The Hidden (4 page)

I want to live long enough to see fulfilled my dream of a new Egypt where women and men work together for the good of our country, and no one owns us, not the British, nor any other government. I love Egypt, but I hate what it has become. I am a fighter, like Alexandre. With such strong opinions, I have to be discreet and not let anyone know what is going on inside my head. And if that means guarding myself against idle chatter with the girls of the harem, then so be it. For the time being, thinking about my love is my private indulgence. It gives me courage to face the future. I know I am going to need it.

CHAPTER FOUR

At midnight on the outskirts of Cairo, near the northern suburb of Heliopolis, in an unremarkable, dimly lit, sparsely furnished house on the edge of a palm-fringed street, two middle-aged men stood with three younger men, Hamid, al-Dyn, and Hossein. One of the older men, Taha Farouk, was a tall, striking individual with a chiselled, clean-shaven face and thick, grey-streaked black hair. He stared ahead darkly as he listened intently to what the other older man, Littoni—of equal stature but more thick-set—was saying. Farouk’s mouth twisted with bitter, inner torment.

“The girl must know something,” Littoni said, pausing to light yet another cigarette, then blowing out great rings of smoke. “Mustafa from sector three believes that a report has been issued to all of Issawi’s cronies detailing our movements, our code names, and sightings. It’s only a matter of time before the Secret Police raid what they believe to be our venues. We have to get the girl on our side, find out what’s going on. She might be our last chance.”

“There’s no time, Littoni,” Farouk snapped angrily, shaking his head. “Issawi’s due to return from Luxor tonight. Tomorrow, he’ll go to his club. Al-Dyn has worked there every night for the last two weeks, and he’s had his ear to the ground. In a week’s time, Issawi will attend the celebrations for the king’s birthday at the palace. I say we take him out this week, take everyone by surprise. Forget
about the bomb. It’s too dangerous for us. The Group’s finished if we follow that plan. If they’re onto us, they’ll be expecting something big. We can only succeed if we take them by surprise.”

Littoni shot Farouk a look. Anger coursed through his body. Farouk was determined to have his way. Hamid and Tashi had all the equipment necessary to make a bomb strong enough to blow Issawi’s car sky-high, pulp the men inside, and destroy half the Abdin Palace. But Farouk had had his sights on Issawi for years and was convinced that pumping a bullet through his heart would be a pleasurable experience. He wasn’t interested in impact or sending the king the message that the revolution was about to begin. It was almost as though he had lost sight of the bigger picture.

“Don’t try and stir things up, Farouk,” Littoni said icily. “You’ve been outvoted on this one. All the crucial X sectors agree that Hamid and Tashi’s device will do the trick. That way, there’s no chance of anything going wrong. And we’ll be able to take out not only Issawi, but also the king and some of the politicians attending the celebrations. It will be headline news for weeks, a message all the die-hard supporters of the current government won’t be able to ignore.”

Farouk broke in. “You’re lying. The committee of traders at Khan el-Khalili and the Muski are both against the idea. You have the halfhearted support of some of the Patriots, professors, and the university men at al-Ahzar, but you’re dangerously out of your league with a bomb of this magnitude. It’s not the right time. I say take Issawi out solo, without fanfare. Then we’ll be perfectly positioned to stage a bloodless coup.”

Littoni said, “Shut it, Farouk. You want Issawi to win? They’ll have their own surprises in store for us, that much is certain. The girl’s bound to be in on it for sure.”

Farouk was growing increasingly agitated. He snarled, “For the last time, forget about the girl. Al-Dyn will be able to get us all the information we need. There’s no time left. Issawi’s not that smart. He loves his club. Thinks his security operation’s the best there is. He’s relaxed, off his guard. If there’s anything we need to know, al-Dyn will report back to us. Besides, the girl’s husband’s taken his secrets with him to the grave. I heard they hadn’t been married long. Hardly enough time to let his bride in on Issawi’s networks.”

Littoni shot Farouk a wrathful look and turned to Hamid.

“Regardless of what al-Dyn finds out, our boys need somewhere new to meet. Time’s running out at the Café Malta; we’ve met there three times already.”

Hamid said hopefully, “My uncle’s house is perfect.”

Littoni was about to answer, when Farouk began talking again, spluttering as a cough snaked its way from his lungs to his throat.

“You don’t know what you are doing,” Farouk said. Al-Dyn stepped forward and put his hand on Farouk’s shoulder to steady him.

