“Sounds good.” Colin floored the gas pedal. The boxy French Renault burst into the street, leaving behind a cursing bellhop.
Anna walked up several flights of stairs until she reached her floor. She always avoided elevators if at all possible. They were death traps. She cautiously opened the door that led into the hallway. Her room was just three doors down, and she could see the door was slightly open. A stream of light escaped into the poorly lit hallway. She yanked out her gun and waited patiently. Five minutes later a young man came out, took several furtive glances down the hallway, closed the door to the room, and walked briskly towards the elevator. Anna dashed back down the stairs she had just come up. It seemed that someone in town was interested in her.
She reached the ground floor and remained in the stairwell until the young man came out of the elevator. He immediately headed to a pay phone on the other side of the lobby. As he whispered furtively into the mouthpiece she studied him carefully, memorizing his features. He was in his early-twenties, perhaps even younger, but his budding mustache was deceiving from a distance. It was more peach fuzz than real hair. The traditional robes he was wearing suggested he was more studious and religious than most boys his age. He looked out of place in the cosmopolitan lobby of the hotel, like a character in a play stepping out of rehearsals for a quick break.
Anna smirked as she realized he was at most ten years younger than herself. Despite this fact she still thought of him as a boy. He turned away from her to watch the entrance of the hotel, and she used the opportunity to move out of the stairwell, and walk towards the enclave of the restroom. She was too far away to make out any of the conversation, but he was clearly agitated and talking quickly. After a few more seconds he put the phone down, glanced around, and scurried out the front door of the hotel. His flowing robes almost catching in the revolving door. She walked briskly after him.
The sidewalk outside was full of tourists sprinkled with a few locals coming out to enjoy the cool evening. She picked her way through the crowd on the sidewalk and headed in the same direction she had taken to go to the museum earlier in the day. She could see the flowing robes of the young man two hundred feet ahead of her. His jittery movements continued to scream that something was not right in his world. Without warning he sprinted across the street, causing a few cars to slam on their brakes and the drivers to hurl insults at him. He ignored them, continuing on his mission. Without looking back to see if he was being followed, he jumped into a taxi idling quietly on a side street.
Anna waived at another cab that was approaching the hotel. The taxi slowed, but the driver flashed a disapproving look, indicating she should go back to the hotel and wait in line for his services. She stepped into the road anyway, forcing him to slam on the brakes to avoid hitting her. She quickly slid into the backseat and barked instructions. His protest stopped short as a wad of American dollars was tossed into his lap. A promise of more to come caused him to forget her cutting in line. He spun the rickety taxi around blindly, causing several vehicles to grind to a screeching halt while the cab driver waived a hand of apology. The taxi tore back up Muh Bassiunit Street and headed east. Anna’s Arabic, more importantly her ability to speak like a native Cairene was impeccable, and she fired off a quick story about a friend’s cheating husband, caught with an American no less. The driver reacted as she hoped he would. He pressed the gas pedal further down, trying to coax as much power as he could out of the circa 1975 taxi.
The poorly maintained roads were clogged with a mix of people getting off work, going out to dinner, or heading for late afternoon prayers at their mosque of choice. She finally spotted her quarry a few blocks further down the road. His taxi was stopped in traffic. He was at a standstill at the corner of Muhammad Fari and Al-bustan Streets, waiting for a three-car accident to be cleared from the intersection. An overweight, irate policeman ran around the intersection, practically foaming at the mouth while screaming orders at the parties involved. It appeared none of them were happy with what the patrolman was yelling to them.
Anna relaxed; they were only five cars behind the other taxi and should be able to stay on his tail now. The cab driver turned his head to face her, and gave her a leering smile that was short a few teeth. His blotched skin, dirty face, and yellow teeth made him look much older than he probably was.
Twilight was descending upon the capital when she spotted the boy’s taxi as it made a quick U-turn and pulled up along the opposite side of Samiel Barudi Street. She commanded her driver to pull off onto a side road. The taxi she was following had stopped in front of the Sultan Hassan Mosque, one of the most revered monuments in the Islamic world.
