How different things were in
his time. Individual Americans were generally well liked, while
American policy in the Middle East was not.

He knew American foreign policy wasn't always
exempt from blame. Each time American policy, sometimes with force,
was put into play to manipulate the toppling of an anti-American
regime it had a tendency to backfire. The Shaw of Iran was a prime,
though not isolated, example.

He understood the reasoning behind it most of
the time but also wondered if his country would ever learn from
past mistakes. That was very unlikely. Each new Presidential
administration wanted to make its own mark in history. Supreme in
the desire to make a name for themselves, each administration since
the 1940s wanted to be the administration that finally negotiated a
peace between Israel and her neighbors. Negotiations usually being
political brute force, never ending with the desired outcome. Four
to eight years later, new president, with new ambitions.

Standing up, Dina turned out the lights and
left the room, "Sala'am Mr. Jeff." Her husband stayed in his seat
the entire night. Not surprising, Jeff would have done the same had
the situation been reversed.

By morning, his face was more visibly swollen
and bruised, giving him a pathetic look which he worked to his
advantage. Daylight seemed to have the ability to lull people into
a false sense of security, under circumstances which would have
kept them cautious during darker hours of the night.

"You worse!" Dina finished preparing
breakfast, entered the room to give a plate to the men.

"Look bad but not very bad." He decided
courage would win their hearts and minds far better than whining.
These were people who had, after all, seen truly difficult times
and might view Americans as soft. An image, true or false, that he
didn't want to perpetuate.

Clicking her tongue against the roof of her
mouth while shaking her head in sympathy, Dina left the room.

"Why you in Egypt?" Karim asked, after giving
Jeff some time to enjoy a few bites of Ful Medames. Eating this, a
second meal in a row, he realized he must have ordered from a
breakfast section of the menu the previous night. No matter, it was
delicious at any time. He also realized that this would have been
made as a treat, not a typical breakfast. His hosts were honoring
him.

"Sales. I sell medicines." Pointing to his
satchel of mostly broken vials and bottles, then pulling out money
from his pocket and acting as if he was giving it to himself, in
place of the aspirin, Karim understood.

"You here many days?"

Jeff didn't know if Karim meant to ask if he
had already been in Egypt for a while, or was yet to spend many
days in his country.

"Yes, many. Twenty days perhaps."

"Where you stay?" With his broken accent,
Jeff told Karim the name of the hotel.

"Bad place. Not good there."

"Yes, I know." Both men smiled, then looked
down at their food during an awkward pause. With a significant
language barrier, there's just so much conversation in which one
can engage before the effort is too laborious to sustain.

"Jeef!" Hala nearly ran into the room, the
shy and cautious posture of the night just passed dissipated with
the youthful promises that are gifted by the morning sun.

"Sabah el-khair Hala!"

Hala again giggled at this funny American,
surprised that he was able to say "good morning" to her in her own
language, yet able to say almost nothing else in Arabic. Without
the disapproving look of her mom in the room her giggling continued
unabated as she sat in a nearby chair to simply look at him.

Having stared down the rifle of the enemy
before, Jeff was accustomed to tense moments. Having this young
girl hold his gaze with hers was every bit as difficult, knowing as
he did that much of the direction of her future rested in his
hands.

"I take you to your hotel. We take your
clothes and . . ." hesitant look, Karim spoke to Hala who then
translated, "we come here, to our house."

"No! Thank you, no. I can't!"