Grains of Truth (7 page)

External Affairs Special Agent Brad Caldwell hesitated for a moment before turning serious again to add a warning. “Julia, you must never allow anyone else to have access to this computer. Never. Carry it with you at all times; as a writer, it’s perfectly natural. Use it several times a day in full public view. Make journal entries, whatever.”

With something between a grimace and a grin he added, “Just in case.

“Ms. Manning will take you now to provide your itinerary, tickets, documents and cash for expenses. Ten thousand dollars has already been transferred to your bank account from the publisher as ‘an advance’ for your travel book. You’ll return here to go over a few more points before we leave for the airport.”

His eyelids slid down halfway. “You’re too quiet. Are you all right with this?”

Julia lifted a steady gaze from her hands, resting on top of the computer case. “Yes, Brad, as a matter of fact I am. This will probably come as no big shock to you, as you’re so familiar with my intimate affairs.” She felt a ripple of satisfaction as he winced. “But the actual assignment isn’t the most difficult aspect of this trip for me.”

He bowed his head in mock defeat at the barbed rebuke.

Without warning, Julia sprang to her feet to stand over him, hands on hips. “There is one thing that I still don’t understand about all of this.” Her eyes narrowed to complete the picture of a woman who wanted answers. “Why me? I mean it would be pretty damn difficult to find someone less suited to the job.”

Brad regained his composure and stood to meet her eye-to-eye. “That’s exactly why, Julia. No one would believe it.” He gave her his boyish smile. “Besides, it really is just a simple communication pick up. Completely routine. No cloak and dagger stuff, no big deal.”

A few seconds of silence stretched out across the less than two feet that separated them before Ms. Manning reappeared noiselessly at the door.

~

When the two women returned to Brad’s office half an hour later, they found him with Bob Bronson in quiet conversation. The men stood politely as they entered; Julia noted a tray of sandwiches on the coffee table next to several bottles of Evian. After shaking her hand, Bob took Julia’s elbow and steered her to a chair.

“We thought you might enjoy a light lunch before the flight.” 

They ate the somehow incongruously dainty sandwiches of smoked salmon and thinly sliced roast beef, and chatted about inconsequential things. Julia sensed an air of uneasiness about something as yet unsaid. When Bob cleared his throat, she braced for bad news.

“We’ve received a disturbing communication.” The furrows across his broad brow deepened. “Abeer Rashad’s body was discovered late yesterday. In Mallawi, a town halfway between Luxor and Cairo. We have no idea what she was doing there.”

Julia knew about Mallawi. Mohamed had told her it was a center of conflict and armed rebellion in the 1990s and remained today a very tense place. The populace, among the poorest in the country, were trapped by the stagnant economy, restless and resentful. Travel there was strictly controlled by the police, and the only way to get in or out was by private taxi or in your own vehicle, with a police escort.

What in the world had Abeer Rashad been doing there?

Brad saw the color drain from her face and leaned forward. “Julia, you can still change your mind if you like, but we sincerely hope you won’t. As long as you stick to the plan, it’ll be okay.”  

Sure. Who did they think they were kidding?

Julia saw in her mind’s eye the vibrant young woman in the photograph. She swallowed with difficulty and asked, almost a whisper, “How…how did she die?”

Bob scowled down at his clasped hands while Brad said, “We don’t have all the details, but she appears to have been strangled. It was reported to the press that the chief suspect is a distant male relative who took offense at her ‘decadent’ Western lifestyle.”

In the strained silence that followed, Julia heard the wail of a siren off in some distant part of the city.

Bob’s calm, reassuring voice filled the void. “Because of this latest development we’re making arrangements for you to be observed on the boat. We haven’t confirmed who it will be but that’s irrelevant to your purpose. Whoever we send won’t identify himself unless absolutely necessary.”

Brad held up a forestalling hand to the obvious question. “We still need you to make the connection, Julia. Zed expects a woman. And anyone else traveling at the last minute might be followed. We simply can’t risk that.”

