Read Online Tsunami Connection by Michael James Gallagher - Free Book Online Page B

belligerent. Someone dropped a long
hardwood switch and he ran to scoop it up. He melted into the crowd now, moved
with them through militia checkpoints, which harassed people, arbitrarily
arresting anyone who could not produce identification cards connected to
whatever partisan group was manning the checkpoint.
    Twelve young men with bloody headscarves sat, hands bound
between their legs, on the pavement, behind this particular checkpoint. Their
crime was the possession of a pro-President Mubarak identity card.
    Different young men stopped Shafiq on the corner of Areaf
Street this time. The pro-democracy groups had taken sway over a large swath of
the center tonight. It was like this on a daily basis. The political stripe of
those on the street often changed on an hourly basis. Better the devil you
know than the one you don't, thought Shafiq. He was carrying identity
documents for both sides, pro-democracy in his left pouch under his gellabiya ,
and pro-Mubarak in a pouch under his right arm.
    Without being bothered this time, he passed the checkpoint.
He felt it was ironic that these young men touched their hearts and slightly
bowed their heads while using the same salutations as the opposing young men
had earlier. "God is great. Go in peace, father," they said . Was
that not proof that they should be able to compromise, reflected Shafiq.
    He was approaching the tunnel entrance point behind the
bushes that he had used earlier, but something told him not to go there.
Instead, he made his way to the front of the building where he had worked for
twenty-six years. As he turned the corner, Shafiq was aghast by what he saw.
    The doors of the GIS Headquarters were broken down. Smoke
poured from the upper floors and prisoners were flocking out the exits, some in
blood-stained clothing.
    "That message from Yochana may've saved my life. Must
make haste," Shafiq said to himself.
    He made his way through the hysteria. People pushed and
shoved one another, shouting accusations and creating turmoil. The sound of
Army vehicles, screeching to a halt, combined with the noise of people rocking
these same vehicles in an effort to tip them over.
    All these occurrences contributed to the cacophony of
anarchy. As if controlled by a puppeteer in the sky, all heads suddenly looked
up at the arrival of commandos dropping down onto the roof. Shafiq made his way
through the throngs, looking up and cursing again, using his package of actor's
makeup to simulate injury when anyone questioned why he was leaving the scene.
    As a Lieutenant Colonel, he was privy to the location of a
secret office built a few streets away in case of emergency. He made his way to
a nondescript entranceway on El Tahrir Street, off Bab el look Square.
    On Tahrir, there was a restaurant called Fatatri Pizza. It
was open twenty-four hours a day. It was also a cover for Mukhabarat agents of
higher rank. In the basement, he passed through a stall in the back of the room
containing videos of young women. There was a hidden door covered with thick
burlap. Under the sack cloth, there was a numerical keypad. Shafiq entered his
code.
    The stainless steel partition slid into the floor, revealing
a dank stairwell. At the bottom of the stairs sat a stiff looking military man
in uniform. Three stars on his epaulets identified him as a Captain, a much
higher rank than usually kept watch here. His right hand toyed with the trigger
of a silenced Berretta M9 pistol, the pistol of preference of the Egyptian GIS,
while his left hand took Shafiq's proffered identification card.
    Unlike the boys on the street-level checkpoints, this
guardian had a swipe terminal and he quietly swiped the card. Looking at a
small screen, he faced Shafiq, returned the Lieutenant Colonel's identification
card, and then put his pistol back into the holster under his left arm.
"Sir," he said, pointing to a second keypad, "you must enter
your second code here."
    Shafiq complied, nodded and proceeded down