Grains of Truth (32 page)

As they slowed, drawing near the lights, blinking red and yellow against the black night, Mohamed pulled over, several yards back from the roadblock. “Stay here.”

The others watched apprehensively as he got out and walked up to the group of policemen. Dressed in rumpled uniforms, they were having a fine time harassing the driver of the truck that had passed in such a hurry. One of the officers poked the contents loaded on the back with the barrel of a rifle. The driver showed ominous signs of resentment. Eventually, he pulled a wad of bank notes from his pants pocket and shoved it at one of the policemen. A look of smug satisfaction spread across the man’s hairy face. The driver turned to stalk back to his truck, waving his arms and shouting as he went. His outrage could still be heard as he drove away.

Now it was Mohamed’s turn. He spoke to the three men at length, gesturing back at the van where his “tour group” sat watching nervously. When he turned back towards them, his face was set like stone—with perhaps a hint of fear.

“Give me your passports.”

As each member of the group dug for their documents, Alex kept an eye on the policemen. “Are they likely to search us?”

“Thinking of your arsenal, Commander?” Mohamed compressed his lips until they became a thin line. “Hopefully they will not. As you are American tourists, their supposed primary concern is for your safety. They want to send a man with us, for your ‘protection.’ This may become an expensive negotiation,” he said, turning a baleful eye on Brad.

One of the officers kept up a running dialogue with Mohamed as he and two others scrutinized every page of each one of the passports. Mohamed’s agitation increased as he gesticulated wildly and raised his voice.

“I think it’s time to send in a heavyweight,” surmised Brad. All heads swiveled in his direction as he added, “Okay, Henrietta, you’re up to bat.”

The frail, white-haired agent gave a curt nod and opened the door. She approached the tense group clustered ahead in the glaring lights, clasping her handbag before her and projecting a saintly smile. 

With raised eyebrows and a noticeable attempt to keep the censure from his voice, Alex asked, “Was that wise, Caldwell?”

Brad and Linda just grinned. Henry leaned forward to touch Alex reassuringly on the shoulder. “Those fellas don’t have a chance.”

In less than two minutes, Henrietta opened her purse and removed a small jar.

Mohamed looked down, incredulity plainly written across his face. She reached over and patted the man he’d been speaking with on the arm as she handed him the jar. After another minute, she again reached into the purse and took out her wallet.

Alex kept his focus on the silent tableau. “How much cash is she carrying?”

Henry smiled. “Don’t worry. She won’t need much.”

She didn’t. 

Mohamed couldn’t help but laugh. “After she commiserated with the man in charge about the cold sore on his mouth and gave him the cream, all he asked for was the cost of the permit.”

Henrietta triumphantly waved the handwritten note, signed by the commanding officer of the region, giving them unrestricted permission to travel anywhere throughout the district.

“If we’re on the right track, they must be almost a day ahead of us,” Brad calculated from the back seat. “But they’ll have to be careful not to attract attention and that will slow them down.” He practically shouted to be heard over the rush of wind that roared through the open windows. “If they make any stops, and we keep going, we might catch up before they reach Nuweiba.”

“If we’re on the right track,” murmured Linda into the wind.

Mohamed tightened his grip on the wheel and pressed down harder on the accelerator. It was a long night.

~

In the last hour before the dawn, the now-dusty white van approached the equally dusty outskirts of Hurghada. Mohamed pulled over abruptly and spoke to a pile of rags beside the road. The pile stirred and a turbaned head emerged, the heavily lined face of a man beneath it. After a quick exchange, Mohamed dug in his pocket and tossed out a few bills. The van sped off. “We will go directly to where the ferry runs. When it runs.”

“What time is the first boat?” asked Linda, yawning. No one had gotten much sleep, only a few minutes now and then before descending violently into the next crater.

“I am an Egyptologist, not a common tour guide. I have not memorized every bus, train and ferry schedule in all of Egypt.”

Alex recognized the signs of battle fatigue on Mohamed’s taut profile. “How’re we doing on petrol?”

“Near empty. I will look for a station.”

“Right. When we stop, I’ll take the wheel.” Mohamed adamantly refused to relinquish the driving throughout the long night. It was understood without anyone having to express in words that he needed to be occupied to keep panic at bay.

Henrietta kept a watchful eye on Alexander as well, but she was pleased to see that military discipline prevailed, allowing him to keep his emotions firmly in check. The last thing they needed was a blow up between the two men.

Only Mohamed could have recognized the dilapidated building as a gas station, all in darkness and without any visible signage. He pulled up to a metal relic anchored in the cement. “Wait here.”

Moving stiffly to the front of the building, he pounded on a closed door until a light came on behind the dirty glass. Loud words flew back and forth at length in Arabic before the door swung open. A barefoot man in a grubby galabeeya muttered continuously as he unlocked the age-encrusted pump and filled the tank.

When Alex, standing beside the driver’s door, handed over payment, the muttering changed into a broad smile. “Shukran,” he said, nodding happily, showing a mouth half-full of brown teeth, “shukran.”

“You fed his entire family for a month,” grumbled Mohamed as he got into the front passenger seat.

At these sour words, “Team L” exchanged an unspoken message. Henrietta bided her time, keeping a close watch on Mohamed as he directed Alex to the ferry terminal, such as it was, only a few miles away. He pulled into the adjacent parking area and switched off the engine. Alex sat for a moment, along with the others, in subdued silence. The long, haunting cry of a seagull prompted him to open his door.

The others followed, piling out of the van to stand on the pavement to stretch, trying to regain feeling in their limbs. Their bodies, stiff from sitting anxiously upright through the harrowing ride, cracked and creaked. All except for Sarah. She’d offered to ride in the baggage space, where she curled up and managed to grab a few hours sleep.

