Pharaoh

by Valerio Massimo Manfredi

  The Jeep had been moving inland for about half an hour when they reached a hilly area. Once they were down on level land again, the Jeep stopped and the soldier opened the door and made to get out. Before he could, Blake leaned forward and thrust the scalpel straight into his liver. With his other hand, he snatched the pistol out of the limp and profusely bleeding man’s holster, firing it at the officer at the wheel and then again at his first victim – the man had tumbled out of the car and was now writhing in the blood-soaked sand – putting an end to his misery.

  The whole episode took only a few seconds. Sarah could hardly believe her eyes as she stared at him, reeling back against the seat, still gripping the bloody scalpel in his left hand and the smoking revolver in his right.

  ‘Jesus, Blake, I’d have never thought that you—’

  ‘Me neither,’ he admitted, cutting her off.

  He dropped his weapons and bent over to throw up what little he had in his stomach. When the violent spasms of gagging had ceased, he stood up, grey in the face, and cleaned his mouth as best he could with a tissue. Then, still woozy and teetering a bit, he stumbled to the back of the Jeep and pulled out a shovel.

  ‘We’ve got to bury them,’ he said, starting to dig.

  When the hole was ready, they stripped off the dead soldiers’ uniforms and threw the bodies into the hole, quickly covering them with sand. Blake threw away the soldier’s blood-soaked shirt, but put on his jacket, trousers, hat and boots. Sarah did likewise, making allowances as best she could for the fact that the officer’s clothing was much too big for her.

  ‘I assume you know that if Egypt happens to be in a state of war, this could land us in front of a firing squad,’ said Sarah as she donned her new garb.

  Blake glanced over at the grave. ‘That’s a shooting offence too, but since they can’t shoot us twice, we might as well take a chance and give it a try. We certainly can’t go around in a military vehicle dressed in civvies. And without a car, we won’t get anywhere. We’ll figure out what to do when we get close to a town.’

  He cleaned off his scalpel with a Kleenex, making it shine. ‘It’s English,’ he said, putting its cap back on and sticking it into his jacket pocket next to the pen. ‘The best they make.’

  They walked up to the Jeep and began rummaging through it. Finally they found a military map of the Sinai.

  ‘Great,’ said Blake, ‘with this we can stay off the beaten path. I recommend heading towards Ismailia rather than Cairo. It will be a lot easier to pass unnoticed that way. I think there should be enough gas.’

  ‘Wait, look what else I’ve found,’ said Sarah. She held up a plastic envelope that had been in one of the inside pockets of the jacket she was wearing. It contained two pieces of paper with Arabic writing, along with their photographs.

  Blake read them. ‘They say we are spies for Mossad who have been sent to prepare the way for the Israeli occupation of the Sinai.’

  ‘That’s absurd. Someone’s playing a dirty trick on me for some fucking reason or another, but they don’t know who they’re dealing with. If I get out of this mess, someone is going to really be sorry.’

  He started the engine and took off, but within a few minutes the radio began chattering hoarsely in Arabic. ‘Abu Sharif calling Lion of the Desert, come in, over.’

  Blake and Sarah looked at each other in bewildered dismay as the radio repeated its summons. Blake took the microphone. ‘Lion of the Desert to Abu Sharif, we read you.’

  There was a moment of hesitation at the other end, then the voice said, ‘Any news, Lion of the Desert?’

  ‘The lion has seized his prey. The gazelle and ibex are in his clutches. Mission accomplished. Over.’

  ‘Very good, Lion of the Desert. Return to base. Over and out.’

  Blake let out a deep sigh of relief. ‘Thank goodness this radio has a lousy filter and there’s a lot of static. I don’t think they realized that it was my voice and not the officer’s.’

  ‘But where did you learn Arabic that way, with that florid style and all?’

  ‘I’ve spent more time in Egypt than Chicago.’

  ‘Is that why your wife left you?’ asked Sarah.

  ‘Maybe. Or perhaps there was someone else. I never wanted to admit it, but basically, why not?’

