“Yes. Dress modestly, and like a local. Meet me on the second floor of your hotel. Room 200. I keep the room as an extra safety valve. It’s got all types of little odds and ends that come in handy sometimes. Meet me there at 3:00.” Colin disappeared through the same doorway they entered. Anna lingered for a few moments, taking in the splendor of the Tutankhamen galleries. After five more minutes she left to prepare for her meeting with Colin’s unknown contact.
The narrow alleyway could not have been more than ten feet wide. Colin and Anna walked quickly across the stone floor at Khan al-Khalili, the expansive bazaar deep inside Islamic Cairo. Their footsteps echoed off the hard surfaces all around them. The buildings on each side shot up at a steep angle, obscuring any chance of viewing the many domes and minarets that dotted this area of the city. They stepped aside as a teenager flew furiously past them on his bicycle. The alley was much too small for any other modes of transportation.
Anna observed Colin through the slit of her burka. His tanned features and weather beaten face allowed him to blend into the crowd that filled the tiny streets around them. The late afternoon meant there were still tourists walking about, mixing with the locals. They were looking to bargain with the stream of merchants lingering around, inside, and through the entryways and windows of the buildings. Shouts and curses echoed back and forth, the noise amplified by the proximity of the buildings. Colin played the part of a dominant husband as he maneuvered Anna by the arm through the bustling marketplace.
They finally came to a stop in front of one of the few doors that was closed. It made the building appear deserted when compared to the raucous marketplace around it. A quick rap of the heavy door brought no reaction. Anna fidgeted, glancing through the eye slits of her disguise at the fortress of buildings enclosing them. The alleyway came to a dead end a few hundred yards away. She felt trapped. Anna put her right hand inside the burka and let it rest near her pistol so she could act quickly if it became necessary. The door finally creaked open, and a youthful eye appeared in the crack of the door, fluttering back and forth between them. The sound of heavy bolts could be heard being pulled back, and the massive door was slowly pulled open.
The young man could not have been more than twenty years old, and the Kalashnikov rifle that his fingers were wrapped around seemed too heavy for his rail thin body. The boyish face possessed a steely look that radiated inner strength, and his eyes silently acknowledged Colin. The boy continued pulling the door until the opening was just wide enough to let them inside. He then threw his full weight into it, slamming it shut as if he was trying to keep a medieval plague from entering the dark and dingy abode.
He motioned them into a tiny room to the right and shut the door behind them. The room was covered wall to wall with a magnificently embroidered rug. Luxurious pillows dotted the center of the floor. After a few seconds, Anna’s eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, and she noticed the frail old man standing in the darkened corner of the room. He limped into the light and sat down on some pillows on the floor. The pillows barely seemed to move under the weight of his bony frame. He made the young boy look muscular by comparison. Despite his frailty, his posture was ramrod straight, suggesting the old bones were stronger than they appeared. The sight of him sitting cross-legged on the floor reminded Anna of a Buddhist monk silently praying.
“Aziz?” Colin spoke the words quietly and with the respect a grandson shows his grandfather. The old man was dressed in a dirt-stained robe and sat in silence. He watched them for a few seconds through his thick bifocals before motioning his head towards the pillows in the center of the floor. They took a seat and Colin pointed his finger at Anna, gesturing that she could remove the hood that obscured most of her face.
The building did not have air conditioning, and the cramped quarters quickly escalated the temperature in the room so that it felt like a sauna. The old man watched her perspiring face, seeming to study every detail while they sat in silence. The door re-opened and the young boy appeared again, this time sans rifle, and with a dirty tray and three cups of steaming tea on top of it. After passing out the glasses the boy disappeared, and they heard the definitive sound of a lock being activated. They would not be disturbed again.
“Thank you for seeing us on such short notice, Aziz. I realize that your time is precious during this time of year. My government is not always as courteous as I would like, and they give me these diplomatic jobs at the last second.” Colin waited while the old man tasted his drink. A wagging of the crooked fingers told him to continue. “My government has sent over a representative to do a standard background check on Zachariah Hardin,” Colin said.
“Of course, Aman’s adoptive son. He raise him since he was a boy. Allah bless him and his patience.” The old man’s voice was soft and kind. Anna thought she would have loved to have him for a grandfather. His velvet voice welcomed them into his world. “Such tragic luck for the poor boy. He was orphan at a young age. Aman always had good heart. I was not surprised when I hear that he take a young man under his wing.” Aziz sat his cup of tea down, and pushed the glasses that were starting to slide off his nose back against his face.
Anna prepared her notes before beginning, “Thank you for taking the time to talk with me. As Colin said, we know you are busy, but this won’t take long. I just have some questions regarding Zach’s time here in Cairo.” Anna pulled out a small pad and pencil from underneath her robes.
“Yes, yes. I am happy to assist. I must admit before we start that I am biased. I hope Zachariah becomes your next President. He will be best hope this area have in years.” Aziz smiled paternally at her.
“I appreciate your honesty, sir. Now if we can get started. How long have you known Aman?”
