up the Egypt ticket at the KLM desk.”
Bill sat listening to her, thinking how much like a schoolgirl she still sounded; thinking about Ben Adnam, the big Mercedes in which he had met her at Cairo Airport, the uniformed driver, the long evening ride out to the plateau of Giza, the suite in the fabled Mena House Hotel, with its balcony view looking out to the mightiest of human achievements, stark against the desert skyline since the dawn of history.
“I’ll never forget seeing the pyramids for the first time,” Laura said. “I stood there, staring through that balcony window. I was alone, gazing out at five thousand years of the past, hearing in my mind the voice of the desert…Ben had gone downstairs to send a fax or something. It was the most romantic place in the world for an awestruck Scottish girl, and a rather cold, unromantic Navy officer. But I suppose he must have had some romance in him, otherwise he would not have brought me there. Anyway, when you’ve had a sheltered upbringing like mine was, your first lover can’t usually do much wrong, so I suppose I had a wonderful time.”
“Try to think, Laura. Was there anything that happened in Egypt that you thought was in any way unusual? Anything you can think of?”
“I don’t think so…except we went one afternoon to a mosque.”
“You did what?”
“We went to a mosque. We were sightseeing in Cairo and Ben had his driver take us down to see the Citadel, an amazing castle built originally by Saladin, I think. We then walked up to the Mohammed Ali Mosque — the most beautiful building, one of the great landmarks of Cairo. You can see it for miles because of the twin minarets, so slim they look as if they might break off. They rise high above the huge dome of the mosque itself.”
Bill kept very quiet. He just said, “Go on.”
“Well, it wasn’t much really. I did want to go in. But Ben said he thought that might not be appropriate, for two infidels to enter a holy place of Muslim prayer. There was a little bookshop there, and I said I was going to see if I could find something to buy, to remind me of this place when I was back in Scotland.
“He said ‘okay,’ he’d meet me back by the entrance, because he wanted to see a view across the city. Well, I went to the bookshop, and spent about twenty minutes there, talking to the old man who ran it…I remember he told me he had been in the Egyptian Air Force during the Six-Day War with Israel.
“Anyway I was just walking across the courtyard to meet Ben, when I saw him slip out of a side door to the mosque, I thought a bit furtively. I stopped dead and watched him put his shoes on again. I’ve never thought much about it really, but I suppose you don’t get many Israelis at prayer in an Arab mosque.”
“Nope, I don’t guess you do,” said Bill Baldridge. “Did he say anything…make an excuse maybe?”
“Yes. He just said he thought he saw someone he knew, but turned out to be mistaken.”
“I suppose he might have been telling the truth, but it doesn’t really add up — an Israeli officer in a mosque, even seeing someone he knew in the mosque, all seems a bit unlikely. And also, a brief holiday in the Mena House — that’s pretty rich living for the son of a melon grower, especially one who is apparently living on the famously low salary of an Israeli serviceman.”
“Yes, it was a very lavish hotel — and Ben seemed very at home there, as if he knew some of the staff. At the time I thought he had just been there a couple of days before I arrived, but there was one night when we had a drink in the garden with the manager, who seemed awfully important.”
“Laura, it seems with hindsight such a bizarre place for an Israeli to be — in the heart of the Cairo establishment…Christ, that was where Jimmy Carter met President Anwar Sadat. Kissinger met the Egyptians there. I was reading a magazine article the other day about Nixon’s Middle East policy. He stayed at the Mena House, and it mentioned that it was President Roosevelt’s favorite hotel. God knows how many foreign kings have stayed there. It’s an Arab institution. What’s Benjamin Adnam doing there, unless he was really an Arab?”
“I can’t answer that. But you have reminded me of a strange conversation we once had at the Mena House. I can’t remember any of the exact words, but I do remember him saying something like, ‘My masters probably would not approve of my being here so publicly with an English admiral’s daughter. They might think it a bit indiscreet.’
“I asked him why, and he just went rather thoughtful, and very steely. He said something like, ‘But my masters can be replaced anytime. I, on the other hand, cannot be replaced.’
“It was not the arrogance that surprised me. Ben always had a touch of arrogance, even bravado, just under the surface. I’m a bit ashamed to say how attractive I found it at the time. But it was the use of the word ‘masters’ that should have given me just a touch of suspicion. I’ve just never heard any Naval officer use those words before, not in that context. I’ve always remembered Ben saying it.”
“Funny that, Laura. I’ve never heard a U.S. Naval officer use it either. I continue to wonder precisely who Ben really was.”
“You really do think he was not what he said he was?”
“I do. Not least because your father thinks there are less than half a dozen men on earth who could have blown up our aircraft carrier. And he thinks Ben might have been one of them. And an Arab is a much better bet than an Israeli.”
“Just after I was married Ben phoned and asked me to meet him but I couldn’t. He said Cairo that time as well.”
“Strange. I wonder where the hell he is now.”
“Can’t help much with that one. It’s been several months since I last heard. I might not hear again. And I never had an address.”
“Would you agree to let me know if you ever did hear from him?”
“Yes. Yes, I would. I am the daughter of a senior Navy officer, and I do understand about this, and how serious it is. I will contact you if I hear.”
Laura stood up wearily and passed a hand through her hair. “Would you like to listen to some music?” she asked. Crossing the room, she flicked on the CD player and placed a disc on the sliding tray. The massed violins of the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra playing the rhapsodic overture to one of Giuseppe Verdi’s most memorable operas filled the room.
They sat in silence for a long while, listening to the divine, heart-rending arias being sung by Ileana Cotrubas as Gilda, and Placido Domingo as the Duke of Mantua.
When the soprano sang
She turned the sound down a shade, and asked him, “You really like opera, don’t you?”
“I do at times like this,” he said somberly. “My mother’s brother was on the Board of the Metropolitan Opera in New York. He used to throw her a few tickets now and then. She took me a few times when I was at Annapolis, paid for me to fly up from Washington, let me hear the great maestros at work.
“I never got much further than the easier ones, like
He glanced at his watch. “Hey, it’s midnight, and I haven’t slept in a bed since I left Kansas on Sunday morning. I have to meet your dad real early. I’d better turn in, before I collapse on the rug.”
“All right. I’ll just clear these glasses and fix the fire screen. Good night, Bill. I hope I’ve helped.”
“Yes, ma’am. I appreciate it.” He debated the propriety of giving her a quick kiss on the cheek, but decided against it. Mrs. Laura Anderson considered the omission a lot more peevishly than she ought to have done.
Bill climbed the stairs and slept like a rock. He knew his second day at Inveraray was not strictly necessary but he wanted to tour this submariner’s mecca with Admiral MacLean. And he wanted to ask him a few more questions about Israel and its Navy. He justified his time with the certain knowledge that this British admiral was without doubt the most learned submariner he had ever met. He was also the man who had personally taught Commander Ben Adnam, whatever grave implications that might now have.
