Hidden Sanctuary, page 10
I gathered the tan cotton skirt in my hands. It was soft as butter. “Yours?” I mocked.
“Hardly. A friend’s.”
A friend? I bet. Obviously, I was not the first woman to stay here. I ran my hands over the skirt, wondering what its owner had worn when she left.
Ten minutes later, with my backpack slung over my shoulder, I was once again crossing the lobby with Griffin. This time no one bothered to give us a second glance.
I still needed to call Pete, but it could wait until we returned and I had news to report.
“Where are we going?” I asked as a taxi pulled up.
“Khan al-Khalili.”
I’d heard of it. One of the oldest markets in the world, where you could buy anything from gold to rugs to weapons. “I’ve always wanted to go.”
“You haven’t been?” he asked, incredulous.
“No. I mean to, but it never happens.” He opened the door, and I got in the taxi. Hidden by the untucked shirt, the 9 mm I’d shoved into the waistband of the skirt dug into my back.
I hadn’t told Griffin I was bringing it, and knew that if I were caught with it, I’d be in serious legal trouble. I also knew the odds of capture were low. Most women did not carry weapons here. Didn’t even think of it.
I was the last person they’d suspect.
Griffin slid in next to me and shut the door.
“In fact, I’m not sure I’ve seen much of anything other than the airport,” I finished.
“How can you fly into Cairo and not go anywhere?”
I shrugged, annoyed at his tone and angry with myself for feeling like I needed to defend my decisions. “I get busy.”
When we arrived, the market was everything I’d heard it would be.
People drowned the streets, tourists and locals alike. Vendors called to them, offering the best, the newest, the oldest, whatever it was that they thought would catch someone’s attention.
Taking my arm in his, Griffin led me through the crowd. “Do not smile at the men,” he whispered.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a man in black pants and a light gray shirt watching us with interest. Probably a slave trader, my imagination whispered. After all, this market had everything.
“I’m not dumb,” I replied, glancing away before the man saw me looking at him. I knew that any smile or sign of interest meant that I was a woman of loose morals.
“I’m sure you’re not. Just don’t forget yourself.”
We worked our way north through the market, passing tourist trinket shops and produce stands, and ended up in an area that focused on gold and jewelry.
“Here.” Griffin pulled me into a shop with necklaces in the window display. A salesperson approached us, then stopped when Griffin faced him.
“In the back,” he said, before turning away to attach himself to a tourist entering the door.
We hurried through a curtain. The back of the store was well-lit. It seemed that “deals” were no longer made in dark alleys and dingy, smoke-filled rooms. A man wearing a white sports shirt and tan slacks sat at a desk, writing. Beardless, he looked like a Westerner with his Elvis hairstyle.
His face broke out in a grin as we approached. “As salaam alaikum.”
Though I didn’t speak Arabic, I recognized the standard greeting Peace be upon you.
“Wa alaikum es salaam,” Griffin replied. And upon you be peace.
The man smiled and pointed to the chairs. We sat. “Griffin. I am pleased that you received my message.”
“Yes. Thank you, Kamal, for responding so quickly. Your dedication to your work is much appreciated and admired.”
Kamal waved him off and gave me a perfunctory nod of acknowledgment. “Would you care for chai?”
“Please,” Griffin said.
I spent the next ten minutes listening to Griffin and Kamal exchange information. I sipped my sweet, hot tea as each man tried to gain information from the other without giving anything away.
Both were masters of the art of saying something but saying nothing, so I breathed a sigh of relief when it was time to discuss business.
“Here is the weapon you requested.” Kamal pulled a 9 mm and a box of shells from a desk drawer. Griffin tucked the gun into a pants pocket and the shells into another.
Kamal crossed his hands, resting them on the desk. “Now about the matter of Mrs. Adriano.”
I leaned forward, eager for information.
He glanced at me, then away. “First, while I do not like to speak of payment between friends…”
Griffin stopped him with an upraised hand. “Say no more. Your services are invaluable and deserve compensation. I will have the money wired to your account this afternoon.”
Kamal gave a nod of agreement.
I sat back, more surprised than I should have been. They must have done business before. Most businessmen would not agree to such a transaction without money changing hands.
He slid an envelope to Griffin.
Griffin opened it, and his eyes widened. “She’s at the Marriott?”
Our hotel? “That can’t be right,” I said, before I could think to stop the words.
“Why not?” Griffin asked.
What was I going to say? “Um, wouldn’t we know?”
Or more likely, wouldn’t I know. If she was at our hotel, then she did not have the tiles with her. The realization made me want to cry.
“How?” Griffin asked, interrupting my thoughts.
“Intuition?” This was true, in a way.
Kamal laughed. “Women.”
I glared at him, but Griffin chuckled, as well.
Men.
“And, my friend, I have some worrisome news for you,” Kamal said, after their laughter died.
Griffin pulled out his wallet, but Kamal waved him off. “Please, this is between friends.”
More like he doesn’t want to lose a good client, I thought.
Kamal leaned forward, his thick brows knitting in worry. “Mrs. Adriano is aware that people—”
He looked pointedly in my direction, and I knew that by people he meant me.
