The two humans reached the door to the diplomats’ area. Gordon stood awkwardly, not knowing what to do next. Carter did a backflip and sailed off down the hall.
“Take care, mudfoot,” he called.
“You, too, starspawn,” Gordon replied, then turned and let himself through the hatch.
Cairene Dawn by JAY CASELBERG
The fog had been up again that morning, just like it was most mornings-that greasy Nile mist clinging to everything, making you wonder what strange, mystical land you might be in. Then the sound of car horns and traffic, the grind and burr of a population on the move would filter through, redolent with its own smells, none of them particularly pleasant. For a while though, you could imagine you were in another place, a place of magic and power. But then Cairo was a strange and mystical place, a melting pot of nations and cultures bound to make you wonder what was real.
Perhaps it was that inability to pin things down that first drew me to that seedy, smelly city, heavy with its own exotic sounds and sensations. Nobody belonged in Cairo, not even the Cairenes, but it had been like that since the dawn of history. You see, the dirty and the grubby have their own particular tang. Some people like it.
Me? I’m Agamemnon Jacques. I can curse my parents for that one. Most people just called me Jacques. I prefer it that way.
That afternoon, I was sitting in a bar, waiting for a client. Not so unusual, but this was no ordinary bar. This was Harry’s Pub, nestled in the heart of the Marriott, way up on the eastern side of Zamalek, playground of the well-to-do. Next door lay the grounds of the Gizera Sporting Club and all around the marks of the wealthy. The hotel might have been a part of a chain now, but the marks of its past opulence were all around me. It had been a palace once. It was still full of liveried staff, still spoke swank, and in my dusty, pale street suit, I felt somewhat out of place. Still, Cairo ’s pretty forgiving if you’ve got the money. So, I sat there in one corner of Harry’s Pub, listening to the voices, Arabic, German, French, trying to pick who it was I was here to meet. I needn’t really have bothered.
The woman walked into the place and owned it with her presence. She wore a pale green-blue tailored suit that shimmered as she moved. Dark hair framed a pale, high-cheekboned face, sharp and soft at the same time. There was no hesitation. She scanned the room, spied me sitting at my solitary table, and headed straight for me. As she stood across the table from me, looking down with an assessing gaze, I looked back, knowing right away that this woman was really someone.
“Mr. Jacques?” she said. Her voice was deep and rich, a slight accent tingeing those couple of words. It wasn’t anything I could identify right off. Something exotic.
“Yeah, that’s me,” I told her. “But just call me Jacques.”
She nodded, pulled out a chair, and flowed into it-there was no other word-all smooth and fluid in a single movement. She crossed her legs and folded her hands neatly in front of her. A drinks waiter appeared a mere breath later. I’d had to wait.
“Tea,” she told the waiter. “And whatever Mr… um… Jacques’s pleasure is.”
I lifted my glass, and the waiter nodded, turning away with his tray clutched to his chest. The quick backward glance at my companion didn’t go unnoticed. So, I was not alone. She was some woman all right.
“Madame Fouad,” I started. “You said something in your call about a matter of grave importance…”
She lifted a finger to still me. “Be patient, Jacques,” she said.
This was a woman used to commanding people. I went back to my scotch, watching her over the rim of my glass. The waiter came and went, fussing for a moment with the pot and glass of tea, until she waved him away with a brief word of thanks. She lifted her glass, holding it between thumb and forefinger, took a delicate sip, and set the glass back down. Her nails were painted the same lapis as her suit.
She gave a brief smile. “It is amusing that we should use the word ‘grave’ I think,” she said. “It is my husband, Ossie, Mr. Jacques.”
“Just Jacques,” I repeated. “What about him?”
She folded her hands in her lap and looked down. “I fear something has happened to him. He has not been seen for several days.”
“And what makes you think something has happened?” People went missing all the time in Cairo. Often, they just showed up again a few days later. There were plenty of diversions if you went looking for them and you had the cash, but then you’d kind of expect that from the playground of the Middle East. There was Dubai of course, but Dubai wasn’t Cairo. Sitting there, looking at her, I couldn’t imagine what could make her husband want to stray.
Slowly, she lifted her gaze to meet mine. “This has happened before,” she said slowly. “I speak from experience. It’s the family business you see. Ra Industries. My brother-in-law has always been jealous. He has always wanted the greater share of what we do. Ossie has always been the one in the way of his plans. The last time it happened, it got so bad that he killed Ossie. Murdered him. It was months before we found his body and had him resurrected. I don’t think Seth has learned. His ambition drives him too much. Of course Ossie forgave him, but I think that it is not enough.”
She caught me in the process of pouring the remaining contents of my old glass into the new, and I managed to slosh some scotch over the table. Slowly, I put the glass back down, not really believing that I’d really heard what Madame Fouad had just said.
“He killed your husband?” I stared at her.
“Yes. Locked him in a coffin and threw him in the river. It was a very nice coffin, but it’s the principle of the thing. I have no doubt something similar has happened again.”
I stared down at my glass, toying with it as I worked out what I was going to say. “I see,” I said slowly.
Great line, Jacques. Now, you get all sorts in my business, and you hear some things, but I just wasn’t ready for this. I thought I did a pretty good job of covering what was going through my head. She was an attractive woman, seemed to be in control, someone who looked like she was used to having a handle on a situation. I was prepared to listen. Like I said, you hear all sorts in my line of work, particularly in a place like Cairo. The Egyptians are generally a superstitious lot, and you can use that. But I just couldn’t swallow a lot of the stuff they believed.
Madame Fouad continued, and I found myself being drawn deeper by the rich tones of her voice.
“His brother, Seth, has always had designs on the family business. With Ossie gone, his way would be clear.”
“But what about you, Madame Fouad?”
She fixed me with a firm gaze. “This is Egypt. We may have become enlightened over time, but this is still Egypt, and I am still a woman.”
I nodded. “What sort of business is it?”
She regarded me steadily with those wide, dark eyes, and I found myself having problems keeping my attention focused on the matter at hand. “All sorts of things, Mr. Jacques. Import/export. Other holdings. We have a diverse range of interests. You might say we deal with bits and pieces of everything. But the nature of our business should not concern you.”
I was prepared to accept that for the time being; I could do some digging on my own.
“So why me?”
And that was the question. I could see no reason why someone like her would bother contacting someone like me. She had to have the resources at her disposal to pick anyone she wanted.
“I need discretion,” she said, her gaze unflinching. “If word of this should get out… You are someone outside our usual circles. I very much doubt you would have had previous dealings with my brother-in-law. Perhaps with some of the people he employs from time to time, but no… you are not the… usual type.”
“Hmm, you’re probably right,” I said, quite prepared to take her word for it at that moment.