“I said don’t make trouble, Farouk,” Littoni warned.

“The entire network’s agreed this is the right course of action. There’s nothing you can do to change it now.”

Farouk laughed bitterly, wiping his mouth. “You haven’t thought this through properly. If Issawi’s security operations are onto us, we must do it my way or wait, let a few more months pass.”

Littoni snarled at Farouk, clicking his teeth, and turned to Hamid. “You’re sure you’ll have the bomb ready in time?”

“We can work through the night,” Hamid said.

“And it’ll be powerful enough?” Littoni asked.

“Depending on where it is put, it will rip through walls and demolish everything within at least a mile radius.”

Farouk lunged forward, grabbed Littoni by the lapels, and shook him. “And you’re proud of yourself, Littoni? Proud of yourself for
plotting to murder innocents? This is not what the X is about. We agreed years ago that no civilians would ever suffer as a consequence of our actions. Our target is always—and only—the aggressor.”

Littoni stabbed at his pocket, trying to pull something out. Farouk uncurled his fist and pushed Littoni back. A moment later, Littoni stood opposite Farouk with a gun raised at him.

Unfazed, Farouk turned to Hossein, al-Dyn, and Hamid. “You’re all staring down the barrel of a gun if you do this. Death sentence for sure if we’re caught. You’re young, you three. I don’t suppose Littoni here cares much how this turns out, but you should. What about your brothers? Your families? Your mothers? You joined the X to change things. You agreed when you joined to disassociate yourselves from your families, but when this is all over, what then? Surely you want to go back to your old lives? We want Issawi. One man. And now Littoni here is not content with that. You want countless politicians, their wives, even the king himself, assassinated, because you’re too impatient to go about this intelligently? The king is incompetent, yes, that’s true, but it’s only a matter of time before we can demand the king abdicate, do this whole thing properly. We’re strong enough. Your way, Littoni, is far too dangerous, for you, for everyone. You want the revolution to start now, but indiscriminate violence is no way to win. You think you’re cleverer than Issawi’s networks, but you’re not.”

“I said shut your mouth, Farouk,” Littoni shouted.

“Put your pistol away, Littoni. We’re supposed to be working together, not against each other.”

Hamid approached Littoni and whispered something in his ear that seemed to appease him. Littoni lowered the pistol and put it back in his pocket.

“Those civilians won’t matter in the long run, “Littoni said, “as long as it gets our message across. After all, we’ve been planning
this for years. Do you think we’re going to stop now just because you’ve developed a conscience all of a sudden? It’s our present to the government. A nice little greeting card that will let that pack of incompetents know in no uncertain terms that the X means business. If there was ever any doubt in their minds about that, the assassination of Chief Advisor Issawi and the king will reinforce the message loud and clear.”

“But this is supposed to be a people’s revolution,” Farouk said. “Get it into your head; Issawi is our target, not the king or anybody else. There must not be unnecessary bloodshed. We want the people of Egypt to join us. If we kill innocents, we will lose their support. The repercussions will be devastating.” Littoni smiled importantly, walked over to Farouk, placed one hand on Farouk’s arm to quieten him, and stabbed the air with his other.

“Do you think our men want things done your way, Farouk? Do you think they want Issawi kidnapped and cut up into little pieces and shipped to Assiyut in a perfumed wedding consignment? It might be enough for you, but it won’t be for the rest of our men. We’re ready; our men are ready. We’ve waited a long time for this, and we’re going to strike now.” He was so close, Farouk could smell whisky on his breath.

“The revolution will happen whether you bomb the palace or not,” Farouk sneered, peeling back Littoni’s hand in disgust. “Don’t you think I want Issawi dead as much as you do? And I am just one among thousands who want to see it happen. But you put him out with a bomb, you’ll have the government’s entire security operation on our tails. We’re so close. If we go about this properly, the revolution can start from the streets, just as it should. If we do it your way, we’ll just end up going into combat with the king’s security forces. Our men only follow you, Littoni, because you’re a bully. I know
you threaten them, their businesses, their cover if they don’t comply with your wishes.”

Littoni grabbed Farouk by the shirt collar again and snarled, “I won’t tell you again, Farouk. Be careful what you say.”

Hamid, Hossein, and al-Dyn looked on wide-eyed.

“You just can’t bring yourself to admit that my plan will work much better,” Farouk went on. “You blow up the government, and what then? Hitler will invade. You’re courting chaos and the destruction of Egypt.”