The old man pondered the question for a few seconds, his eyes staring at the ceiling. He seemed to be counting the years to himself. “I would say since 1940s. I met him when he was a young man. His father and I prayed at the same mosque. His father was becoming disenchanted with our government and he decided to move to America when war broke out.”
“He brought Aman with him to America then?”
“Yes. He was frustrated with Cairo. He worried Cairo would be overrun by the Nazis. He also thought Aman would have a better education in the United States.”
“Did you see Aman or his father after they moved to America? Or have any contact with them after that?”
He hung his head in sadness. “I never see his father again. He was murdered soon after they went to America. I did not see Aman for years after that. He came back to visit his family right after he adopted Zachariah. I think he took him in because Zach reminded him of himself. Both lost their fathers at an early age to senseless violence.”
“When did he adopt Zach? I can’t quite recall.” Anna asked.
“Sometime in early 1970s, I think.”
“Why didn’t they stay in Cairo?” She asked as she continued making notations.
“I do not know. He came to see me. He tried to visit many of his father’s old friends to pay us respects. I tried to talk him into stay here, but Aman was blinded by American dream.” He paused for a few moments and thought about whether he should continue. After another sip of tea he started again. “I like Americans. They seem to be truly caring people, even if they do not follow the one true path. But they are naïve. The crime waves that run through your country,” Aziz said in a disapproving tone. “I tried to convince him not to go back, but Aman had tasted success, and money was too much for him to resist. I still do not understand how he lives in your country for so long. I pray to Allah for his soul everyday.”
“Has he come back to visit since then?”
“Not to see me. He came back before to make a speech and donation to our mosque here. The one his father prayed at. It is his own way of keeping touch with his roots. Forgive my bad English. I do not spoke it often.”
“You are doing fine.” A little too good, she thought to herself. Why would this man even bother to learn
English? “Yes, I’ve read about his donations. He is generous.” Her head focused on her notepad as she asked the next question. “What about the rumors that many of the men who came to hear Aman speak were members of the Muslim Brotherhood, and some of the other more fanatical groups around this area?”
Aziz glared at her. He sat in silence until her eyes came up from her notepad and made contact with his. “I do not appreciate that comment, my lady.” The voice turned cold and condescending for the first time in their conversation. “You cannot walk up this alley without meeting someone who has some affiliation with any one of the groups your government refers to as terrorist. I will not condone some of Brotherhood’s acts over the years, but they also have helped many of the less fortunate in this city who are left to rot by their government. If Aman give money to them over the years I will not blame him. Many of them in Old Cairo are friends of mine, and we have helped each other during good times and bad times. The young man who let you in has been graciously assisting me for three years, ever since I re-injured my leg. He runs errands for some of the Brotherhood. Does that make him a terrorist?” The lecture gave way to calm.
“I’m sorry if I offended you. I’m simply passing on some of the information I’ve heard.”
“That is alright. I get defensive when it comes to the people of Cairo. They are like my own children.”
“When was the last time Aman came back to Cairo?”
“I am not sure. Ten years ago at least. I went to see him. I was afraid it would be my last chance. He has spent the last decade engaged in your American political system. But I do not hold it against him. I just hope I live long to see Zachariah get elected to your presidency. That will truly be great day. He will be the closest to a fair mediator our Palestinian friends have had. Zachariah is a Christian. His Catholic mother raised him until she died, but his father was a believer. The terrorists, as you call them, think he is an apostate, and that he is Muslim since his father was. He has Islam in his blood, which is good enough for me. Did you know his father was a believer?”
“Yes, I did come across that in my research. I was hoping to find some of his relatives. Maybe someone who could shed some light on Zach’s family history. Are you aware of any family members who are still alive?”
“No. I believe they have all left this world,” Aziz responded.
“Aman never mentioned Zach having any other relatives alive? No one at all? It’s like his entire family just disappeared,” Anna replied. She was glad to be probing a useful line of questioning.
Aziz shifted on his pillow, attempting to find a more comfortable position. “Aman never mention it to me. I heard rumors that Zachariah’s father was a soldier, but Aman never told me, and I never asked. Aman always was good at protecting the boy’s privacy.”
“When Aman came back to Cairo the last time, did Zach come with him then? Maybe use his influence to help Aman with donations from benefactors in the States?”
“No, no. Of course not. From what I can remember, he was by then already a member of your U.S. government. How do you say, a congress man?” The two words came out awkwardly.
“You mean a senator,” Anna corrected him.
“Yes, yes. Thank you. A senator. And one with a lot of power from what I hear.”
“That is true. He was popular enough to push through a new law that allowed him to run for the presidency.” She continued to try to piece together the puzzle.
“I was not aware. I try not to follow your American politics. I find it tedious. You seem upset with him, my dear,” he replied. Aziz picked up on the hint of disdain in her voice.
“It was quite convenient for him. Pushing through a law that benefits him soon thereafter.”
