Grains of Truth (15 page)

Julia stiffened at the sight of the man she now knew to be nothing more than a mercenary dealer in weapons of destruction, while suppressing the sarcastic comment on the tip of her tongue. He reached the table and sat with irksome self-confidence in a chair next to hers. At such close quarters she was uncomfortably aware of his solid physique and calculating eyes. Were they green or gray? In this light they looked dark gray—gun-metal gray, she thought dismally. Aware that, under the circumstances, her stare was overly severe, she turned away without a word.

“Hello, Alex. How did you enjoy the sites today?” asked Henry, seemingly unaware of the sudden chill in the air.

“Fascinating.” Leaning forward, Alex added, “Did you see the magnificent white storks as we left Esna? I thought of you at once, Henrietta.”

Startled by this, Julia’s head swiveled back in his direction. The remark seemed genuine enough. Well, what of it? Lots of despots and barbarians appreciated the beauty of nature. 

“Oh, Alex,” Henrietta simpered. “Quite a marvel, weren’t they?”

“So, Alex, what brings you on a Nile cruise all on your own?”

He focused a clear, disconcerting look on Julia as he politely answered her unaccountably sharp question. “It was a last minute thing. A gift from a friend who booked the trip a while ago and was called away on business.” The lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled pleasingly. “Something I’d always wanted to do, actually. Egyptology is a long-time hobby of mine.”

Julia’s brows shot up. That didn’t square with what Mohamed told her. So he was a liar, too. She stewed in silence, listening with reluctant curiosity as the others discussed the temples in Luxor and Esna. His knowledge on the subject proved annoyingly correct.

“Julia’s writing a book on Egypt,” announced Henrietta, with a touching pride.

“Ah,” said Alexander as he glanced down at the computer case that was Julia’s constant companion.

The conversation flowed along on subjects of mutual interest. In spite of her prejudice, Julia increasingly found this new adversary to be an informed, engrossing conversationalist. He was impressively well-versed on the sites they’d visited thus far, but neither boastful nor offensive, as many tourists tended to be. He demonstrated respect for the local people and an appreciation of the hardships they faced. When talk naturally turned to politics and world affairs, Julia felt considerable surprise at his views along those lines. 

“The Middle East is what it is today both because, after World War I, the European powers deliberately undertook to re-shape it for their own purposes, and because Britain and France failed to ensure that the states and political systems they established achieved any kind of stability.”

Julia fiddled with her fork as the Langleys looked grave.

“Britain’s politics were particularly incoherent and devious, flagrantly contradicting their supposed principle of self-determination with the politics they practiced. They simultaneously and incomprehensibly promised Palestine to both the Zionists and the Arabs. Today the world is paying for that inconsistency.”

If he meant what he said, this was another unsettling aspect of Mr. Bryant. Julia’s resentment for the way he earned his living was temporarily forgotten as she became immersed in the discussion of issues so close to her heart. She found herself genuinely enjoying his unexpectedly cultured company.

The hawk and the dove regarded one another with a tentative esteem.

The thought of Mohamed’s absence, after those first few tense moments, did not enter her mind. In fact, it was a distinct relief to be free for a time of the emotional conflict his presence created. Thus far, the evening was most unpredictably pleasant. Until, as they lingered over coffee and dessert, an ominous sound burst across the now near-empty dining room.

“Oh, dear,” murmured Henrietta, “it’s the faded rose.”

Alex tore his eyes from Julia’s face, where they spent a great deal of time, and raised them to find Fiona McDonald bearing down on the group.

“Hello, darling people,” she sang out. Alex automatically rose to pull out the chair on his other side, into which she fluttered. “The gala is well under way. Aren’t you coming up?” Although presumably addressing the table at large, her beady black eyes affixed hungrily on her prey. Julia’s fleeting thought that at least she could dismiss this creature as the other agent was displaced when she noted for the first time that her teeth were rather large, vaguely reminiscent of those of a horse.