  ‘Because you don’t deserve it,’ said Sarah. ‘You are an extraordinary man.’

  ‘Mild-mannered Clark Kent turns into Superman. Don’t get carried away by your imagination. It’s just a question of environment. Once I go back to Chicago, if we get out of this mess, I’ll revert to Clark Kent, or worse.’

  He rummaged instinctively through his pockets. ‘I wonder if this bastard smoked.’ He found a packet of Egyptian cigarettes and a Zippo lighter. ‘He smoked real crap, but better than nothing,’ he said, lighting up.

  They drove for several hours without running into anything other than a few military trucks, which greeted them with their horns. Late that afternoon, they finally reached the port of Ismailia. Looking for a place to conceal the vehicle, Blake parked it behind a low rise in the ground. He removed the licence plates and buried them, then they both changed back into their own clothing and began walking towards town.

  The place was abuzz with a strange excitement. Howling sirens could be heard in the distance and steely flashes of blue light could be seen streaking across the warm crimson hues of the sunset.

  ‘I’ve got a little Egyptian money,’ said Blake, ‘from the last time I was here. I brought it with me the night I left Chicago because I actually thought I would be coming to Egypt. We can take a taxi and look for a hotel.’

  ‘Damn, that’s tempting, but I think a bus would be better,’ Sarah cautioned.

  They bought the tickets and some bread rings topped with sesame seeds at a kiosk and proceeded to wait in the shade of the covered bus stop. The peaceful setting was interrupted when a squadron of low-flying fighter jets heading east roared overhead, creating such a din that the surrounding buildings looked like they might almost shake loose from their very foundations.

  A column of Jeeps full of soldiers appeared from a side road, followed by a line of armoured personnel carriers.

  ‘What the hell’s going on here?’ Sarah wondered out loud.

  ‘Nothing good, I’m afraid. There are soldiers and armoured vehicles everywhere. There’s been either a rebellion or a coup. We’ll know as soon as I can get my hands on a newspaper.’

  They got onto a bus which made its way down the city streets, but when they noticed that there were all sorts of roadblocks and check points, they decided to get off at the first stop and sneak into the bazaar district, where it would be easier to become lost in the crowd.

  They got to the area around the mosque as the sky started to darken above the roofs in the old part of town and the chant of the muezzin began drowning out all the other sounds of the city. For a second it seemed that even the whine of the sirens and the thundering of the tanks subsided to allow the people to hear the call to prayer.

  Blake stopped as well to listen to the mournful chant fluttering through the hazy, dense evening air. He was overcome by sadness at the thought that there had never been a God up in the heavens to listen, not the God of Israel, not Allah, not even the Christian God.

  Once again they set out walking through the narrow winding streets of the centre of the old town, looking for a cheap place to stay.

  ‘We don’t have much time,’ Blake said. ‘By now they will have noticed that the Lion of the Desert hasn’t returned to his den and will probably realize he has been put out of commission. They will start searching everywhere. If we go to a regular hotel, we’ll be found immediately.’

  They found a room in a small boarding house in the neighbourhood behind the mosque and arranged to stay for two nights.

  The bathroom was in the hall and had a squat toilet. The stench of urine was so strong that their eyes watered, but there was an accommodating tap just high enough for washing one’s private parts.
The shower, located in a separate stall, was encrusted with soap as ancient as Egypt itself and the filthy walls were smeared with foul mildew.

  Sarah decided to wash using a plastic basin in the room, bird-bath style with a sponge and soap. Blake, for his part, turned on the radio to try to hear some news. All the stations were playing religious music, so he stretched out on the bed to rest and watch Sarah, who was lost in her arduous ablutions. Shortly, the music faded out, to be replaced by a man’s voice. It was then announced that the President had recognized the new government which had instituted Islamic law and rejected the peace treaty with Israel.