Bob heaved himself from his chair. “You have our most sincere gratitude. Please don’t hesitate to ask any further questions of Brad before you go.” His big, bear-like hand enveloped her slender one as he looked her straight in the eye. “All you have to do is stick with the plan, receive the information and come home safely. And remember,” he added with a warm, almost melancholy smile, “we are all on the same side.” 

~

The lights dimmed and the other passengers settled down for the movie, to read or sleep. Julia had, in the end, taken the coward’s way out and left a message for Sarah when she knew she would be out for her morning jog. In truth, it was fear that kept her from speaking with her sympathetic friend: fear of spilling everything to the only person alive who could possibly understand the anomaly of Julia’s apparent abandonment of the values she held so dear.

Only Sarah knew of the one thing—the only thing—that could induce her to become involved with a faction she’d always found reprehensible. She would, no doubt, be furious when—if—she ever learned the truth. But the choice wasn’t Julia’s to make. 

She closed her eyes and, accepting that sleep would be elusive at best, surrendered to the urge to wander back through time to that first trip to Egypt, Land of the Pharaohs. It was an indulgence she seldom allowed herself now: to relive, to relish every moment, every nuance, of her strange and powerful connection to Mohamed Zahar. It was only when she looked at it from beginning to end that even she could believe it had all come about. Especially the way that it had.

Chapter 10

Mohamed had loved her. Julia believed that. As far as she knew, he loved her still. To say that she loved him seemed pitifully inadequate. From the beginning, from that first moment when he’d stepped aboard the bus and said, “I am Mohamed Zahar,” in his meticulous English, “I will direct your tour and share with you the many treasures of Egypt,” she began to fall under his spell.

Years of working endless hours counseling the families of disabled children had left Julia limp with fatigue. An ever-increasing disenfranchisement with Western culture and the manic mass-consumption that it insists paves the path to happiness added weight to the burden dragging her down, down. In the constant struggle to find funding for her work, she’d become disillusioned by corporate chaos and corruption. She suffered from a life-threatening ebbing of spirit that would surely destroy her if she failed to find a kinder, gentler way of life.

The long-awaited trip to Egypt was a sabbatical—an escape, really. Mohamed’s engaging smile, framed by a neatly trimmed black beard and mustache on a rugged, bronzed face, had undeniable appeal; it was, however, the warm, passionate quality of his voice and clear feeling for his subject that had instantly captivated her. For the first few days they kept a respectable distance. He lectured. She, along with the others, listened. Yet they drew inexorably closer—like a river gaining momentum as it approaches the falls.

As they toured the awe-inspiring sites of the ancient civilization, Julia came to know and respect her guide. They joked and laughed, enjoying the unacknowledged attraction. But she had no intention of anything more. Apart from the fact that a holiday fling held no interest, he was much younger—and married. He was also a Muslim, with all the strict codes of conduct that implied. No, she would allow herself to enjoy the fantasy, but nothing more. Surely there could be no harm in that.

~

“Come, Julia, the more you give, the more they will want.”

Mohamed looked on with a mixture of amusement and exasperation as Julia, surrounded by shouting children, passed out ballpoint pens. She’d read somewhere that this was a good thing to do. Education was a much-valued opportunity there, and most of them couldn’t afford school supplies, so she’d stuffed her bag with them and shared her bounty whenever she had the chance. She also couldn’t resist distributing baksheesh, the handout expected from anyone who had a little extra to give, to every beggar woman and unfortunate handicapped person that crossed her path.

Julia moved through Karnak Temple in Luxor, with its monumental Hypostyle Hall, and on to the Valley of the Kings, as if in a dream. Mohamed lectured his group on how the burial place of Egyptian royalty for five centuries, the Valleys of the Kings and Queens, lay on the west bank of the Nile, across the river from modern day Luxor. He pointed out the stark line that marked the jarring reality between the lush crops—farmed on land enriched by the life-giving silt from the river—and the sterile desert of the Theban Mountains.