“We were having an exceedingly serious conversation on the subject regarding the latest revelations on the mistreatment of detainees in the War on Terror,” said Henry in his mild-mannered way.

Before anyone else could add to that, Fiona scoffed, “Well, as far as I’m concerned the authorities can do whatever they like. Torture and death are too good for them. After all, they’re criminals of the highest order.”

Julia broke the awkward silence with an obvious attempt at self-control. “Actually, Fiona, no one knows whether those being held are guilty or not. None of them have been charged with anything or been given the benefit of legal council or a fair trial in a court of law.”

“Oh, of course, Julia,” snorted Fiona. “I’ve heard that you come from San Francisco. You must be one of those left-wing liberals we hear about. Do you march along in protest at the peace rallies we see on the news?” She tittered derisively, as if she found the idea utterly ridiculous, which she clearly did.

A steadily rising heat colored Julia’s expressive face, distaste clearly written across it. She carefully placed both hands on the edge of the table to steady her temper.

“As a matter of fact, I have marched in peace protests—many times for many years. Peace has always seemed to me a worthwhile goal.” Although her voice remained steady, her eyes bore into those of the other woman with intense dislike.

“And as for the mistreatment of detainees: I believe in the Rule of Law. Without rules and laws, we’re no better than savages living in anarchy. It’s counterproductive for our governments to flout the rules of the Geneva Convention. ‘Do as I say, not as I do’ has never proved an effective tactic in establishing cooperation or respect. By lowering ourselves to the abusive practices of our enemies, we compromise our integrity and the very values we strive to protect. Ignoble means are seldom justified by a noble end.”

All eyes riveted on Julia’s flushed face in the ringing silence that followed her passionate words. 

The dark, predatory beads shifted to Alexander, and Fiona sniffed with contempt. “Yes, well, think what you will, but pacifism had no place in two World Wars and it has no place in this one.”

It would have been difficult for the thickest skin not to feel the barbs of animosity projected towards her from all sides, but Fiona appeared totally oblivious as she stood. “Now, come along, everyone, let’s not be depressing. It’s time to dance!” With that pronouncement, she gave Alex’s bicep a squeeze and trotted from the room.

Henrietta broke the stunned silence as she pushed back her chair. “Thank you, Julia, dear. I thought you put that rather well.” She tucked her arm into that of the dove and led her to the door.

~

Revelry in the lounge was in full swing. A fresh air of solidarity surrounded the foursome as they found an unoccupied table near a window. Alexander pointed Julia to an armchair before lowering himself next to it. He unfastened the button of his dinner jacket and stretched out powerful legs. Julia knew they were powerful because she’d watched him effortlessly run up three flights of stairs that morning after breakfast. 

The Arabic musicians vigorously performed an improvisation. Drums and guitars undulated, rising and falling hypnotically while, according to tradition, the audience clapped and sang along. When the live music ended to thunderous applause, a DJ took over, and the air reverberated with western sounds of the Big Band era.

“Hey, honey,” Henry exclaimed, “listen, they’re playing our song.”

“Oh, let’s all dance!” enthused his sprightly bride.

The couple bounced to their feet, looking expectantly at their companions, who evidently had no choice but to join them. Julia glanced nervously over Alex’s shoulder at the laptop beside her chair as he took her into his arms. She felt stiff and ill at ease at first, but in no time his skill and innate command had her spinning and whirling. When a slow tune followed the energetic one, without asking permission, he pulled her closer and continued to guide her smoothly around the floor. The heat from his rock-hard body and clean, masculine scent produced a decidedly disconcerting effect.

“How’s the book coming along?”

Julia went blank. Book? What book? Then she remembered. “Oh, fine, fine,” she said lamely, flustered by how good it felt to have his arms wrapped around her. “I sincerely doubt that it will ever make the best-seller list, though.”

“Is that bad? As long as you’re enjoying the process, that’s the main thing.”

She was definitely beginning to enjoy this process, she thought with a shadow of guilt. Until, as he adeptly turned to avoid another couple, she caught sight of a familiar figure leaning against a far wall.