She watched as the young man was yanked out of the taxi by the driver who was holding him by the scruff of his robe, a look of annoyance on his face. The petty quarrel was unbecoming of the scenery around it. Anna watched them in silence, trying to figure out what was going on. She knew not to go any closer. This was not a place for a woman to be. She would immediately stand out.
The driver’s hand gestures seemed to suggest that he wanted to be paid. The young man continued waving his hand towards the mosque where a small group of men stood by the entrance, huddled together in private conversation. A face she immediately recognized suddenly appeared. The huddled group moved out of the way, showing great deference to the short, gaunt man. He wore the full beard of a pious imam, along with a large turban on his head. His white robes were flawless, and he looked amazingly similar to Osama Bin Laden except for one obvious feature. While Osama was a literal giant in the Arab world, standing six feet five inches, this man was tiny, just barely reaching five feet tall. The watchers in the counter-terrorist center of the CIA jokingly referred to him as Mini-Bin Laden, in homage to the villain of the Austin Powers movies.
Anna thought the name suited him perfectly. His real name was Quasim Zahir, and Anna had read about him many times. He was a leader of the Muslim Brotherhood, perhaps it’s most feared. The Muslim Brotherhood was once one of the most radical and dangerous terrorists groups in the world. Anna knew that Quasim had been one of its guiding lights for the past fifteen years, and rumors flowed throughout Egypt that he still had connections to Ayman al-Zawahiri, the Egyptian doctor who left behind his native country in the late 1980s to follow the real Bin-Laden on a worldwide killing spree.
The cab driver immediately released his grip on the young boy and Quasim handed him payment for the boy’s fare. Quasim wagged a menacing finger at the driver indicating for him to leave. The driver did not hesitate and quickly drove off in the direction from which he had arrived. Quasim appeared to reprimand the boy before they disappeared together into the cavernous interior of the fourteenth century mosque.
Anna pondered the situation a few more seconds, then quietly asked to be taken back to her hotel. Things had just become more interesting, and more dangerous. Why would Quasim have any interest in me? And more importantly, how did he know where to find me? The thoughts immediately flashed through her mind. She knew she would be paying a return visit to this mosque in the very near future. Colin would have the necessary equipment that would allow her to enter. Whatever she found inside, she knew it would have to be better than the useless paperwork the Egyptian government was going to let her peruse tomorrow.
***
Anna stared incredulously at the uneven rows of filing cabinets scattered throughout the room. There were stacks of typing paper piled randomly on top of several of the cabinets, mixed in with yellowed, parched documents that were aging prematurely due to neglect. It was worse than she even expected.
“This is it?” Anna asked the government worker who showed her into the room inside the Ministry of the Interior of the Egyptian government. Anna arrived promptly at ten a.m., and was forced to wait for nearly an hour before the man finally appeared from the back of the building.
“Yes, all the birth certificates and other information for the time period you requested are here.” The government worker adjusted his tie
while giving her a surly look.
“Is there any order to the files?” Anna asked.
“I’m not sure. No one ever comes in here,” he said with disdain. He was determined not to provide any useful assistance.
Anna glanced around with annoyance at the thin layer of dust that covered the entire floor of the square room. She doubted there was any particular order to the files. They could not even keep their current records in order, much less information pertaining to births from forty to fifty years earlier.
“Would you mind finding out? I would appreciate it.” She tried her best to be friendly.
The man jumped at the opportunity to leave and disappeared down the hall. She gave one of the filing doors a solid pull and began the official part of her investigation.
Four hours later her time had expired. Her unhelpful assistant finally re-appeared and told her what she already knew. There was no order to the files. He explained that her allotted four hours were up, and she was unceremoniously ushered into the blistering hot sun of mid-afternoon Cairo. She climbed into a taxi, ordering it back to her hotel. Colin should be there by the time she returned. They were going to formulate the specifics for their infiltration into the mosque later in the evening. She wanted a closer look at Quasim Zahir.