Aziz shook his head from side to side. “I am sorry, but I do not understand Americans. What is the point of power if you do not use it for your own benefit? That is honesty in its highest form. From what I see of Americans they like to pretend they help others, when really they just want to improve their own power. They have taught this skill to many of our leaders in Cairo I am afraid. Why not be honest? He helped push through this law, and he used it. Everyone knows this too. Let your people be the judge? Would you not agree?” Aziz smiled softly, quite pleased with himself.
Anna let it go. “I see your point. Just a few more questions and I’ll leave you in peace. By the way, how did you first hurt your leg?” Her eyes studied him carefully, watching and waiting for the response.
Aziz eyed her curiously. “Just an injury that has come back to haunt me in my old age. I fell off my horse.”
“You look too big to be a jockey.”
“Not a rider. I trained horses back in my young days. Before he was deposed the King had me train his best stallions. I have not done it in years. Unfortunately, the injury is constant reminder. It came from a stubborn animal; one I was convinced if I tame him he would be one of the greatest. His speed was amazing. It was matched only by his determination not to be broken.” A smile reappeared on his face as he talked about his youth.
Anna jotted the information onto her scratch pad and made a mental note, as well. “Sorry to get you off track. Back to Zach. I’ve heard rumors that he has an uncle who may still be alive. Zach’s wife, before her tragic death, apparently had mentioned that his uncle still lived in Cairo, and was a real religious zealot. He was supposedly not happy with Zach’s Christian upbringing, or the fact that Aman took him to the U.S. after adopting him.”
“I have heard the rumors, but I can assure you they are not true. They were started by someone jealous of his success. Many people in this city are looking to hold onto anything that will give them the appearance of importance. His wife was spoiled American who liked gossip. Nothing more.”
“Well, that is good to know. That’s one less rumor I will have to continue researching. Thank you for your time. I truly appreciate it.” Anna and Colin both stood up, and then assisted the old man off his spot on the floor.
“You are welcome. I hope I have been of assistance. It is always good to feel needed. At my age, there are not too many people who want to hear me speak.”
The conversation ended with a traditional American handshake, and the young bodyguard appeared once again to usher them out. The alleyway continued to teem with life. Tourists mixed with locals were now milling about everywhere, and the afternoon bartering sessions were in full swing. Anna was anxious to get back to the hotel and review her notes. The conversation seemed innocent, but a few points were gnawing at her analytical mind. The old man was probably of no use to her, but there was one thing he said that piqued her interest. His pride had let it slip, and she did not miss it. If he was telling the truth and actually trained horses for the King, then he had to have some connections somewhere. It was not much, but it was something to look into.
Chapter 31
Colin slammed on the brakes. Anna put her hands up against the dashboard to stop her forward momentum. It appeared Colin thought part of blending in with the locals was driving erratically. Traffic was at a standstill so she took the opportunity to ask him some questions about Aziz.
“How did you meet Aziz? Did he approach you?”
“No, he didn’t. I sought him out after seeing him around town at some of the political gatherings. That was one of my first jobs when I originally got assigned here; check out the local scene. The good and the bad. I took my time and tried to see if there was anyone willing to give me information. Most of the major players in this area show up at the big events to try to make a name for themselves or their organization.”
“Let me guess, your superiors told you they wanted a feel for the Arab street?” She watched as he nodded an affirmative. Then she continued, “That’s their favorite phrase, mainly because it can mean anything they want it to mean.”
“Won’t argue with you there. Anyway, it took me a few months of seeing Aziz around before I approached him. I think it was around one of the last times Aman was in town. I spent some time deb
ating the pros and cons of different societies with Aziz. Nothing serious. He lived in Old Cairo, so I thought he would be the perfect person to send me stuff on some of the more dangerous organizations in the area. A lot of them operated on his turf.”
“Did he agree to help you out immediately?” Anna asked with a surprised look. She waited while Colin pressed the gas pedal. Traffic was moving again.
“No. It took a few more meetings and debates. Don’t get too many people around here willing to talk if they suspect you’re an American. I think he’s just an old man who likes attention. He gives me something useful every now and then, but not much. I think he just enjoys my company, so I’ve kept up the contact. I’ve noticed one thing though.”
“What’s that?”
“The few times I met him inside Islamic Cairo I noticed that he sure was treated with some reverence. He may keep a low profile, but even other guys his age steer clear of him. I asked him why.” Colin made a quick left. They were almost back to the hotel.
“And the reason?” Anna asked.
“He says they’re scared of him because he knew King Faisal. I checked around, and it seems when the King was deposed after WWII anyone with close connections to him was rounded up and made to disappear if you catch my drift. But Aziz is still around. The King’s personal horse trainer survived. Some of the locals are convinced he has friends high up in the government, as well as some pretty good blackmail information on someone. Otherwise, they claimed, he would have been dead a long time ago.”
“Did you ask Aziz if any of it was true?” Anna was intrigued.
“He laughed them off. Said they were all superstitious crazies.” He pulled up to the front of the hotel to drop her off.
“Thanks for the lift. I’ll call you tomorrow after my morning session at the ministry,” Anna said as she stepped out of the car.
Agent of Influence: A Thriller Page 21