  ‘Jesus,’ Blake exclaimed when he’d heard the entire broadcast, ‘there’s been a coup and Egypt has gone to war. That means Israel is completely surrounded. Even Lebanon and Libya have declared war, and the Algerian government could fall at any time now. Why doesn’t our government do something about it? What the hell’s going on? Something really terrible must have happened while we were locked up at Ras Udash, Sarah, something that evidently triggered this whole bloody mess.’

  Sarah began to towel her hair dry. ‘What a disaster. And it doesn’t help our situation one bit, either. Being wanted as spies for Mossad in the middle of a war means our goose is cooked if they catch us. We seem to have got ourselves into a much worse situation than the one we just got out of!’

  ‘Our only hope is to somehow reach the American embassy. We have to get in touch with them to find out what we should do.’

  ‘OK. I’ll handle this one. I know someone important who works there. Just give me two more minutes so I can get dressed.’

  ‘All right,’ said Blake. ‘In the meantime, I’ll make a phone call myself. I know someone who can arrange for a hiding place and some help here in Egypt in case we have problems getting to the embassy. It’s my assistant, Selim.’

  He went out into the hall, where there was an old-fashioned wall telephone, equipped with a meter and connected to the outside world by means of a plug, and dialled Selim’s number. The phone rang for a long time, but no one answered in the Chicago apartment. Blake had no choice but to impose upon another friend; he dialled Husseini’s number and let it ring.

  Husseini answered almost immediately. ‘Hello,’ he said.

  ‘Omar, this is William Blake.’

  ‘My God, where are you? I’ve tried everything to get in touch with you. Why are you not responding to emails any more?’

  ‘My computer was bombed! I’m in Egypt, in the middle of a damned war. Listen, I desperately need to get in touch with Selim, my assistant. Do you know where he is? Can you help me set up a phone call?’

  ‘Selim’s in Egypt himself, at El Qurna. The papyrus is still there.’

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding! I can’t believe it—’

  ‘Believe me, it’s true,’ Husseini insisted. ‘Selim is trying to buy it.’

  ‘And what’s he using for money?’

  ‘Don’t ask me. That’s something you’ll have to ask him yourself. If everything has gone according to schedule, he should already have made contact. Try to get him at this number.’ Blake jotted it down on the palm of his hand. ‘Just before midnight, Egyptian time.’

  At that moment one of the other guests came out of his room right across from where Blake was standing, so he stopped talking in order not to be overheard. When the man had disappeared down the stairs, he tried to resume his conversation, but he had been disconnected. He redialled the number but got a busy signal, and continued to get a busy signal every time he tried.

  He wrote Selim’s number onto a piece of paper and went back to his room. Sarah had got dressed and was going through her backpack.

  ‘Did you get hold of the person you were looking for?’ she asked.

  ‘No, but I’ve got his number here in Egypt. I’ll try again later. If you want to use the phone, go ahead. There’s no one around just now.’

  Sarah continued rummaging through her backpack. ‘I’ve got something better in here, if it still works.’

  ‘But they searched you at the border.’

  ‘That’s right . . . but not here,’ said Sarah, pulling out a package of sanitary napkins.

  She opened one and pulled out a tiny bivalved electronic jewel: on the right half was a cellular telephone and on the left, a computer. She turned it on and the tiny monitor lit up with a green glow.

  ‘Hooray, it works!’ exclaimed Sarah, before typing in her access number and holding the phone up to her ear.

  ‘American embassy,’ a man’s voice said. ‘Public Affairs.’

  ‘My name is Forrestall. I’m here in Egypt with another person. We are in great danger and desperately need to reach the embassy. What should we do?’

  ‘Where are you?’ answered the voice after a moment’s hesitation.

  ‘In a boarding house in Ismailia, number 23, Shara al Idrisi, second floor, second door left.’

  ‘Stay where you are. I’ll send someone to pick you up. We’ll use some of our Egyptian collaborators, but it may take some time.’

  ‘Please hurry, for the love of God,’ said Sarah.

  ‘Just take it easy,’ the voice answered reassuringly. ‘We’ll do everything we can.’

  ‘Well?’ asked Blake.