With arms folded across his chest, Mohamed followed the dancing couple’s every move, his dark eyes glinting in an inscrutable sphinx-like mask.

Chapter 19

While the boat prepared to dock at Edfu, a cluster of passengers watched from the upper deck the jumble of activity pulsing along the river bank. Julia, leaning against the rail, was very much aware of Alexander a few yards away. Conflicting emotions from the previous evening were supplanted by sobering thoughts of her impending rendezvous with the undercover agent, Zed.

Mohamed joined her as the boat bumped into place. “Let’s wait for the others to disembark before going ashore.” He made no reference to last night’s activities in the lounge. After all, what could he say?

“You’re still looking rather pale, Julia. Do you feel all right?

She produced a brilliant smile. “Yes, thank you, my friend. I’m tired, that’s all. You know how I sometimes find it difficult to sleep on these trips.”

Yes, she fretted—difficult when images of young, strangled women and men toting weapons bent on Jihad invade my dreams. Looking out over the rail, she observed Alexander, in his tan jacket, moving down the gangway and stepping lightly onto shore. He advanced upon a row of shabby horse-drawn carriages lined up along the street and decisively chose one in the center of the line, swinging himself up into the seat. The driver flicked his whip and the horse plodded away from the curb. Off to do his part for the destruction of the world, no doubt, thought Julia dismally.

“He is not what he seems.” Mohamed spoke in a low, dispassionate voice; yet his carefully arranged features failed to cover his dislike.

Taken aback by this astute observation, she turned to face his rigid profile. “What do you mean?”

“Think, Julia: A man like him, traveling alone on a cruise. Booked at the last minute. And he carries a gun.”

“What? How do you know that?”

Looking particularly enigmatic, he slowly shook his head. “There are no secrets on a boat, Julia. You should know this. Come, we must go if we are to maintain your precious itinerary.”

She followed him to the stairs as a ferocious premonition gnawed away at her insides. Being an arms dealer was one thing. Carrying a gun, strictly illegal and incredibly dangerous in this country, was something else altogether. Why? Why would he risk it?

They worked their way through the Temple of Horus, adhering to her “precious itinerary.” Julia made a brave attempt at normalcy, but the monumental effort took its toll. Her renewed indignation towards Alexander Bryant at least provided ammunition to write off the disquieting and unwelcome attraction of the night before. It also helped to keep romantic thoughts of Mohamed at bay. She would now find it difficult to even look at the one man without revealing her contempt, while concern for the safety of the other had suddenly eclipsed all else. Whatever happened, she could not—under any circumstances—allow any harm to come to Mohamed.

Throughout the excursion around the site, she saw no sign of Alexander—or of Zed. Instead, everywhere she turned, Julia irrationally felt the eyes of the statues of the falcon god Horus watching, always watching. As they wandered back through the street market she caught a glimpse of the unmistakable tan jacket at the end of a crowded alley. Oh, no, he’s definitely not what he seems. And he’s up to no damn good, she thought bitterly.

Failure to make contact with Zed in Edfu left Julia depressed and drooping with fatigue. Where was he? Had something happened to him? She wanted this to be over. To get the damn message, pass it on and sleep for a week. If she failed in this, she knew, it would always haunt her. She hated to fail—at anything—especially something where the stakes might be so awfully high. 

Back on the boat, she trudged alone to the upper deck and sank into a lounge chair facing downstream. The slow churning of the engine and the tranquility of the river lulled her into a state of peaceful drowsiness. She noticed a brown head bent over a book a few chairs away. The bookworm’s presence provided an additional sense of security and, covering her face with her wide-brimmed hat, Julia drifted into exhausted sleep. 

An hour later she gradually regained consciousness, with a pleasant sense of calm. A luxurious stretch brought her to her feet to stretch again. The clock over the bar told her there was time enough to bathe and change before lunch. A cool shower completed the restoration. In a much more positive frame of mind, she pulled on a clean pair of slacks, a big, white cotton shirt and headed for the dining room feeling better than she’d felt in days.