lining. This man had a rather fussy manner and brushed the chair before sitting down with his back to Foyzi and Herrick, then plucked at the crease in his trousers. The Doctor let himself down heavily in profile to them and produced a bag of sunflower seeds which he proceeded to eat.
Once they’d given their orders, Gibbons leaned forward and began to speak. Herrick dialled Guthrie, raised her right hand to her face and murmured into her sleeve, looking away slightly but never letting her eyes move from Gibbons’ lips. She gave Guthrie a verbatim account, only sometimes pausing to say which of the men he was addressing. ‘What have you got for me?’ Gibbons asked the Egyptian. He replied at great length. Gibbons examined him closely. ‘Do you have definite dates? What about names? Did you get the names of his contacts?’
The man shook his head and The Doctor interrupted, slicing the air with his hand.
Gibbons ignored him. ‘You say this was going to happen in Paris and London simultaneously. What about the States? Did you get anything about the postcards?’ He nodded as the Egyptian replied. Again The Doctor interrupted, but Gibbons’ eyes remained fixed on the other man. ‘So he admits they were coded messages? Right, what about the Empire State? Is he saying the attacks will be coordinated in the States as well as Europe?’ As they both attempted to answer, Gibbons began shaking his head. ‘You guys gotta realise that’s what we’re all here for. We need to know. Right now, all I’m hearing is maybe this, maybe that, maybe now, maybe later. We have a ticking bomb here. My people need accurate information.’ He stubbed his index finger on the surface of the table then slumped back in his chair and looked away in frustration. The Doctor also turned his gaze elsewhere, leaving the ball in the other man’s court.
He made a long speech that seemed not to impress Gibbons, who ordered another drink and then dialled a number on his phone.
‘No information… no real details of the plan… right… okay… sure… I’ll tell him… that’s right… yeah, yeah. Leave it to me.’ He lowered the phone and spoke to the Egyptian. ‘Okay, so my people think we should pursue the second option. I’m sorry Mr Abdullah, but that’s what they say. It’s out of my hands. You got to see I’m in a bind here. We’re very grateful for what you have already done and the US Embassy will make a formal recognition of your service to us with a letter of thanks. Here is something to be going on with. A kind of personal thanks.’ He reached for the top pocket of the man’s jacket and stuffed a roll of money into it.
Herrick now gave the first piece of commentary. ‘He’s paying off the Egyptian security officer. The interrogation is going to be handed over to The Doctor.’
‘Tell Foyzi to activate his sources and find out when Khan’s going to be transferred,’ rasped Guthrie. ‘We want to know which bloody vehicle he’s in.’
Foyzi didn’t need telling and gave Herrick a nod to say he understood.
Gibbons looked at his watch and said something she couldn’t read, because he had raised a glass to his lips and held it there for some time without drinking. The Doctor felt in his robes for something and pulled out a set of black worry beads which he handled like a rosary, then repeatedly flipped over his index finger.
Gibbons lowered the glass and said, ‘We need something tonight or tomorrow. The work has got to be finished by Monday.’
All this she communicated to Guthrie. Occasionally she heard him speaking on other lines to her father and Colonel B.
She hung up and started to speak to Foyzi in Arabic. Had he checked the car? Didn’t he think he ought to be leaving? Foyzi allowed himself to smile at Herrick’s portrayal of a nagging wife and made as though to grumble. He paid and left the cafe saying that he would see her in twenty minutes.
Herrick planned to return to the car the moment The Doctor left. From behind the sunglasses she looked ahead of her without acknowledging their presence or bothering to see what they were saying. Gibbons lit a cigarette and threw occasional interested glances in her direction, but she was certain he wouldn’t recognise her and sat with what she hoped was the unapproachable poise of a young middle-class Arab woman.
After a desultory exchange The Doctor got up. Gibbons did not rise or offer a hand. Herrick thought she saw a fleeting look of distaste sweep across his expression. ‘We’ll speak soon.’