  ‘They said to stay put. They’ll send someone here to get us.’

  ‘It’s better that way. Listen, I’m going down to the bazaar to buy some Arab clothes. It’s best not to attract any attention. I don’t think there are many Westerners around here after what’s happened. I’ll get something to eat, too. I saw someone selling doner kebabs on the corner. Is that all right with you?’

  ‘I hate mutton. If you can find some fish that would be better, but if that’s all there is, I’ll eat anything. I’m absolutely starved.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can find,’ answered Blake as he left.

  Sarah went back inside and checked her watch. It was nine. Outside the streets were almost completely empty. In the distance you could hear highly agitated voices speaking on loudspeakers. She figured that they were probably preparing for some sort of demonstration in the square and that this might work to their benefit.

  She tried to imagine how Blake was progressing with his errands, worrying a little that he might have got lost in the bazaar. Naturally, the rescue operation would take a while. The embassy would have to notify agents who perhaps lived outside the city, who would probably have a tough time getting around what with the tangle of military vehicles blocking the streets. No use expecting anyone before midnight, or maybe even later.

  As time went by, she began to wonder what had happened to Blake. How much time did someone need to buy a few clothes and a couple of kebabs? She moved the curtains aside a little so she could look down into the street. All she could see was a man selling pistachios and oranges standing on the corner of the half-deserted block.

  Ten o’clock arrived and Sarah called her contact again.

  ‘The operation is under way,’ the same voice answered, ‘but it will take some time. You two just stay put, though. They’ll come and get you.’

  Eleven o’clock rolled around and by this time Sarah was sure that something terrible must have happened to her companion. Perhaps they had arrested him and taken him to the police station for interrogation. Maybe they had recognized him and made the connection with the disappearance of a soldier and an officer of the Egyptian army in the Sinai desert.

  She imagined how they might be interrogating him, torturing him, perhaps, and how he would attempt to resist in order to give her enough time to realize what was going on so she could escape. She felt a lump in her throat, a growing tightness.

  She had to make up her mind. Blake could have called the boarding house from any phone booth; therefore, the fact that he hadn’t meant he had been obstructed from doing so. She had to get out of there and try to reach the American embassy on her own. Surely that would be where he would go too, if he could still manage to get there.

  She still had some
money, which she could use to hire a taxi and get to Cairo.

  Sarah realized that she had no choice. She wrote a note – ‘I can’t wait any longer. I’m going to try to get to the place we agreed on by myself. I’ll be waiting for you. Be careful, Sarah’ – and stuck it to the door. This way, either Blake or the embassy agents, whoever came by, would understand.

  She picked up her backpack, hid Blake’s in the wardrobe and, before going out, took one last look out at the street, which was dimly illuminated by a single street light. She was just in time to see a car stop and two men get out, Egyptians from their appearance, but wearing European clothes. They’d finally arrived! But Sarah’s initial euphoria at seeing the men quickly faded; she was beset by all sorts of doubts and decided she’d prefer to sneak out and reach the American embassy in Cairo on her own. It was too late, though. She could already hear the men coming up the stairs and that was the only way out, unless she went via the window.

  While she was weighing her limited options, someone knocked on the door. She tried to be calm, reassuring herself that there was nothing to be worried about; after all, they were the agents sent by the American embassy. As soon as she opened the door, however, and got a good look at her callers’ faces, she realized she was in big trouble.

  ‘I’m an officer of the Egyptian Military Police,’ one of the men said in halting English. ‘The owner of this boarding house told us that you hadn’t left any identification at the reception desk. Can you show us your passport, please?’

  The two agents couldn’t see the note stuck to the back of the door yet, because it was opened towards the wall and, at this point, Sarah was still hoping that it was just a routine hotel check. Holding out her passport, she said: ‘My name is Sarah Forrestall. I came to Egypt on a tourist visa and I’m stuck here now due to this silly war . . . It’s a real shame. I didn’t even have a chance to see Luxor or Abu Simbel, but . . .’