It was when he returned to the office, at about eleven o’clock, that he’d got the invitation from Schlitz.
Soon he caught his first glimpse of the Pyramids’ chipped, sand-blown peaks creeping above the houses lining the dead straight road. Despite their over-exposure — Pyramid motifs were emblazoned on everything in Egypt from newspapers to petrol stations — he never tired of seeing them. On the rare days when neither the smoke nor the dust was too thick, you could see them with the help of a long lens from any of the tall buildings downtown.
Mona and he had climbed to the top of the Great Cheops Pyramid on a day much like this. They had ignored the cautionary notices and made it to the summit a little before sundown. The view had been breathtaking. They had sat holding each other in the moonlight.
The sun glinted on the windscreen of a Fiat three cars behind him. Girling spotted it in the mirror. They must have picked him up at the office. He adjusted his dark glasses.
He drove on for another kilometre without varying his speed, but instead of turning off at the hotel kept driving along the road that led up the escarpment to the Pyramids. He parked in the shadow of the Great Pyramid and set out for the first row of metre-high stone blocks that marked the base. He heard the Mukhabarat slow to a stop a little way behind. He began to climb.
Neither of the two Mukhabarat field officers elected to follow him. While one of them watched his progress, the other reached for a newspaper. They knew Girling would be gone a long time. It was a forty-minute climb to the summit and probably a thirty-minute descent.
When he was about a hundred feet up, Girling began moving towards the corner of the pyramid, the safest route for the ascent. He paused for breath and looked down. He could see the camels and horses for hire, their owners touting for customers, scores of milling tourists and a few white-clad police. In the blue Fiat neither man had moved.
Girling stepped round the corner, out of the Mukhabarat’s sight, and moved swiftly downwards. There was a warm wind blowing in from the desert. He glanced towards the horizon and made out the crumbling remains of the Abusir pyramids eight kilo-metres to the south. A little further still he could see the distinctive shape of the stepped pyramid of Zozer at Saqqara nestling between the green valley strip and the desert.
It took him about five minutes to reach the ground. He dusted himself down and walked around to the back of the tomb before rejoining the road that led to the Mena House. He glimpsed the Fiat. The man reading the paper was smoking a cigarette. His companion looked as though he’d gone to sleep.
It took five more minutes to reach the hotel. Although built at the turn of the century, successive owners had added new wings and outbuildings. Girling proceeded straight to the cocktail bar. He spotted Schlitz in the corner sharing a drink with two other men. One was dressed in a light-weight tropical suit, the other in jeans, T-shirt, and a scuffed leather jacket.
Schlitz got to his feet. ‘Glad you could make it, Tom. We were just about to order another round. What’ll it be?’ Even in a jacket and tie Schlitz managed to look dishevelled.
The waitress appeared and Girling asked for a beer.
Schlitz made the introductions.
‘Tom, this is Lieutenant-Colonel Cyrus McBain, our defence attaché.’
McBain shook his hand. He had sandy hair, thinning on top, and piercing blue eyes. A guy to depend on in a tight spot, Girling thought.
‘And this is John Gudmundson of the DIA,’ Schlitz continued. ‘John just got in from Washington.’
Girling matched the strength of Gudmundson’s grip with difficulty. There was steel in the man’s eyes, and a restless energy in his body that made it difficult for Girling to picture him behind a desk. He looked somehow out of place in the ornate surroundings of the hotel’s cocktail bar.
‘Seems like we picked a hell of a time to meet with you,’ Schlitz said, lighting up a Marlboro.
‘I’m sorry?’ Girling said, settling into his seat. For a moment he thought they were referring to the cuts and bruises he had received at the hands of the mob.
Schlitz said: ‘Come on, Tom. It’s not a secret any more. It came over the wire just before we left the embassy. And, by the way, before we go any further, I’d just like to say how sorry I am. Like I told you, Stansell was a good operator. A good guy, too. He’ll be missed around here.’
‘Well, I guess I owe you an apology for that cock-and-bull line I gave you about him being sent back to England,’ Girling said. ‘The Mukhabarat didn’t want the news to leak while they were looking for him. I kind of had my hands tied.’
‘We’ve known for a few days now about Stansell’s abduction,’ McBain said. ‘As you can imagine, the antennae are pretty sensitive at this time. There’s a lot of things out there we’re picking up.’
‘And a lot you’re missing, too, perhaps?’ Girling said.
McBain said nothing. He settled back in his armchair, relaxed, confident, every inch the diplomat. Gudmundson, on the other hand, seemed edgy.
‘I’ve been reading your stuff,’ McBain said. ‘Dispatches seems to be way ahead of the game.’
‘At a price.’
‘Yes, I’m sorry.’ He paused.
‘The thing of it is, Mr Girling,’ Gudmundson said, ‘we’d appreciate hearing what’s going to go into your next Angels of Judgement story…’
Girling noticed McBain frowning.
‘Is there any chance we could see your copy early, Tom?’ Schlitz asked.
Girling smiled. ‘What are you guys at the DIA working on right now, Mr Gudmundson?’
Gudmundson shifted in his seat. ‘I’m afraid that’s classified information.’
‘Quite,’ Girling said. He looked at the three of them in turn. He’d seen a hundred Gudmundsons in his years as a defence journalist and none of them had been in intelligence. ‘So, who’s calling the shots here, gentlemen?’
‘We thought it would be useful to talk, that’s all,’ McBain said. ‘For both of us.’
Girling looked at Gudmundson again. Something about him definitely didn’t fit.
‘Have we ever met before?’ he asked.
Gudmundson looked him in the eye. ‘No, sir.’
‘You sure?’
‘I never forget a face,’ Gudmundson said.
‘Me neither. That’s what bothers me.’
Girling sipped his beer. ‘What line of work do you do with the DIA?’ he said.
‘Government work.’
Girling smiled. ‘Sounds fascinating.’
Schlitz had began to stub his cigarette nervously. ‘Tom, I think I should just say… er, at this point that this conversation is not really happening. I should have made the ground rules clear from the start. Clearly you appreciate the sensitivity of this meeting.’
‘Maybe you should get to the point, Mike.’
‘You said you wanted to meet with Colonel McBain the other day. Well, here he is.’ Schlitz was sweating.
‘That was three days ago. A lot has happened to me since then. How about you?’
‘What do you mean?’ Gudmundson asked.
McBain flashed him another warning glance.
‘Are you any closer to the hostages?’ Girling said.
‘It’s better you don’t know,’ Gudmundson said.
‘I thought this was meant to be a frank exchange of views.’
‘Then start talking, hotshot,’ Gudmundson said, his anger suddenly coming to the surface.