Read Online The Cairo Affair by Olen Steinhauer - Free Book Online Page A

out to climb into Glenda’s car, they snapped photos, and she wondered if later those photos would be requisitioned by the authorities, the last record of Sophie Kohl before she disappeared. Of course, the Budapest airport was full of cameras, and so was Cairo, but these clear, professional shots would be far more useful for the newspapers or some missing persons circular.
    She slammed the passenger door behind herself. Glenda, behind the wheel, said, “Well, aren’t you all dolled up?”
    “You want to drive?”
    Glenda put the car in gear, and they began to move, leaving the photographers behind. “You’re not thinking of throwing yourself at some Magyar, are you? Because it’s a losing proposition.”
    She went on, but Sophie was hardly hearing her. Instead, she was inventorying what she’d stuffed into her shoulder bag. Passport, credit cards, euros and forints, phone, iPad, address book, four pairs of clean panties, tissues, antibacterial lotion, aspirin, perfume, and the burgundy lipstick that Stan once said he loved. And, folded into quarters, the WikiLeaks cable: Aziz and Stumbler. She was thinking of chronology—the flight she’d reserved online early that morning left at three thirty-five, only ten minutes before the Boston flight, but she couldn’t risk Fiona staying with her at the airport. She could only hope that of all the places Fiona Vale would think to look for her, the airport would be her last choice.
    She was thinking of logistics. She wasn’t thinking of Zora Balašević, Jibril Aziz, or even poor Emmett. She was trying not to think of Stan, but was only partly successful, for when she had called him at three thirty that morning she’d noted the doubt in his voice. Would he be there, and if so would he be alone? She kept flashing back on their hotel room, and the particular nuances of his bed etiquette. Stan, unlike Emmett, was extremely oral.
    With shocking appropriateness, Glenda’s voice broke through. “And they’re a mess when it comes to cunnilingus. I don’t know what it is, maybe all that paprika they eat.”
    “You’re unfair, Glen.”
    She gave Sophie a sidelong glance as she took a turn, but didn’t bother replying.
    Bitch Lounge was on Üllői Avenue, Budapest’s longest street, which headed straight out to the airport down a corridor of sooty Habsburg buildings. The front door was half buried in the sidewalk, with a small, unassuming banner beside it. Glenda was right—though an influx of gay-scene foreigners attracted by the lounge atmosphere and drag shows had been changing the place, it was still largely Hungarian. And at that time, eleven thirty in the morning, it was mostly empty.
    The bartender was a prim young man who spoke spotty English. He brought their Cosmos to a zebra-print sofa along the brick wall. Over the speakers Édith Piaf sang “Non, je ne regrette rien.”
    “What time’s your flight?” Glenda asked, momentarily throwing her, but she meant the one Sophie wouldn’t be on.
    “Three forty-five.”
    “I’ll lay odds I can manage a ticket. Consul’s wife and all that. We can cause a drunken ruckus.”
    Sophie grinned. “No. Please. I’m hoping to catch up on sleep.”
    “Thatta girl.”
    “But right now,” she said, “I’d like you to open up to me.”
    Glenda arched a brow—only she could arch one that way. “I thought we were drinking.”
    Sophie leaned close and rubbed Glenda’s knee through her slacks. “Tell me what Ray’s been saying.”
    “About what?”
    “About what do you think?”
    The brow relaxed and Glenda shifted, her knee slipping out from under Sophie’s hand. “Well, first of all, he’s devastated. You know how crazy he was about Emmett.”
    “Yes, of course he is, Glenda. That’s not what I’m talking about.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    She was talking about CIA agents; she was talking about terrorists; she was talking about an operation called Stumbler. She said, “I’m talking about the