“My mother is a maid for a woman who teaches at the American University in Cairo. I also learn some English at school,” he said, beaming.
“And shouldn’t you be in school now?”
“Oh no. Allah says it is my duty to help you. So here I am.” The eyes hardened. “Why are you following those men?”
“Is it that obvious?” Matt said. “Actually, I know one of them. I was just curious where they were going.”
“Follow me. I know where they are going and we will get there before them.” Saleem disappeared around the next corner. “Are you coming?” he said, poking his head back around.
Matt weaved and ran through the dark lanes of the covered bazaar, barely keeping his guide in sight. Abruptly they came upon a lavish nightclub at the edge of the bazaar. Matt stared at the carved door. An immense white sign announced the entrance to the Hidden Veils Nightclub.
Saleem pulled hard on his sleeve, almost dragging Matt into the dark recesses of a carpet shop just across from the nightclub. They both watched as William Fisher and the older man walked by and disappeared into the nightclub.
“Would you like me to take a look for you?” asked Saleem. “I can get in and out without being seen. It would be fun.”
“Yes. But be careful,” said Matt. “And come out in five minutes and tell me what you see. Then I’ll let you guide me around the city for a few hours.”
“It will be a great honor to be your esteemed guide. I shall return shortly.”
Matt stood in a dark alley a few shops away from the entrance to the nightclub and waited. Several elderly men came and went over the next few minutes. Matt looked at his watch. Ten minutes passed and no Saleem. Matt looked around. Shit.
Matt waited a few more minutes, then stepped out of the shadows and headed for the nightclub.
“Hey. Watch where you’re going,” said Matt, regaining his balance after being nearly knocked over by someone from behind.
“Oh, a thousand pardons, Sir. I was late for a meeting and didn’t see you. Are you all right?” A young man a few years younger than Matt looked up, again making apologies.
“I’m okay,” said Matt. “Your English is very good.”
“Why thank you. I am a student. My name is Noubar. My benefactor insists I become fluent in English, and French, German and Russian. He says it will be important for my future success.” The boy looked at his watch. “Now if you will excuse me I must hurry. May Allah protect you.” He hurried towards the nightclub, opened the door, and slipped passed Saleem who was just exiting.
Later that afternoon at a food stall near the giant Helipolis obelisk on the banks of the Nile Saleem told Matt what he had seen in the nightclub. The tall American had been seated with a large Egyptian man watching the belly dancers and drinking Arabic coffee. A man in a Palestinian headdress joined them. The three of them talked very quietly to each other.
“Can you describe them?” asked Matt.
“The man in the red keffiyeh had a hooked nose, large lips, and hadn’t shaved, like my brothers sometimes,” Saleem laughed easily. “He was Palestinian. That is all I can tell. And just before I left, another man, about your age, joined them. He looked like a college student. I have seen many of them at the house where my mother works. And he had an Armenian accent.”
Washington, DC
Eli gently shook Nicole and Matt. “Better wake up.”
Matt stirred, then sat up. Tension hardened his eyes. “What’s happened?”
“Get dressed. We need to talk. Right away.”
“What is it, Dad?”
“Dr. Martin Thomas is dead.”
“Oh, God.” Nicole drew the bedcover up to her neck.
“It’s on the morning news. He died of an apparent heart attack in bed last night. His butler found him.”
Matt dressed quickly. “Were there any signs of violence?”
“If there were it wasn’t reported in the news. All they said is the butler heard noises coming from his room. It seems he died after a coughing fit that was too much for his heart. He had been taking heart medication for the past year.”
Nicole talked as she dressed. “We’ve got to retrieve that recorder. Maybe we can find out something about his death.”
Matt pulled on his trousers and reached for his shoes.
Nicole stood in the doorway. “I’ll go retrieve it. Make some coffee will you?”
“Watch yourself,” Elijah said.
“Just have the coffee ready.”
When Nicole returned Matt was on his third rerun of the Dr. Thomas story on CNN. “Nothing new. Did anyone see you?”
“No. Believe me, I was careful. I parked a block away and walked to the hedge. Dad?” Nicole handed the recording device to her father.
“Give me a few minutes.” Elijah produced a set of headphones and began listening. Matt and Nicole waited, watching as he sat hunched over, listening, eyes fixed in time and space.
“Okay. He made two calls. Most of its blank but the two calls had him phoning his son, a physician in California, and one to William Fisher in Baltimore.”
“Fisher?”
“What did he and Fisher talk about?” Nicole asked, an impatient edge in her voice.
“I couldn’t hear clearly what he was saying to Fisher but he mentioned Matt’s name several times.”
“That’s all? No details about the conversation?”
“Sorry. It must have been a cordless phone and he probably moved away from the desk.”
Nicole stepped close to Matt. “What time were the calls?”
Eli scanned the digital readout. “Just before midnight.”
“Stevens was obviously gone by then. Shit. I wish we had more.”
Chapter Eleven
Pittsburgh
Once dominated by steel mills and buried under black smoke, Pittsburgh was an American renaissance city. The riverfront and old docks were transformed into malls and tree-lined parks. Hosting several major league sports teams and world-class universities the city was well known for its innovative medical, computer and software companies.
Monument Oil and Gas Company occupied the top ten floors of a magnificent high rise soaring above the downtown skyline. Todd Cummings, chief legal counsel and corporate secretary, had his office in the executive suite just below the boardroom and executive dining rooms. While executive dining rooms were going out of fashion in corporate America, they were a necessity for Monument Oil. It was there that foreign dignitaries and the heads of major oil and gas companies from around the world, especially the Middle East, were entertained. The corporate dining rooms were not only a quiet place to talk business. They were also secure, swept daily for listening devices.
Nicole’s interview with Todd Cummings was scheduled for 11:30 A.M . and her eyes widened as they were shown into the anteroom of Cumming’s office. It was lushly appointed with dark mahogany paneling, Persian carpets and a large oil painting by Thomas Hart Benson depicting industrial Pittsburgh during the 1920s. “There’s more money tied up in the furnishings here than I’ll ever see in a lifetime,” she murmured to Matt as they sat down on a sofa. “Look at this, real damask.”
“If you got it, flaunt it. That’s the motto of corporate America,” Matt said, preoccupied by what he was going to say to his old friend, Toad.
Nicole noticed Matt’s frown. “Are you worried?”
He nodded.
“You did well with Dr. Thomas. Cummings is no physician so he may be tougher to convince. I’ll back you up.” She squeezed his hand.
“Mr. Cummings is ready to see you now,” said the secretary, her dark hair elegantly arranged in a chignon. Her smile was big and practiced. “You’ll be having lunch with Mr. Cummings. Are there any special dietary requirements for either of you? Our chefs are used to special needs.”
Nicole shook her head. “No alcohol for either of us,” Matt said, “but other than that, we’ll eat anything.” Nicole gave him a quick smile.
The secretary ushered them into a spacious corner office overlooking the Allegheny River.