“You’re so wrong. This is the real beginning for Egypt,” Littoni spat. “With the X in power, Egypt will become powerful. Right now, Egypt is vulnerable. The government doesn’t know what it’s doing. This war has been our blessing. The government is preoccupied with a possible German invasion. All of its resources are taken with this. We must strike now while they’ve got other things on their mind.”

“You’re deluded, Littoni,” Farouk said. “You’re finished, but you’re trying to hold on before younger men like Hossein, al-Dyn, and Hamid take over.”

“You can talk, Farouk. Your revolutionary days are really over. You’re losing your touch. You pass yourself off as a freedom fighter, but you have a private agenda with this Issawi. That’s why you want everything your way. Some girl, some broken heart, some revenge bound up in a woman.”

“The palace is too public,” Farouk kept repeating, but his words fell on deaf ears. “I’ve been telling you this for weeks. Every security man in the entire force will be out checking identity papers. You won’t get through. Issawi is expected to arrive at 8:00
P.M
. He’ll attend the dinner, then the dance, then be expected to join the king in his private suites. He’ll probably leave not long after midnight.
His car will wait for him and then drive him back to his home. You expect to get a car close enough? You’re crazy.”

Littoni was smiling. Farouk didn’t know that the palace security men had recently come over to his side. “He won’t get home,” he said with a laugh, “not if we have anything to do with it. This will be the last celebration at the palace for a while. They’ll be clearing the mess up for weeks. Perfect timing for our men to hit the streets and start the revolution proper. Then we can really get started. Chaos and disorder, followed by a new beginning.”

Suddenly, there was the sound of a car starting up. Littoni jerked his head towards the door, startled.

“Sssh,” he said.

The five men were quiet for a moment. They had all heard it. After a minute or two, the car drove off. Littoni nodded and went on. “We have seven days, Farouk. Go to Achmed’s party. Talk to the girl. Size her up. She knows something, I’m sure of it. Hamid and Tashi will get to work on the time bomb. Al-Dyn, are you sure your cover hasn’t been blown?”

Al-Dyn shook his head. “No. I hear everything that’s going on at the Oxford. There’s nothing suspicious there.”

Littoni said, “We’ll meet again to decide where and how we’ll plant the bomb. Hamid, you’ve engineered it so it will be small but very powerful, yes? So all we need now is an invitation to the celebration to enable us to get past security. Tashi knows what he has to do there. The old Greek, Papadopolous at the Bulac print-works, can arrange the invitation for us. All right, that’s enough for now. It’s time to get to work.”

Farouk listened on in amazement. “I’m going,” he said finally. “Think about what I said, Littoni. You’re signing your own death warrant—you know that, don’t you?”

Littoni stared at Farouk. Blowing more smoke rings into the air, he said, “None of us should meet again until I say so. I’ll get a message to all of you, through the usual channels when it’s time. We must cover our tracks.”

Farouk shot Littoni and the others one last look before he turned and left. He slipped his hand under his shirt and rubbed his chest as he walked towards his car. He hadn’t felt much pain today, and his convulsions hadn’t troubled him a great deal. He had a rendezvous with Nemmat, the prostitute from the el-G, who had keys to the Abbassiya apartment. He would size her up, see if she could be easily bought. If he could trust her, he’d set his own little plan in motion.

The journal of Hezba Iqbal Sultan Hanim al-Shezira,

Cairo, August 15, 1919

I can’t believe what’s happened. My husband is charging me with nushaz. Claiming wifely disobedience, he has asked a qadi to charge me with Bait Al-Ta’a. This law means I will have to return to my husband’s home, and there is nothing I can do to fight back. I hate these religious rulings that strip me of my freedom. I will die. I will run away.

My husband has told my papa that I have betrayed him, because I continue to live in the sarai of my birth, and I have not returned to live with him as his wife. He has told my papa that he will not forgive this betrayal. My husband and my papa consulted with the qadi, and it has been agreed. My husband told Papa my betrayal of him is the last act of disobedience he will tolerate of me. My marriage to al-Shezira was always a political alliance between him and the family of the sultan, and if I am not seen to be al-Shezira’s wife by Egyptian society, then al-Shezira fears his name will be like mud. That’s all they care about. How can I bear it? My only friend is my journal. My little notebook is easy
to hide away. I carry it with me always, even to the hammam. I like to strap it to my body under my clothes. I like to feel its secrets close to me. No one will take it from me again. No one.