***
Several hours later Anna was standing in the central courtyard of the Sultan Hassan Mosque. She stared silently at the elaborate central fountain while she waited her turn to wash her hands before evening prayers. Crowds of men all dressed in traditional robes milled about the courtyard. They talked to friends in hushed tones while waiting for the imam to appear. Colin stood uncomfortably beside her. He had voiced his concerns early and often, but she ignored them at every turn. She was unrecognizable thanks to the make-up, fake beard, and additional tricks that Colin used to transform her into a man for the evening.
Colin had visited many of the mosques in the area. Many of his contacts insisted on meeting him at whichever one they usually attended. It made them feel safer, which normally led to better information. However, he tried to steer clear of the mosques during the major prayer times. All the regulars were here, and although Anna had the best disguise the U.S. taxpayer could supply, they still received stares and occasional looks of curiosity from the regulars who instantly knew when strangers were in their midst. Anna stole a look at Colin and could see that he was nervous.
They completed their faux prayers and made their way through the courtyard, passing doorways that led to the area that served as the madrassa. This was the Islamic school in the building that housed approximately five hundred students who were being schooled in one art only, the memorization of the Koran. These schools indoctrinated many of the future terrorists of the world into the perverted form of Islam known as Wahhabism. Students began flowing in and out of the doors. Anna kept her head bowed while continuing to look for the young boy or Quasim. Colin and Anna made their way to the prayer hall and stopped to kneel on the outskirts of the large open area. The inner section of the hall was reserved for the most important and most pious of the worshippers.
The large circle of men standing in front of her all kneeled and began preparing for the prayer ritual. She now had an unobstructed view of the group gathered in the center of the open-air hall. For the first time tonight she saw the short figure of Quasim holding court in the prayer hall. Until the imam appeared to announce the beginning of the prayer session Quasim would continue to dictate. The men answered him in hushed tones, some of them leaving on his orders and heading off to relay a message to another group standing by the fountain. Others disappeared into the madrassa. It was clear to her that this was his house of worship. All the energy in the vast space seemed to revolve around him. He was the center of the universe, and his gravitational pull dictated what the rest of the planets and moons around him did. A smile here, a frown there, and men jumped into action, eager to do his bidding. Anna kept her head bowed, while her peripheral vision continued to monitor her surroundings, looking for any piece of useful information. The crowd slowly filtered in from other parts of the mosque, filling in the open spaces around Anna and Colin with prostrate forms quietly but fervently praying to Allah.
The imam finally appeared at the front of the prayer hall, gesturing to his flock to finish their business and gather together. After ten more minutes the huge, open air of the hall was stagnating and putrid, with body upon body lined up next to each other. All available space would be utilized in order to allow as many worshipers as possible onto the marble inlaid floor of the outdoor hall. Silence fell over the crowd until the incantations from the imam began. Others followed his lead, whispering silently to themselves with their eyes squeezed shut, trying to purge themselves of their demons. It reminded Anna of a séance, and the hypnotic rhythm of the chanting helped to slow her pulse.
She continued to keep her head bowed, chanting in Arabic the prayers her mother had forced her to memorize as a child. Her voice repeated the words in perfect unison with the other men squeezed in around her on all sides. The sea of feet and arms were inches away from one another. The false beard itched, but she refused to fiddle with it. She blocked it out of her mind. Her eyes fluttered half-open as she continued to watch Quasim as best she could. She never let him out of her sight as the massive open-air prayer hall filled to capacity. There was still no sign of the young man who paid Quasim a visit the previous night. Her head tilted slightly from side to side as the incantations grew louder. She used the new found energy of the crowd to her advantage, her eyes scanning the area around Quasim, searching for anything or anyone out of the ordinary.
