The two women pushed through the curtain.
Then they were in a kitchen, where several Muslim men in white labored over various dishes and grills while chattering in more high-decibel conversation. The chamber was full of conflicting cooking smells: baking fish, charred lamb, grilled chicken, steamed fruits, and spices.
Artemiz pulled Alex through the kitchen and to a rear door. Then they were out into a back alley where the footing was treacherous.
“Follow, follow,” Artemiz said with urgency. “Fast, fast.”
They went several paces down the alley. Rubbish and who-knewwhat crunched underfoot. Artemiz turned sharply and led Alex into the back office of another café, where another big man sat by the rear door-an armed sentry, Alex assumed-and then into another kitchen. It all happened so fast that Alex could have been being kidnapped and wouldn’t have known it until a pistol was placed to her head. Then they were through the kitchen and next arrived breathlessly in the back of the café, this one slightly more presentable.
There was an empty table in the rear. It was in the corner, and there was a bench behind it, big enough for two. The Persian woman led Alex to it.
“Sit,” said Artemiz.
“Where’s Voltaire?” Alex asked.
“One minute,” Artemiz said.
“Where-?”
“Don’t speak. Don’t say names. Wait here. Keep quiet.”
Cautiously, Alex eased into the seat. Artemiz turned and departed, vanishing back through the kitchen, leaving Alex alone at the small table, quite astonished. Less than two minutes earlier, she had been sitting in another café on a different block.
Alex’s gaze swept the room. She saw no one she recognized. Her hand settled upon her Beretta, just in case. Her heart was thundering, and her eyes measured not just the distance to the front door but the impediments to it also. She felt as vulnerable as she had at any time in her life. She didn’t even speak the language. The palm on her weapon was pouring forth a flood of sweat.
Then a tall, sturdy man at the end of the bar turned around. His gaze crashed into Alex’s. Their eyes locked.
He was a handsome man, Caucasian with blunt features, probably about fifty, maybe past fifty but very fit. He wore a beige Western-style suit and a light blue dress shirt, open at the collar. He was just over six feet, she reckoned, and after turning to appraise her he stood rock still as he looked at her. He too wore a hijab, but his eyes were blue and his face more German than anything. Distantly, and perhaps absurdly, he reminded Alex of Peter O’Toole in the old Lawrence of Arabia movie posters.
He established eye contact with Alex. Then he walked to her, calmly, without menace, and with great confidence. Alex checked his hands. They were empty. She looked for a bulge under his jacket and found it on the left side.
He came up directly to her table, stood politely but assertively, and looked down at her through keen but saddened eyes. Then he grinned and his face became ten years younger.
“May I join you, my dear?” he asked.
“It depends on who you are and what you want,” Alex said.
“I’m a Sagittarian,” he said. “Does that make it any better?”
“It might,” she said. “I’m a Capricorn.”
“So was Sadat, so was Stalin, so is Dolly Parton, and so was Jesus. So maybe then I should sit down,” he said.
“Maybe you should.”
A moment passed, and a small wave of relaxation washed over her. “So good of you to come to Cairo,” he said in perfect English that could have been from anywhere. “You see, we have a crisis here with someone you used to work with. You might want to consider becoming totally obsessed with it. I know the rest of us are.”
“Talk to me,” Alex said, settling in.
The spy known as Voltaire reached easily into his pocket and pulled out a pack of Marlboros. “Filthy habit, smoking,” he said. “I wish I could kick it. Then again, like a lot of my filthy habits, I rather enjoy it.”
He offered one to her.
“No, thanks,” she said.
“Not even one?”
“Not even a puff of yours,” she said.
“Smart,” he said.
But he lit one and blew out the smoke. Then, just as easily, he began to talk.
THIRTY-SIX
You’re going to help us bring home a renegade intelligence agent,” Voltaire explained. “That’s why you’re here. But part of the way I work is to be seen as little as possible by anyone who knows exactly what I do. So for our purposes here, you’re going to be the point person, the person who’s on the front line to bring in Michael Cerny. Does the operation make sense to you so far?”
“From what I know of it, yes,” she said.
“This operation has more than one goal, as you’ll discover. I’ll tell you right now that there’s more going on here than you already realize or than you’ll perhaps ever know.” He paused. “Think of yourself as a colonel in artillery in the D-Day invasion. You have authority, but do you really know what the generals are doing? Of course not.”
Alex watched him, his steady gaze, his steady hands, and said nothing.
“I’m not planning to give you a thorough briefing today. We have a little window of time before we close a trap on the individual in whom we have an interest. ‘Judas,’ I’d like to call him,” Voltaire said.
“Judas,” Alex answered. “Very good.”
“I operate under the assumption that you’re fully up to an assignment like this, mentally and physically,” he continued. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have been sent, nor would you have persevered to find this place. If you had any last minute trepidations, you would have disappeared in the alley. So I won’t even ask if you have second thoughts. You wouldn’t be sitting here if you did. My condolences on your loss in Kiev, your fiancé, by the way. I know the whole story.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“I spoke to our mutual friend at the office in Cairo, the gentleman who directed you here. Fitzgerald.”
Alex nodded.
“He’s your guy for background information, what has already happened. One doesn’t understand the present without understanding the past,” Voltaire said. “But I’m your person for what we’re going to do, what will happen. Are you ready to get killed?”
“Not really.”
“Me, neither. That’s good. And I like you,” he said. “But if there’s a choice between one of us getting killed, I’ll choose you in a heartbeat. I’d expect you to do the same. Are you a religious person?”