“—will be looking for her, and she has hired men to stop people from finding her.”
Griffin frowned. “Stop as in dissuade?”
“Dissuade if possible, but if these people will not be dissuaded, then a more permanent solution will be found.”
Griffin’s face darkened even as mine drained of blood. I suppose I should not have been so surprised. She’d hurt Efra. Sending someone else to hurt me wasn’t that much of a reach.
“Thank you, Kamal.” Griffin rose. “You are a good friend.”
“Thank you and be safe.”
Our business at an end, I followed Griffin outside.
“Hell.” I said. “I didn’t think she’d go that far.”
“I have to admit, I didn’t think so, either,” Griffin muttered. “Let’s get back to the hotel and get this taken care of before anyone has a chance to find you.”
“Good plan.”
Taking my hand in his, he wove it through his arm. “Stay close.”
We worked our way through the throngs, and my anger at Pauline simmered down to a low boil as we walked and no threat emerged. Besides, I had bigger things to worry about, and the sooner we got back to our hotel the sooner I could start knocking on doors.
I had to find those tiles.
Suddenly, the hairs on the back of my neck rose. I stopped in front of a shop and checked out the reflection of the crowd behind me.
And spotted the man in black I’d seen earlier. The one I pegged as a slave trader. Hell.
Taking Griffin’s hand and leaning against him like we were a couple, I pointed at a white vase with maroon stripes circling both the base and the lip. “We’re being followed,” I said, trying to look unaware and innocent.
“I know,” Griffin replied, going along with my act and kissing the top of my head.
“The man in black.”
For a microsecond, he stiffened. “I was talking about the man in the tan jacket and aviator sunglasses.”
Again I used the window as a mirror. Griffin’s tail stood across the street, looking a little too interested in a vase displayed in the shop opposite ours. “The one with his back to us?”
“That’s him.”
“Then we have more than one.”
“So it seems.”
Oh hell. “Suggestions? You know more about this city than I do.”
“We’re going to make our way east and out of the market. If we get separated, we’ll meet up in an hour.”
“Where? Back to the hotel?”
He shook his head. “They’ll be waiting there. Trust me. Head for the City of the Dead.”
Chapter 9
Unfortunately, I had no idea how to get to the City of the Dead, but now wasn’t the time to delve into my lack of knowledge.
Besides, unlike a man, I would ask directions if needed.
“They know we know,” I whispered as we worked our way through the crowds, trying to appear nonchalant. Behind us, Black and Tan kept closer than I liked.
I wondered if there were others—better, less obtrusive tails that we’d missed. I was sure Griffin wondered the same thing.
“Perhaps,” he said.
The hairs on the back of my neck refused to lie flat. “Any doubt is going to disappear when we clear the crowds and make a run for it.”
He nodded in agreement. “So, let’s lose them before we leave the market.” Grabbing my hand, he pulled me into an alley crammed with people. “This way.”
We wove through the throng. Noise, heat and the smell of sweat overwhelmed me. The squeeze of bodies threatened to separate us, but Griffin’s fingers tightened, almost crushing mine in his determination to keep me close.
Despite the oppressive heat, a chill ran down my back. Our tails still followed us. I knew it. I refused to look back, knowing that if I did, I’d tip them off and we’d lose our advantage.
The wall of people ended, and Griffin and I emerged in an open square.
“I feel like I’m in an Indiana Jones movie,” I said, dodging the foot traffic and ducking to keep a tamed monkey from grabbing my hair.
“Yeah? Just don’t end up kidnapped in a giant wicker basket.”
“I’m not planning on it,” I replied, taking comfort in the hidden weapon in my waistband.
“And don’t draw your gun.”
Hell. “You know?” I thought I’d hid it well.
“It’s my job to know. I work in security. I can tell when someone carries a gun.”
“How?” I asked, curious despite our increasingly precarious predicament.
“The walk. I’ve seen yours enough to know when something changes. You’re right hip is heavier than normal, making you drag your foot just a tad.”
Jostled by the bodies around me, I was unsure if I should be flattered or annoyed that he watched my ass on a regular basis.
Griffin stopped, letting go of me. I heard a cry and turned to see him gripping a kid’s wrist in one hand and my weapon in the other. “And don’t get it stolen,” he said, unzipping my backpack and dropping it in. “There are pickpockets all over the place. You’ve got to be more careful.”
He gave the juvenile delinquent a shake and said something in Arabic before he let him go. The urchin didn’t look upset. He smirked at us and disappeared into the crowd.
I glanced over my shoulder, watching the kid scoot through the crowd—
And caught Black’s eye.
He held my gaze, and then his attention flickered to my backpack. He knew. He met my eyes again, and our cover was blown.
I grabbed Griffin’s arm to get his attention. “If there was any doubt about us before…” I nodded at Black, who was pushing his way through the crowd toward us.
“There isn’t now,” Griffin finished.
Tan came up on the left, flanking us.
“Run,” Griffin said.
I didn’t need to be told twice, and we shoved past people, knocking a few down, as we headed for an exit at the opposite end of the square.
