“The guy I want you to meet is our top Egyptian security person. By Egyptian, I mean he’s one of them, but he’s been in the embassy here for years.”
“He’s a local cop?”
“Yes. Rank of colonel. The police here have ranks similar to army ranks. Holdover from when the British ran the place. Anyway, Amjad is one of the top guys in the city dealing with the diplomatic community. You should know who he is.”
Alex was wary.
“I’ve been told they’re not that trustworthy, the local police,” she said.
“Ah, don’t believe everything you hear, unless it comes from me or Voltaire,” he said. “The Arabs are a mixed lot, I admit. But the ones you can trust are the most loyal, steadfast friends you’ll make this side of Valhalla. Then there’s the rest. Those will cut your throat.”
“So this is someone I can trust? Maybe?”
“Ha!” Bissinger said under his breath. “Not a bit. But, hey! There he is. Amjad!”
Not far away stood a thick man in a khaki Cairo police uniform. He was about six feet tall and when he turned, his face was tanned and grave with a moustache. He was a dour-looking big man with a sad expression and dead eyes set back in his head. With his puffy eyelids and sagging jowls, like an old poodle. But he also looked strong and wore a sidearm. He seemed like a man who knew how to get things done and was widely disliked for it.
Then, when he saw Bissinger and Alex, his face transformed. He smiled. “Why, Mr. Bissinger. Charmed,” he said with a slight bow. And indeed he seemed to be just that. Charmed.
Bissinger handled the introduction of Colonel Ahman Amjad to Josephine from Toronto.
“I have my car outside,” Colonel Amjad said. “I could drive you.”
“I really don’t mind walking,” Alex insisted.
“I insist,” the colonel said. “You must be tired.”
Alex was about to refuse again, but her feet were killing her and the jetlag was catching up. Then there was the din and grittiness of the walk over, the catcalls from men in trucks and taxis. She thought better of it.
“All right,” she said.
The colonel gave her a bow. “I’m honored,” he said.
He led her to his vehicle, an unmarked police car. He held the door to the backseat open and she climbed in. He came around, slid in, and started the car. The ignition sputtered and resisted slightly, and for one horrible stretch of seconds, Alex wondered if that was how Carlos’s car sounded before it turned into a flaming execution chamber.
The car failed to start. She was ready to bolt.
Then Colonel Amjad turned the ignition a second time. The engine kicked in. He pulled out of the secured embassy parking and into traffic on the motorway along the river. Traffic was moving faster than a crawl now, a propitious sign.
“You are American? From where?” he asked, glancing into his rearview mirror as they drove.
“Canadian, actually.”
“Ah! Canada!”
“You’ve been there?” she asked.
“I’ve been to America and I’ve been to Canada,” he said proudly. “I have one brother in Vancouver and a half-brother in New York.”
“That’s very nice,” she said. She couldn’t get a range on him. Was he snooping or being sincere?
“Maybe next year I go and visit again,” he said. “I don’t know.”
He hit some traffic and started to work his horn, not that anyone paid any attention. Another driver started to give him a threatening gesture but backed off immediately when he noticed the police uniform.
“Well, I’m sure you’d enjoy your trip,” she said. “I hope you’re able to visit.”
He shrugged while driving. Then, seeing an opportunity, he switched on a small blue flashing light on his dashboard. Traffic ahead of him gave way and Colonel Amjad edged through it like a weasel.
“There is a phrase in Arabic,” he said. He then gave it in Arabic. Alex didn’t understand. Arabic was still beyond her dossier. “The phrase says, ‘Let every man eat bread,’ ” Amjad said. “We are also so busy here. Police. One thing stops and another starts. Very hard for me to travel and get away.”
“I understand,” Alex said, who wasn’t sure if she did.
He found the exit from the motorway, and they were back at the hotel within a few minutes. After her initial reservations, Alex was satisfied with the trip, and with Colonel Amjad. A chauffer was a great thing, a police escort something even greater.
Colonel Amjad pulled into the semicircle in front of the hotel. The doormen knew enough to stay away until the proper moment. The colonel turned around from the front seat.
“May I give you some advice?” he asked. “For your personal safety? About Cairo.”
“Please do,” she said.
“When walking on the street, walk as far away from the cars and motor scooters as you can,” he said. “Bad people, they pull up right next to you, grab your purse, and drive away. Or, with a single Western woman, they force you into the car. Stay close to the buildings. Don’t give money to beggars. Some of them will stalk you and send their family members to follow you home and harass you for more money.”
“Simple urban precaution,” she said. “Thank you.”
He nodded politely. “Yes, you could say,” he said. “And maybe,” he said, giving a nod to her head, “if I am not being presumptuous, you might purchase a headscarf or two. It will help you fit in. Even in Western business clothes, for a woman the hijab is a good idea.”
She thought about it. “Good advice, Colonel,” she said.
“Are you really Canadian or are you American working undercover with the embassy?” he asked.
She laughed. “Got to admit it!” she said, not missing a beat. “I’m a spy!”
“You are?”
She laughed again and shook her head. “You flatter me, Colonel. I’m a visiting scholar and a personal friend of Mr. Bissinger at the embassy. Everything I know about spies I saw in James Bond movies.”
“You are very pretty. You could be a Bond girl.”
“That would pay better than what I do as a teacher, Colonel. You flatter me again.”
“So be it,” he said. “It is my pleasure to be at your disposal while you are here.”
She gave him a final smile.
“If at any time you feel there is a threat or a danger, please call me. I insist. Here,” he said. He wrote out his cell phone number and handed it to her. “I oversee security for the Americans, Canadians, and British. I am often at the big hotels.”
She thanked him again. “And I’ll get myself some scarves.”
Then she was out of the car. He pulled out of the driveway and back into the endless Cairo traffic. From the corner of her eyes, she watched the car disappear.
“What a creep!” she thought to herself.