professionally his equal. He may have been raised in poverty, but this was the modern world. A man creates his own place in society. And he does it with wealth.
Despite his resolve to be bold and unafraid, his legs trembled as he entered the small, curtained room at the end of a long hallway. The room had an air conditioner in a window with two ribbons fluttering off a grill. Faisal, in a striped galabeya , was sitting within inches of the ribbons in a lounge chair, his bare feet resting on a pillow, his eyes closed. A wad of cotton was wedged between one of his big toes and the toe next to it.
Although Faisal was still fat, he had lost weight. Deep lines marked his face. He looked tired.
“You look wonderful!” Bashir said, striding right up to him.
Faisal opened his eyes and regarded Bashir with displeasure.
“Sit down,” he said, pointing at a chair a few feet from him. “We have much to talk about.” He shot a glance at Diab who had lowered himself into a straight-backed chair against a wall under a faded tapestry—a faintly erotic depiction of two partially naked women kneeling in supplication before a seated potentate of the mythical past, a bearded man with one hand resting on the arm of his chair, the other dangling over a bowl of fruit held by a black Nubian slave.
As though brimming with enthusiasm, Bashir pulled up a chair to within inches of Faisal’s shoulder. The scraping sound of the move made Faisal wince.
“I wish I had known you were in Egypt, Faisal. I have been eager to tell you about my trip to Istanbul.”
“I know all about your trip to Istanbul,” Faisal said, leaning his head back, closing his eyes.
“Then you know how hard I’ve been working to keep us in the mainstream. The world is changing, Faisal. Every day it’s different. We have new competition, eager competition that has to be dealt with.”
Faisal raised a hand in protest, turning his head aside as though to ward off a pestilent odor.
“If you had contacted me,” he said.
“I tried! I didn’t know how to reach you!”
“You knew exactly how to reach me.”
“What I mean, Faisal….”
“If you had brought it to a conference, you would have learned that those two who pretended to be Germans were fakes. They said they had worked with me in Libya? They never worked with me. They were British agents. They had no weapons for sale. What they showed you were empty containers. You were sucked in.”
He raised his head to be sure Bashir was listening.
Bashir felt blood rising to his face. That couldn’t be true! He had questioned those men. They knew every intimate detail of Faisal’s Libyan operations! They had to be who they said they were! And how did Faisal learn these details!
“I knew….”
“You knew nothing! You believed what some drunken Greek told you in a bar on Alfy Bey Street. You didn’t check with us. You thought you’d grab a big swindle for yourself. If Diab hadn’t heard about it, you’d be floating face down in the Bosporus right now.”
“Diab? What did he…?”
“He did what a leader has to do. He used his head. How do you think the police found out? Why do you think they raided that warehouse? You think those British agents took off because they were afraid of you?”
That’s exactly what Bashir thought. Oh, my God! Was I a fool? He thinks I’m a fool. He thinks I’m a traitor!
“I did it for us, Faisal!” And he shot a quick, desperate, pleading glance at Diab who was sitting with elbows on his knees studying Bashir without a trace of sympathy.
“You don’t know what ‘us’ means,” Faisal said, lowering his head to the pillow, closing his eyes. “And that trip to Foz do Iguacu….”
“For us!” Bashir said. “That was for us! I got a chance to fly over there. I didn’t try to betray you! I’ve always been loyal. Honest to God, Faisal!”
“I think he needs retraining,” Diab said, laughing. “He’s forgotten who he is.”
“Come on,” Bashir
Despite his resolve to be bold and unafraid, his legs trembled as he entered the small, curtained room at the end of a long hallway. The room had an air conditioner in a window with two ribbons fluttering off a grill. Faisal, in a striped galabeya , was sitting within inches of the ribbons in a lounge chair, his bare feet resting on a pillow, his eyes closed. A wad of cotton was wedged between one of his big toes and the toe next to it.
Although Faisal was still fat, he had lost weight. Deep lines marked his face. He looked tired.
“You look wonderful!” Bashir said, striding right up to him.
Faisal opened his eyes and regarded Bashir with displeasure.
“Sit down,” he said, pointing at a chair a few feet from him. “We have much to talk about.” He shot a glance at Diab who had lowered himself into a straight-backed chair against a wall under a faded tapestry—a faintly erotic depiction of two partially naked women kneeling in supplication before a seated potentate of the mythical past, a bearded man with one hand resting on the arm of his chair, the other dangling over a bowl of fruit held by a black Nubian slave.
As though brimming with enthusiasm, Bashir pulled up a chair to within inches of Faisal’s shoulder. The scraping sound of the move made Faisal wince.
“I wish I had known you were in Egypt, Faisal. I have been eager to tell you about my trip to Istanbul.”
“I know all about your trip to Istanbul,” Faisal said, leaning his head back, closing his eyes.
“Then you know how hard I’ve been working to keep us in the mainstream. The world is changing, Faisal. Every day it’s different. We have new competition, eager competition that has to be dealt with.”
Faisal raised a hand in protest, turning his head aside as though to ward off a pestilent odor.
“If you had contacted me,” he said.
“I tried! I didn’t know how to reach you!”
“You knew exactly how to reach me.”
“What I mean, Faisal….”
“If you had brought it to a conference, you would have learned that those two who pretended to be Germans were fakes. They said they had worked with me in Libya? They never worked with me. They were British agents. They had no weapons for sale. What they showed you were empty containers. You were sucked in.”
He raised his head to be sure Bashir was listening.
Bashir felt blood rising to his face. That couldn’t be true! He had questioned those men. They knew every intimate detail of Faisal’s Libyan operations! They had to be who they said they were! And how did Faisal learn these details!
“I knew….”
“You knew nothing! You believed what some drunken Greek told you in a bar on Alfy Bey Street. You didn’t check with us. You thought you’d grab a big swindle for yourself. If Diab hadn’t heard about it, you’d be floating face down in the Bosporus right now.”
“Diab? What did he…?”
“He did what a leader has to do. He used his head. How do you think the police found out? Why do you think they raided that warehouse? You think those British agents took off because they were afraid of you?”
That’s exactly what Bashir thought. Oh, my God! Was I a fool? He thinks I’m a fool. He thinks I’m a traitor!
“I did it for us, Faisal!” And he shot a quick, desperate, pleading glance at Diab who was sitting with elbows on his knees studying Bashir without a trace of sympathy.
“You don’t know what ‘us’ means,” Faisal said, lowering his head to the pillow, closing his eyes. “And that trip to Foz do Iguacu….”
“For us!” Bashir said. “That was for us! I got a chance to fly over there. I didn’t try to betray you! I’ve always been loyal. Honest to God, Faisal!”
“I think he needs retraining,” Diab said, laughing. “He’s forgotten who he is.”
“Come on,” Bashir
Similar Books
