“I guess Id better be getting back to the diplomats, Gordon said.
“Yes, said Carter, “I dont think the destruction of a couple of alien weapons systems is going to mar your record. Particularly since my report is going to play up your role in preventing the introduction of dangerous weapons into the all-creatures conference. You might even get the probationary taken off your title.
“Thatd be nice, Gordon said. He was silent for a moment, then said, “Dont take this the wrong way, but how does someone so young have so much knowledge and authority?
The ships officer laughed. “The whole idea behind the Mutts and Lambchops plans was that everyone would take things at face value, he said. “Youre still doing that. Ive spent much of my life in zero gee. No gravity, no wrinkles. I might look sixteen, but Im old enough to be your father. Maybe your grandfather.
“And youre not really fourth officer of the Chuck Yeager are you? Gordon said.
“Yes, I am, said Carter, “but only for this trip. Ive been fourth officer on several ships, as well as other things. But I imagine you can guess my real occupation.
The two humans reached the door to the diplomats area. Gordon stood awkwardly, not knowing what to do next. Carter did a backflip and sailed off down the hall.
“Take care, mudfoot, he called.
“You, too, starspawn, Gordon replied, then turned and let himself through the hatch.
Cairene Dawn
JAY CASELBERG
The fog had been up again that morning, just like it was most morningsthat greasy Nile mist clinging to everything, making you wonder what strange, mystical land you might be in. Then the sound of car horns and traffic, the grind and burr of a population on the move would filter through, redolent with its own smells, none of them particularly pleasant. For a while though, you could imagine you were in another place, a place of magic and power. But then Cairo was a strange and mystical place, a melting pot of nations and cultures bound to make you wonder what was real.
Perhaps it was that inability to pin things down that first drew me to that seedy, smelly city, heavy with its own exotic sounds and sensations. Nobody belonged in Cairo, not even the Cairenes, but it had been like that since the dawn of history. You see, the dirty and the grubby have their own particular tang. Some people like it.
Me? Im Agamemnon Jacques. I can curse my parents for that one. Most people just called me Jacques. I prefer it that way.
That afternoon, I was sitting in a bar, waiting for a client. Not so unusual, but this was no ordinary bar. This was Harrys Pub, nestled in the heart of the Marriott, way up on the eastern side of Zamalek, playground of the well-to-do. Next door lay the grounds of the Gizera Sporting Club and all around the marks of the wealthy. The hotel might have been a part of a chain now, but the marks of its past opulence were all around me. It had been a palace once. It was still full of liveried staff, still spoke swank, and in my dusty, pale street suit, I felt somewhat out of place. Still, Cairos pretty forgiving if youve got the money. So, I sat there in one corner of Harrys Pub, listening to the voices, Arabic, German, French, trying to pick who it was I was here to meet. I neednt really have bothered.
The woman walked into the place and owned it with her presence. She wore a pale green-blue tailored suit that shimmered as she moved. Dark hair framed a pale, high-cheekboned face, sharp and soft at the same time. There was no hesitation. She scanned the room, spied me sitting at my solitary table, and headed straight for me. As she stood across the table from me, looking down with an assessing gaze, I looked back, knowing right away that this woman was really someone.
“Mr. Jacques? she said. Her voice was deep and rich, a slight accent tingeing those couple of words. It wasnt anything I could identify right off. Something exotic.
“Yeah, thats me, I told her. “But just call me Jacques.
She nodded, pulled out a chair, and flowed into itthere was no other wordall smooth and fluid in a single movement. She crossed her legs and folded her hands neatly in front of her. A drinks waiter appeared a mere breath later. Id had to wait.
“Tea, she told the waiter. “And whatever Mr.... um... Jacquess pleasure is.
I lifted my glass, and the waiter nodded, turning away with his tray clutched to his chest. The quick backward glance at my companion didnt go unnoticed. So, I was not alone. She was some woman all right.
“Madame Fouad, I started. “You said something in your call about a matter of grave importance...
