‘I cannot do that,’ said Walid quietly.
‘You don’t understand,’ said Daniel. ‘I want you to keep the money. I have put you to so much trouble already… and you have a family to feed.’
‘No, it is you who do not understand,’ said Walid firmly. ‘I will take you to Cairo.’
Chapter 52
Sarit was in the Wekalat Al-Balah Bazaar, wearing a jilbab that she had just bought to cover her body, and khimar to cover her hair. By dressing modestly she knew that men were less likely to bother her, and she also reduced the likelihood of being recognized. But at one point she would have to take a risk.
What she was looking out for were Western women – specifically Western women with large shoulder bags in which they carried everything under the sun. In some Muslim countries, women tended to be more careless than they would be in a Western street market, because they knew that the draconian laws made theft less likely. However, here the laws were not quite so severe and so the women were more careful.
Eventually, she found what she was looking for: a young, obviously Western woman who had a bag with some other items already and who was interested in trying on one of the colourful dresses. Even better, when the woman spoke, it was with a Liverpool accent. Sarit could do American accents if she had to but RP was a lot easier. And of course the passport wouldn’t say ‘Liverpool’, it would state ‘United Kingdom’.
Sarit had already bought several items and had them in a collection of bags, to create her cover, so now she was ready to pounce. She sidled up to the woman and started looking at the dresses. By giving the impression that she was not sure, she drew the attention of the merchant to her. He was not going to let her slip away if he could persuade her to stay and make a purchase.
‘Would you like to come in? We have many more dresses inside. Very nice dresses for the pretty lady.’ He pointed to the inside of the shop.
‘Oh, I like this one,’ she said, holding up a particularly gaudy, colourful embroidered dress from the rack. ‘But I was wondering if it’s too big for me. Do you have somewhere I could try it on?’
‘Yes, I have a changing room inside.’
Again, he pointed. Sarit looked down at her bag full of other purchases.
‘You can take it ins-’
She didn’t let the man finish. She half-turned to the woman who had been looking at the same colourful collection and addressed her quickly.
‘Excuse me, would you mind keeping an eye on my bag for two minutes? I just want to try this on.’
The woman looked hesitant.
‘I’ll only be two minutes. I just want to see how it looks.’
‘Okay,’ said the other woman.
And with that, Sarit went inside, leaving not only the big bag containing the items she had bought earlier, but also her shoulder bag – as if to imply that it was unsafe to take it into the shop. The reality was the exact opposite. The shopkeepers here would guard it with their lives sooner than let anyone take it, whereas outside there was a chance that someone might steal it.
Two minutes later, Sarit emerged a happy, satisfied customer, reclaimed her possessions and after a bit of skilful haggling, bought the gaudy embroidered dress. Meanwhile the woman who had guarded her possessions appeared to have made up her mind, at least to the point of narrowing down her choices.
‘Listen,’ she said, ‘could you keep an eye on my stuff? I’m going to go in and try these on too.’
‘Sure,’ said Sarit.
The girl went in, with the shopkeeper in tow. Without lowering her eyes from the merchandise in which she was feigning continued interest, Sarit opened the shoulder bag and groped around inside. Working more by feel than by look, she found the passport and quickly pulled it out and dropped it into one of her shopping bags.
Then she found the purse and moved it to the top of the shoulder bag, so that the girl would be able to get to it easily. The girl may or may not remember the purse being lower down in the shoulder bag, but this way she was less likely to notice the missing passport. In any case, if she was suspicious, it was more likely to be over the purse with money and credit cards than the passport.
Seven or eight minutes later, the girl came out and bought a couple of the dresses, oblivious to the theft of her passport.
Chapter 53
Six days after they had set out, Daniel and Gabrielle arrived on the outskirts of Cairo.
Gabrielle had taken to life on the felucca a lot better than Daniel had expected, but Daniel had surprised himself by finding it enjoyable too – especially considering how heavily dependent he usually was on his urban comforts.
He realized that as an archaeologist, accustomed to roughing it in some pretty exotic locations, it wasn’t such an unusual experience for Gabrielle. But for a North Londoner who was used to clean hotel suites, business- class airline seating and deferential waiters, it was something of a culture shock. He wondered what Charlotte would have made of it – genteel Charlotte, whose world was that of crisp starched linen and manicured nails.
He wondered if it was because of rather than merely despite the danger that he had found himself enjoying this adventure. It was as if this was the part of his life that had always been waiting for him. It reminded him of that famous line in Henry David Thoreau’s Walden about ‘when I came to die, discovered that I had not lived’.
They bid their goodbyes to Walid and his crew, wished Allah’s blessings on his family and then set off for Cairo’s Zamalek District.
Zamalek was an island in the Nile, connected to the rest of Cairo by bridges – a sort of Manhattan in North Africa. Heavily developed and built-up, the area was home to several luxury hotels as well as quite a few foreign embassies. It was, all in all, quite an upmarket area. But there was only one thing in the Zamalek District that interested Daniel and Gabrielle: the Supreme Council of Antiquities.
Daniel knew that there was a risk of being recognized, but was relieved that their most distinguishing feature had now been negated. There were lots of dark-haired Western men in Cairo and none of them would get a second glance. But Gabrielle’s blonde hair was quite striking, and if the police or anyone else was on the lookout for a tall blonde woman, Gabrielle’s hair would have been more than enough to guarantee that they would get a second glance.
They had considered hiding it under a headscarf, but that was not a sure-fire way of avoiding attention. Her height and Western looks might be enough to make it clear that she was trying to hide her hair. Then the game would be up. So instead she had played the adventurous tourist card and persuaded one of the women in the villages along the Nile to dye her hair with henna.
‘It’s something I’ve always wanted to try,’ she had explained with almost schoolgirlish excitement.
She had considered using henna to darken her skin too, but it was more usually used for tattoos. In any case, she was now covering herself up with a robe, showing very little of her flesh. There was nothing she could do about her height, but now, instead of appearing as a tall blonde, she came over as a tall redhead who could pass for a local. And that was not what the police were looking for.
They hailed a taxi in the street and took the short ride across the city to the Supreme Council of Antiquities. The driver dropped them off at the front of the building, which had been given a modern glass entrance and a silver, metallic grey facade with the words ‘Supreme Council of Antiquities’ emblazoned across the portals in huge Arabic letters as well as somewhat smaller in English. Daniel noted, with silent amusement, that the letter f in the word of had become loose and fallen into a diagonal posture.
He let Gabrielle lead the way up the wide steps to this grand entrance. She introduced Daniel as an Australian professor, hoping that the nationality would throw the guard off if he had heard anything about an Englishman being wanted by the police – which was unlikely. The guard had smiled and said a tentatively English
