“I’m also not wild about the part where I’m supposed to get killed,” she said, backtracking.
“What part was that?”
“What you just mentioned.”
“That’s good. I was afraid the part about the ugly overnight with the Russian would have you walking out of here.”
“When do I hear what the real game plan is?”
“When you meet Voltaire, but what I outlined above isn’t far off. So I’ll ask again, how do you like Egypt so far?”
“Want to help me form an opinion?”
“Sure.”
“Then give me a quick overview.”
“Fair enough. Current history begins with the Gulf War of 1991. Egyptian infantrymen were the first Arabs to land in Saudi Arabia to evict Iraqi forces from Kuwait. Know why? The US government paid Egypt half a million dollars per soldier that Egypt sent into the fight. This is all unofficial, of course. But the program worked. When the United States formed alliances to kick Iraq out of Kuwait, Egypt’s President Hosni Mubarak was the first to join. Because Egyptians were some of the first to move into Kuwait during the liberation, Egypt suffered more casualties than reported. But after the Persian Gulf War was a success, Mubarak’s reward was that the United States, the Gulf states, and Europe forgave Egypt around twenty-billion-dollars’ worth of debt. It turned the Egyptian economy around overnight.”
“And the average Egyptian doesn’t know this?”
“Of course not. There are rumors. Mutterings in cafés. But the government controls the press. Hell, the average American doesn’t know it, and we have a free press, so why would the average Egyptian?”
“Point,” she said.
“Corruption within the police departments and the Ministry of Interior is rampant here. Don’t trust anyone within the Egyptian government or any state agency. As a woman in the Arab world, you’ll not only get a hand under your skirt but you’ll get a knife in your back or worse. The state security agencies operate unchecked. They execute criminals without trials when they want to, and there are maybe about ten state prisons hidden out in the desert that exist off the record. Any individual police officer can violate any citizen’s privacy or rights. They can make unconditioned arrests whenever they want. You run into a police lieutenant or captain, it’s a sign of danger, not safety. So if you have to rely on anyone here, use one of us, never one of them.”
She listened with close attention.
“As for the president of the country,” he said, “Mubarak has been in power for almost three decades. He’s survived at least six known assassination attempts and maybe a couple dozen more that got nipped before a shot was fired. Islamic fundamentalists. They don’t like him for exactly the reasons we do like him. He cozies up to us and feels he can live with Israel, his public anti-Zionist yammering notwithstanding. Look at his history. He works both sides of the street. He went to their air force academy half a century ago and became a bomber pilot. Part of his flight training he received at the Soviet pilot school in Bishkek in Soviet Kyrgyzstan. In 1964 he was appointed head of the Egyptian Military Delegation to the USSR. So he started out his career as a Soviet guy. In 1972 he became commander of the air force and deputy minister of war. In October 1973, following the Yom Kippur War, he was promoted to the rank of air chief marshal. In April 1975 he was appointed vice president of Egypt, and following the assassination of Sadat by militants in 1981, Mubarak became the president. For half a dozen years he was a loyal guy for the Russians. Then the Soviet Union collapses, and it’s all roses and valentines between him and Washington. Suddenly he’s our guy. Do we object? Hell no. He might be a hooker, but he’s a hooker who knows how to keep us happy, and we can afford him.”
Bissinger leaned back in his chair.
“Want some hardware?” he asked. “I’d suggest you carry some.”
“Absolutely,” she said.
“Come along,” he said. “This is usually everyone’s favorite part of an embassy visit.”
They proceeded to a separate room down the hallway. In a well-fortified storage area, which he used his own pass to enter, he led her to a closet enclosed in steel, which had several shelves of metal boxes.
“Preferences?” he asked.
“Do you have a Baby Glock?” she asked.
“That nifty little German problem-solver?” he asked. “A Glock 27? Can’t go wrong with one of those.”
“That’s the one.”
“Excellent choice.”
“So? Do you have one?”
“No. No got. Never seen one here. A shame, really.”
“What do you have?” she asked.
“Here’s a hint,” he said. “The Egyptians do a lot of business with Italy.”
“Okay. I like the feel of a Beretta,” Alex said. “Something small and compact. There are a few Colt models that will do.”
“Good call,” he said.
He scanned the boxes, pulled one off a central shelf, unlocked it, and handed it to her. The box clicked open. There was a small pistol within, with a hip holster. She pulled it out and hefted it in her hand. It was an attractive new piece, a Beretta Px4 Storm Sub-Compact pistol.
“Easy to conceal. I’ve used one,” Bissinger said. “It has large frame firepower. This one packs 9mm, thirteen to a clip. Does that work for you?”
She admired it. “Looks like it should.”
“It’s a nice weapon for Egypt,” he said. “It’s corrosion resistant. So you can sweat like a sow all over it with no damage. Sign for it and return it when you leave the country. I don’t want to see it pop up on Egyptian eBay.”
She examined it thoroughly. It wasn’t loaded. She hefted it again in her hand. Slim and sleek, it would indeed pack and conceal well beneath a light jacket. Bissinger gave her two clips, two boxes of bullets, and a two-word benediction.
“Happy hunting,” he said.
She loaded the weapon and affixed the holster on her right hip.
“Is that it for now?”
“Not entirely,” he said. “I’ll walk you down to the lobby; there’s someone else I want you to meet.”
“Who would that be?” she asked.
“Amjad,” he answered. “Amjad is going to be one of the most important people during your assignment here. Come along.”
They took the elevator down to the main floor. When they emerged from it, Bissinger spoke again in lowered tones.