She lifted a finger to still me. “Be patient, Jacques, she said.
This was a woman used to commanding people. I went back to my scotch, watching her over the rim of my glass. The waiter came and went, fussing for a moment with the pot and glass of tea, until she waved him away with a brief word of thanks. She lifted her glass, holding it between thumb and forefinger, took a delicate sip, and set the glass back down. Her nails were painted the same lapis as her suit.
She gave a brief smile. “It is amusing that we should use the word grave I think, she said. “It is my husband, Ossie, Mr. Jacques.
“Just Jacques, I repeated. “What about him?
She folded her hands in her lap and looked down. “I fear something has happened to him. He has not been seen for several days.
“And what makes you think something has happened? People went missing all the time in Cairo. Often, they just showed up again a few days later. There were plenty of diversions if you went looking for them and you had the cash, but then youd kind of expect that from the playground of the Middle East. There was Dubai of course, but Dubai wasnt Cairo. Sitting there, looking at her, I couldnt imagine what could make her husband want to stray.
Slowly, she lifted her gaze to meet mine. “This has happened before, she said slowly. “I speak from experience. Its the family business you see. Ra Industries. My brother-in-law has always been jealous. He has always wanted the greater share of what we do. Ossie has always been the one in the way of his plans. The last time it happened, it got so bad that he killed Ossie. Murdered him. It was months before we found his body and had him resurrected. I dont think Seth has learned. His ambition drives him too much. Of course Ossie forgave him, but I think that it is not enough.
She caught me in the process of pouring the remaining contents of my old glass into the new, and I managed to slosh some scotch over the table. Slowly, I put the glass back down, not really believing that Id really heard what Madame Fouad had just said.
“He killed your husband? I stared at her.
“Yes. Locked him in a coffin and threw him in the river. It was a very nice coffin, but its the principle of the thing. I have no doubt something similar has happened again.
I stared down at my glass, toying with it as I worked out what I was going to say. “I see, I said slowly.
Great line, Jacques. Now, you get all sorts in my business, and you hear some things, but I just wasnt ready for this. I thought I did a pretty good job of covering what was going through my head. She was an attractive woman, seemed to be in control, someone who looked like she was used to having a handle on a situation. I was prepared to listen. Like I said, you hear all sorts in my line of work, particularly in a place like Cairo. The Egyptians are generally a superstitious lot, and you can use that. But I just couldnt swallow a lot of the stuff they believed.
Madame Fouad continued, and I found myself being drawn deeper by the rich tones of her voice.
“His brother, Seth, has always had designs on the family business. With Ossie gone, his way would be clear.
“But what about you, Madame Fouad?
She fixed me with a firm gaze. “This is Egypt. We may have become enlightened over time, but this is still Egypt, and I am still a woman.
I nodded. “What sort of business is it?
She regarded me steadily with those wide, dark eyes, and I found myself having problems keeping my attention focused on the matter at hand. “All sorts of things, Mr. Jacques. Import/export. Other holdings. We have a diverse range of interests
. You might say we deal with bits and pieces of everything. But the nature of our business should not concern you.
I was prepared to accept that for the time being; I could do some digging on my own.
“So why me?
And that was the question. I could see no reason why someone like her would bother contacting someone like me. She had to have the resources at her disposal to pick anyone she wanted.
“I need discretion, she said, her gaze unflinching. “If word of this should get out... You are someone outside our usual circles. I very much doubt you would have had previous dealings with my brother-in-law. Perhaps with some of the people he employs from time to time, but no... you are not the... usual type.
“Hmm, youre probably right, I said, quite prepared to take her word for it at that moment.
“I am certain that I am, she said, lifting her glass for another sip of tea.
I glanced around the bar, but there was no one in earshot.
“My rates, Madam Fouad...
She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Are unimportant.