“Let’s see if there’s a schedule posted,” suggested Linda. 

They limped over to what amounted to the ferry terminal. Mohamed bent down to squint at a tattered paper taped inside the greasy glass.

“The ferry is canceled. Indefinitely.” He spat out the words in the voice of doom.

“Then we’ll have to hire a boat.” The brisk response came from Brad. He’d suspected that this might be the case so wasn’t discouraged at the prospect. “As soon as possible, Mohamed, you and I will make arrangements. The question is: Will we be able to find one to carry the van across?” All eyebrows lifted at that unforeseen complication, but no one ventured to voice doubt. “What time will things start to open up?”

Mohamed sighed. “Probably around six.”

Seven wrists came up encircled with watches.

“We should spread out and ask around to find out if anyone remembers seeing them,” said Linda, always the practical professional.

“Same teams?” inquired Brad of his subordinate.

“No, I think I’ll go along with Mohamed,” said Henry, surprising them all. He seldom spoke unless he had something specific on his mind and his infrequent words carried all the more weight as a result. Henrietta nodded approvingly. 

“Right,” said Alex, once again assuming command. “It’s almost five now. Since no one seems to be out and about yet, let’s see if we can find a place to get something to eat. Then we’ll spread out to learn whatever we can.”

It was a motley group that shuffled into the shabby lobby of the Cleopatra Hotel. Mohamed assumed it was used mostly by tour groups, which proved to be the case. “Yes,” said the young waiter, “we would be happy to serve an excellent breakfast to your group.” 

They availed themselves of the facilities, washing dusty faces and gritty hands, before being shown to a large round table near the buffet. Henrietta made a point of sitting next to Mohamed, who ordered coffee before slumping into a chair.

The others went straight to the meager array of peculiar foods that comprised most Egyptian breakfasts. The display consisted of hard-boiled eggs, dry toast and boxes of cereal, along with plates of cheese, olives and unidentifiable local delicacies of strange textures and suspicious colors.

“My dear Mohamed, may I speak with you frankly?” inquired Henrietta in her kindly way.

He sighed, fingering the handle of the coffee cup without looking up.

“You obviously care for Julia a great deal. We’ve known that from the start.”

At this, his liquid dark eyes looked up to meet her steady gaze.

“We will move heaven and earth to get her back. On that, you have my word. If the word of an old woman means anything.”

This brought a fleeting smile to his lips.

“Henry and I have found ourselves in many a difficult situation over the years. The most important and constant lesson learned in all that time was to remain calm. Remain calm and take the best possible care of yourself that circumstances will allow. Take advantage of any and all opportunities to keep yourself operating at maximum capacity. That means sleeping when you don’t feel like sleeping and eating when it’s the last thing in the world you wish to do.”

Even the dark smudges under his eyes didn’t dim the radiance of his smile as Mohamed leaned over to kiss her cheek. “You are an angel, Henrietta. Truly an angel.”  

With that he rose, gallantly pulled out her chair and they advanced, arm-in-arm, on the dubious buffet.

~

Half an hour later they left the hotel, dividing into teams. Mohamed and Henry would work the back streets, as it was less likely English-speaking locals would be found there. Henrietta said she would tag along with Brad and Linda as they made inquiries at the hotels on the main street. This was the first occasion she’d had to speak with him privately, and she had a few choice words for Brad Caldwell.

That left Alex and Sarah to work the waterfront. 

Linda looked over her shoulder to watch them walk away. A more mismatched pair would be hard to imagine: the tall ex-commander striding grimly along, trailed by the diminutive blonde, looking at least ten years younger than her actual forty-something years. They could have easily been mistaken for father and daughter.

“Wait just a damn minute!” Sarah shouted at his rigid back as he marched away. 

Alex froze in his tracks, incensed at the indiscretion, and whipped around. In spite of the seriousness of their predicament, it was all he could do to keep from bursting out laughing. Her righteous indignation—fists clenched on narrow hips—made her look for all the world like a fiery little dragon. The grin slipped from his face when she spoke again.

“You’ve made it quite clear that you resent my presence here,” she fumed. “Well, get over it. Julia is my friend and I loved her long before you did.”

What did she say? The entirely unexpected accusation struck like an arrow dead-center on target. He recovered quickly to return to tower over her. “Keep your voice down, for Christ’s sake,” he hissed. “Have you lost your mind? We don’t want to draw any more attention than we already have.”

“Well, excuse me if I don’t measure up to your exacting military standards.”

His behavior towards her from the first oozed with disapproval and disdain. When he wasn’t ignoring her completely, he eyed her with ill-concealed contempt. She wanted to throttle him. But what did that involve? Did it require a weapon of some kind? A throttle, perhaps? And where did one find such a thing? His infuriating behavior did make her wonder if there might not be a place for a little violence now and then after all.

“Look,” she informed him with the forced patience of a parent scolding a wayward child, “it’s clear as day that you’ve fallen in love with her. Who could blame you? Men do it all the time. But they mistake her compassion for a more common emotion. She’s usually oblivious to it all. Apart from being beautiful, she’s kind and caring and always trying to do ‘the right thing,’ even when it costs her dearly—which it frequently does. What man could resist a woman like that?”

The courageous soldier stood on the sidewalk in the breaking dawn looking down at this pixie-like woman, completely cowed by her words. They stung and soothed with equal force. She knew Julia. She was her best friend. Standing near her, he experienced a peculiar kind of salve to the wound festering inside. 

“But Julia is not a helpless victim. She knew what she was getting into when she came back here. She had a purpose—a mission: to make a contribution to a cause she supports from the bottom of her heart: peace.”

Breath now came hard to Sarah as tears glistened in her eyes. Her clenched fists hovered between them as if on the verge of striking out any second at his broad, solid, chest.