In unison, hundreds of turban-covered heads rose up, proclaiming Allah’s name. She found the ritual quite beautiful. The fact that men like Quasim used it as a cover for the slaughter of innocents infuriated her. After a few minutes the decibel level of the chanting began dropping along with the heads of the group. That was when she saw him. The gnarled face was unmistakable, and his cloak overwhelmed his skinny frame. He was kneeling in prayer, fifty feet to the left of Quasim. It was Aziz. The fact that he was here did not prove anything. Still, it was a curious coincidence considering he lived in Islamic Cairo, home of some of the oldest mosques in the city, all of which were much easier for him to travel to when compared to this one, especially given his old age and crippled leg.
An hour later, the prayers finally came to an end. The warm day was now completely erased as the cool evening blew in from the desert that surrounded Cairo. The drastic temperature changes made surviving in the desert excruciatingly difficult. You spent all day sweating profusely and nearly passing out from heat exhaustion. Then the sun sets and the temperature would drop to near freezing. The two extremes play havoc on the body, and a person can only take it for so long before it starts to drive him crazy. In order to survive it you must have grown up with it. Fortunately, Anna had done just that.
Anna and Colin knelt silently, waiting for those around them to stand first. Hundreds of bodies began to rise, and the two of them quickly followed suit. Their knees slowly and painfully locked themselves into standing positions, no easy task after an hour of kneeling and devout prayer on the hard tile floor.
“Do you see him?” Anna whispered quietly in Arabic. The nearest group of men was ten feet away. Her eyes continued to follow Aziz. He was slowly making his way through a throng of men, like a rat feeling its way through a maze. She smiled through the coarse beard when she saw him find his way over to Quasim.
“What are you talking about?” Colin asked. All he could think about was getting out of the mosque as quickly as possible. His knees were aching and he felt out of place. He now followed Anna’s eyes, and they both watched as the old man embraced Quasim and exchanged kisses on the cheek with him.
“Shit,” Colin muttered under his breath.
Anna continued the conversation in Arabic, “Have you ever seen him with one of the leaders of the Muslim Brotherhood before?”
“No. Never. Honest
ly, I’m shocked. He always frequents a mosque closer to his home. I’ve met a few contacts here to pass along information to them, but I’ve never run into him before.”
The old man continued whispering in Quasim’s ear. She studied his body language carefully. It was not the deference that all the others had shown Quasim for the past hour. Quasim’s back stiffened and he raised himself to his maximum height, which was still much shorter than everyone else. Aziz was acting like an equal partner with one of the leaders of the Muslim Brotherhood. There were clearly no orders being issued by Quasim. They were discussing a problem, like two business partners deciding the best course of action for their venture.
The crowd of men was now sparse, and Anna and Colin could no longer linger around surreptitiously and not be noticed. Anna slid her robe back up her arm and stole a glance at her watch. Their taxi should be waiting outside for them by now. They hastily made their way to the exit. The sound of their feet echoed off the tile floor and reverberated throughout the hallway. They were careful to steer clear of the remaining crowd as they made their way to the exit. As they approached the interior of the mosque they heard the sound of scurrying feet approaching quickly from behind.
“Mr. Colin?” It was broken English, but there was nothing broken about the steel grip that grabbed Colin’s left forearm. Colin turned around to face the pursuer, coming face to face with one of Aziz’s friends. The old man must have spotted him as the crowd had thinned.
“Yes?” Colin did his best to remain composed and at ease. He had a perfectly good cover story for any problems. “We’re done here. You can leave.” Colin issued the order to Anna, and she continued heading towards the exit.
“Aziz would like a moment with you.” The gruff voice would clearly not be rebuffed.
“Sure. I didn’t know he was here. I didn’t think he visited mosques in this part of Cairo.” Colin’s confident voice belied the churning in his stomach. He had been receiving and sharing information with Aziz for years. He knew he had contacts with the Muslim Brotherhood, anyone with any influence did, but this was the first time he had ever seen Aziz in a meeting of equals with one of its top men. His teeth chattered as the bodyguard lead the way back towards the open-air prayer hall. Colin told himself it was the chilly night air, but he knew otherwise. The old man was standing alone, his arms gesturing to Colin in a welcoming manner, as if he was welcoming a misguided son back into the family. Quasim was nowhere to be found.
Agent of Influence: A Thriller Page 22