And that was that. There was some more small talk, and when prompted, she handed over a faded photograph showing her husband, Ossie, in traditional Egyptian garb. Maybe it had been taken at a party somewhere. He was darker than she, but a good-looking man, all the same, sporting a small dark beard. I studied the photograph, then slipped it away inside my jacket. She fixed me with that deep gaze of hers, and I found myself wanting to help her in any way I could, whether she was half-crazy or not... or whether I was half-crazy too. She stood, apparently satisfied that our business was done for now.
“Madame Fouad, I said. “How will I... ?
“I will be in touch with you, she said, then turned, heading for the exit. She dealt with the check on the way out with a flash of gold.
I sat there for a while longer, savoring the amber burn in my glass while I worked out what my next move would be. She hadnt given me a whole lot to go on, and I hadnt even thought to get her first name.
-
The light fell golden across the spans of the 25 July Bridge. The early-evening muezzin calls floated above the city, urging the faithful to prayer. Boats cruised up and down the stretch of brown-green water before me, tinged brassy with the fading sun. I walked past the rank of black-and-white taxis, their drivers waiting to haggle with the well-to-do tourists, looking for three, four times the going rate, heading away from the Gizera Sporting Club, up toward the bridge.
I had two choices. It was either the City of the Dead or the Khan el-Khalili, where the stallholders would be starting to set up for the evenings trade. But the Khan was no ordinary souk. You could get just about anything you might want at the Great Khan, if you knew where to look, and me, I knew where to look.
I might just have given Madame Fouads statement more pause for doubt; but to be honest, I needed the work. The flash of gold goes a long way to shutting up that little voice in the back of your head, and in Cairo the dead are as much a part of everyday life as the living. Look at the City of the Dead. The locals have taken up living among the tombs and mausoleums. Not only among, but inside them too. The dead have a life of their own in Egypt, and had since the dawn of time. It was a part of their culture. And I thought I could live with it, especially if someone like Madame Fouad was footing the bill.
So, I stood there on the banks of the Nile, the wash of garbage and traffic wrinkling my nose, the shouts and car noise swelling around me, and the only question running through my head was where I should go first. Maybe that was wrong. Maybe I should have listened, but theres so much noise in this grand old city that sometimes you dont know what might be the little bit that counts.
A little way up the street, I hailed a cab. He wanted too much, clearly taking me for a foreign tourist, and I walked away. I fared a little better with the next one. He only wanted double the standard rate, but this was Zamalek, so I agreed and climbed into the front seat next to the driver as was the custom. In my Western garb I was going to stand out anyway, but anything you could do to mark yourself as not too removed could only help.
The driver was good at what he did. Meandering in and out between the trucks and buses, his hand pressed flat against the horn. Sometimes I really wished drivers in Cairo would use their lights in the burgeoning dark or late at night, but I just had to trust to the fact that this cab was probably more valuable than the drivers life. It was in his own interests to keep us in one piece.
On the way, I pulled out the faded photograph and studied it. A good-looking Egyptian guy looking like he was out of his proper time. I hadnt heard of Ra Industries before, as far as I could remember. Ossie was a common enough Egyptian diminutive, but Seth, now that was different. Maybe their parents, like so many others of their class, had had them schooled abroad, wanting them to move above and beyond their roots. Sometimes a name is a simple enough step upon that path. I slipped the photograph back into my inside pocket and tried to avoid watching the near misses as we weaved in and out of the traffic. Maybe, just maybe, Madame Fouad had been speaking metaphorically. That didnt make sense though, at least not then.
My driver dropped me at the Midan Hussein and I left him there with a quick shukrun. I could have entered the Khan farther down Al Azhar Street, but I liked the long walk up Muski, past the perfumers and the costumes and the bits and pieces designed to trap the unwary tourists. The scents, the sounds, gave me a transition into that canvas-covered other world that is the Khan proper. My goal was farther north, but walking up past the twinned mosques, past the goldsmiths and copper shops of al-Muizz li-Din Allah took me away from modern Cairo, into another time and another place. Everywhere there was noise; the hawkers, the touts, the blare of radios and other music. Everywhere was the smell of another era, another reality. It was almost as if I had stepped into another age.