At each remarkable site, the Egyptologist retold stories from down the millennia of legendary figures, bringing them richly to life. Charming and erudite, Mohamed was the quintessential guide through a bygone world of miraculous splendor. By the time they set out for the journey upriver to Aswan, Julia found herself completely possessed. Sleep was impossible and food held little interest. She spent every waking moment when not ashore on the upper deck, with every new sight, sound and scent stirring her senses into a state of delicious anticipation.

The boat steamed up the longest river on earth in the steady north wind. Migrating birds from other continents sailed above stoic oxen toiling in the bright green fields. It could have been two thousand B.C.E., the pastoral scene exactly the same as it had been since that time. That first night on the deck, Julia heard the faint call of the Maghrib, the sunset call to prayer, in the far distance. As each muazzin from mosques along the river joined the call, the enchantment of it all washed over and through her, filling her with a serene calm. Something tight in the depth of her soul began to release, like a flower opening its petals to the sun. She was lost and she was found—spellbound—and utterly vulnerable for what was to come.

~

The boat docked in Aswan late one night, and Julia awoke next morning to a glorious scene. The wind-filled sails of feluccas, the same sailing boats that had plied the Nile for thousands of years, flitted like swallows across the swift current. Palm fronds whispered gently in the breeze. The sun god, Re, appeared dramatically over the eastern desert, washing the land with dazzling rays while the river reflected its golden light. Islands scattered in the swiftly flowing waters teemed with exotic birds. For a woman who’d always preferred nature to urban environments, this was nirvana.

That night the crew gave a fantasia. Local musicians and low lights transformed the boat’s lounge into an enchanting Nubian village. The passengers and crew wore native costumes for the after-dinner games and dancing. Julia had bought a sapphire-blue galabeeya, the traditional caftan, with a vest, all lavishly trimmed in gold braid. A matching scarf edged with gold coins covered her auburn hair and caught the light, mirroring the sparkle in her eyes.

She was the only one among his group traveling alone, and Mohamed made sure that she participated in the boisterous festivities. At the end of the fête, when almost everyone else had gone, a DJ spun a slow tune and one or two couples took to the floor. Mohamed came to stand before her. Her eyes found his. “Come, Julia. Dance with me.” He turned and walked away without waiting for a reply.

She rose to follow. There seemed to be no question that she would. When he turned back to face her, holding out his hand, Julia looked at the upturned palm and, in a dreamy slow motion, met it with her own. In an instant their bodies melted together, as if joined by an invisible and unrelenting force. It took her breath away. The world and time itself stopped. Everything else faded away, leaving only his body pressed to hers. His beard brushed her ear, sending ripples of pleasure down her neck. They moved, as one, to the sound of a distant cadence, heard by no other.

They’d tried to fight it. They both had tried. Julia hated the idea of being “the other woman.” And it was risky. This was not California. It was Islam.

But they continued the erotic, irrevocable dance, moving ever closer into the sweetly aching need of each other’s arms. He rubbed his trim beard against the side of her neck, forcing a low moan from deep within. When the music stopped, they turned wordlessly to the door. In the foyer, he raised a hand and motioned to the stairs. “Come, Julia, let us go up onto the deck.”

Again, he led the way and she followed. Climbing the two flights of stairs gave her mind a chance to harness her run-away heart. They emerged into the balmy Egyptian night, and he strolled to a far corner, to lean against the rail. Every star in the universe shimmered above in an indigo velvet sky. They stood looking out over the eternal flow of the river, as moonlight betrayed their conflicting emotions.

Julia’s eyes remained fixed on the dark water. “You took me by surprise.”

“Did you enjoy it?” The quiet question sounded both like a tease and a challenge.

“Yes. It was a wonderful dance. I was only surprised because I thought your faith didn’t allow you to dance with women other than your wife.” She summoned the courage to tilt her head to study his somber profile.