But getting through the sea of people in the market verged on the impossible, and progress was slow. I expected to feel Black’s hand on my shoulder at any moment, pulling me back.
Finally, Griffin and I broke free of the crowd and stumbled into the street. I didn’t recognize any of the buildings, and I hoped he knew where he was going because I was lost.
“This way.” His hand still gripping mine, Griffin pulled me down the sidewalk. We ran, our steps in unison as we sprinted away from our pursuers.
After six blocks, my lungs began to burn. I was fast, but my legs weren’t as long as Griffin’s, and it was becoming an effort to match his pace.
He didn’t appear to notice as he hauled me around a corner. The street opened up into a complex of mosques.
I wasn’t sure if the open space was a godsend or a disaster.
We could make better time through here—if my legs didn’t collapse under me and if the men chasing us didn’t catch us. But it also made us easier targets.
Something whistled past my ear, disturbing my hair. I never heard the shot. Silencers, I realized. These guys were professionals.
“They’re shooting at us.” My voice trembled with anger and adrenaline, and it took a supreme effort not to return the shot.
But I know my limitations. I’m good at some things, like hand-to-hand, but accuracy with a gun isn’t one of them.
Griffin increased his pace.
I pushed myself harder, forcing my legs to keep up, but I didn’t know how much longer I’d last. I glanced at the mosques. It was tempting to run into one. But entering a mosque with my head uncovered would be inviting more trouble than either of us wanted.
The pavement in front of us exploded as another bullet missed.
“We need to split up,” I panted. “Better chance.”
“Over there,” Griffin said, leading me into the mosque complex. We started to slow, not wanting to attract attention. “Meet me at the Tomb of Qaitbay in the City of the Dead. Be careful.” He peeled away, going in the opposite direction.
I looked over my shoulder. Neither Black nor Tan were visible.
But they would be any second. I headed toward the nearest mosque, going around the back, then toward another building.
Undoubtedly, my pursuers would find me at some point, but the simple maneuver might buy me a few seconds. I leaned against the wall to catch my breath and think.
Why was Pauline going to these lengths to stop me? Did she know something about the tiles that I didn’t?
The destiny Efra had talked of came to mind, and I wished I knew what it was.
Shouts and chatter coming from the front of the mosque caught my attention.
My pursuers, no doubt.
My first instinct was to duck into one of the doorways and take a chance that they wouldn’t find me. But that kind of luck only happened in movies.
Then when they did find me, I’d have to shoot them, and while I’d be safe from them, it was quite possible I’d spend the rest of my life in an Egyptian prison.
Not an option.
Pushing myself away from the wall, I ran as silently as possible, following the side of the building, heading back toward the street and, hopefully, something that was familiar.
When it was safe, I’d find the City of the Dead. I’d heard of it before. An ancient graveyard, it now housed the poor of Cairo. Unfortunately, I had no idea where it was.
I was beginning to regret not sightseeing in Cairo.
There was a crowd of tourists ahead. Possible salvation. Slowing to a walk, and hoping I didn’t appear as sweaty as I felt, I tucked my gun back into the waistband of my skirt, and worked my way into the crowd, trying to blend.
“I think they’re brilliant,” a feminine voice with a British accent commented. A short blond woman pointed at the mosque I’d just come from.
There were accompanying agreements, all in English, some accented and some not.
They stopped as a guide gave a verbal history of the complex. I kept within the group. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Black walking toward us.
It required every ounce of willpower not to look at him. I took a nonchalant step forward, using the bulk of the crowd to hide myself.
I am invisible. I chanted the phrase in my head, willing it to be true.
He skirted the group, scanning for me.
My luck ran out. Our eyes met. His anger and frustration was palpable. A smug woman would have smiled. A scared woman would have shrunk.
I did neither. I raised my hand.
“Yes?” the guide asked.
All heads turned to me. “Is it true that if you go into a mosque without your head covered they’ll beat you? Maybe even kill you?”
“There are protocols and traditions….”
I tuned out the guide as he explained what was acceptable and what was not. No one asked who I was. No one pointed a finger to me as an intruder.
I was now an accepted part of the group.
Ten minutes later, we boarded a bus. I took a window seat in the back. With no cabs in sight, I watched Black fume as we pulled away from the curb.
I had no idea where the bus was going, and it didn’t matter. For now, I was safe.
I hoped Griffin could say the same.
Ten minutes later the bus stopped at another mosque. I ditched the group and grabbed a taxi to take me to the City of the Dead and the Tomb of Qaitbay. I prayed that I’d find Griffin once I arrived.
If he was hurt or captured, Pauline would pay.
I sighed and watched cars whiz by. This mystery was getting stranger by the hour, and there was only one person who could shed light on it—Pauline.
When we found her, I definitely had some questions for the pampered nuisance who was also my sister-of-a-sort.
The taxi slowed and pulled into the graveyard.
Built along the base of the Moqattan hills, the four-mile-long graveyard also served as housing for approximately fifty thousand Egyptians who had neither the money nor means to build better homes.
Instead of living in the street, they moved into the mausoleums. And though their occupation was illegal, it was also tolerated.