I had a couple of contacts in the Khan. One was back in the narrow winding streets that sold antiquities, real and fake, but my main guy, Ismail, plied his trade up in the street of coppersmiths. Keeping one eye open for pickpockets, I headed in that direction, pushing past the streams of native Egyptians and tourists both. I was looking out for familiar faces, toosignposts to the subtle trade that might be going on around me, beneath the veneer of market commerce. Id learned the faces, the ones that mattered, but on that evening, most of them were strangely absent.
I stopped in front of Ismails tiny store, peering inside at the shelves of burnished copper, the piles of pots and jugs stacked haphazardly in the front. There was no sign of him. But then, as if he sensed my presence, a stained curtain twitched in the back, and a familiar pockmarked face peered out.
“Zhaik, Zhaik, it is you, my friend. You come to see me.
I glanced up and down the street, then grinned. “Ismail, you old crook. How are you?
A big yellow grin greeted my statement. “Allah willing, I am well, Zhaik.
“And business?
Ismail rocked his head from side to side. “Ah, you know. He came to the front of the store and peered round the corner. He glanced across at the stall across the street with narrowed eyes, tossing his chin at the stallholder opposite. The man gave a quick nod, and after a quick glance up and down the street, Ismail beckoned me inside.
Behind the stained curtain sat a simple table and a couple of chairs. A dirty stove sat with a pot of tea upon it. Ismail pulled down a couple of tea glasses, wiping them with the hem of his robe as he gestured to one of the seats. He planted the glasses down, pushed a bowl of white sugar lumps into the center, and reached up to turn on a radio that sat atop a battered fridge in the corner. Satisfied, he poured two glasses of tea and sat, pulling his off-white galabiya around himself.
“So, Zhaik, he said, suddenly all business, peering across at me with yellowing, watery eyes.
“Ive got a new case, I told him. I dug into my pocket and drew out the photograph, slipping it across the table so he could see it. Ismail picked it up and peered down, his eyes narrowing. He shoo
k his head.
“Youre sure?
He slid the photograph back. “Yes. I am sure. Aiwa.
I slipped the picture away again. “Well, his wife says hes gone missing.
Ismail shrugged, as if this was no news, something that happened every day, and he was right.
I leaned forward. “No, theres something about this one, I told him. “You should see the wife. We find him, and I think its going to be worth the effort. I rubbed my thumb and first two fingers together in front of his face.
Ismail looked up at me, his eyes narrowed, then he grinned. “Is good, Zhaik.
“Yes, is good, I said. “Anyway, theyre loaded, but she wants to keep it quiet. She said something really weird though. She said her brother-in-law had killed him before, and she thought he might have done it again.
Ismails grin suddenly faded and his eyes widened. “What is this woman, Zhaik?
I frowned. “Madame Fouad. Thats her name. I didnt get a first name. Her husbands namethe guy in the picturehis names Ossie.
Ismail gave a slight shake of his head.
“Anyway, its all to do with the brother, or so she says. Its all to do with the company, Ra Industries. The brothers name is Seth.
Ismail suddenly sucked air through his teeth and shook his head. “I cannot help you, Zhaik.
“Come on, Ismail.
He leaned forward, close enough that I could smell his breath, his body. “Is bad business, Zhaik. You walk away, yes.
“What are you saying? I said, leaning back.
He shook his head again. “You go now, Zhaik. You go now.
I was about to protest, but Ismail sliced the air with his hand. I didnt understand, but Ismail had been useful to me in the past, and I didnt want to upset the relationship. Whatever Id said had struck a nerve in places he didnt want me to be. Sometimes their damned superstitions went a little too far. I wondered what it was this time.
I bid him a quick good bye, and left him there slowly shaking his head, not even bothering to finish my tea.
Stabenow, Dana - Powers Of Detection (Editor) Page 17