Herrick decided to leave, but just as she stood up, her phone began to vibrate. The momentary distraction meant that she did not pay attention to the wind, as the Arab women on the street do, and a gust took hold of the hijab, revealing her hair, neck and some of her face. She pulled it down swiftly and made for the car. As she opened the door she saw Gibbons rise, sling some money onto the table and start purposefully towards her. In a matter of seconds he had reached the car and shouted through the window. ‘I’ll be damned if that isn’t Isis Herrick.’ He bent down to her level. ‘Shit! That is you, isn’t it?’
She looked ahead of her without moving, realising that she couldn’t just sit there – one call from Gibbons and the whole operation would be blown. She got out, pushed him away and shouted in Arabic to the passers-by that the American was bothering her.
‘Well, what do you know,’ he said, leering down at her. ‘The cold-assed British spook has followed me all the way to Cairo for a little loving.’ He felt in one of the pockets of his photographer’s vest and pulled out a phone. She knocked it from his hands and spun round, cursing him in Arabic. The filthy American was making indecent suggestions – wouldn’t someone help a virtuous woman?
Gibbons seemed to find this funny. ‘Oh, you’re good,’ he said, unhurriedly bending down to retrieve his phone. ‘You’re very good, Isis. But I just gotta tell my people you’ve gate-crashed the donkey roast.’ He stood up and placed a hand on her shoulder, dialling a number with the thumb of his other hand. Suddenly Foyzi appeared from nowhere and pulled Herrick away from him.
‘Who’s this? Omar Sharif?’
Foyzi smiled up at him. ‘I have gun aimed at your heart, sir. Get into the car.’
‘Yeah, and I’m King Farouk,’ said Gibbons. ‘Step aside, buster. This lady and I have business.’
Foyzi manoeuvred so he could show Gibbons the gun without displaying it to the rest of the street. ‘I will kill you unless you get in the car, sir.’
‘Okay,’ said Gibbons, trying to maintain his dignity. ‘So you’re going to kidnap an American citizen. You can’t get away with this, Isis – you and your little towel-head friend.’
‘Such company we have to keep,’ said Foyzi despairingly. He opened the back door and prodded Gibbons. ‘Get in.’
Gibbons obeyed, but with a thunderous look that said he would soon have the upper hand. ‘I’ll see you on the fucking rack for this.’
She climbed behind the wheel. ‘What now?’
‘No problem,’ said Foyzi, pointing ahead of them. ‘No problem at all. Drive!’
She edged the Fiat into the traffic.
‘Oh, I get it. You’re going to try to spring Khan!’ said Gibbons, laughing. ‘Jesus, I’m gonna be ringside on fucking amateur night.’
‘Last thing I heard, you said he was Faisal, not Khan,’ said Isis over her shoulder.
‘Right,’ said Gibbons sourly.
They passed the police HQ and courts, then turned left to travel in the opposite direction. Foyzi wrested Gibbons’ phone from him and crushed it underfoot on the floor of the car. Then he called someone on his own phone and spoke rapidly.
Gibbons talked over him, affecting not to mind the silencer lodged in his armpit. ‘You understand what you’re doing, Isis? You’re interfering with the legitimate investigation of a terrorist suspect by the United States. If an attack should result from your actions you and your friend will be named as accessories. They’ll come after you, wherever the fuck you are.’
‘I understand just one thing about your activities,’ she said calmly. ‘You’ve instigated the torture of a man who hasn’t been found guilty of a crime and-’
‘That’s the trouble with you fucking Europeans,’ interrupted Gibbons. ‘You want all the benefits of American power but you don’t want to get your hands dirty.’ He paused. ‘Let me tell you, this is the big new game, and it’s played with a whole new set of rules. Frankly, you don’t cut it. You don’t even come near. ’
‘There’s nothing new about your big new game,’ she said. ‘You told me that yourself. You were right. Torture was used by the regimes in South America, all of them endorsed by the US government. Torture is actually a very old, very desperate game and it doesn’t work. You don’t get results by tearing a person’s body apart.’
This gave Gibbons some pause. ‘We’re against the clock. There’s no other way now.’
‘There is,’ said Isis. ‘There always is.’
