enough
thought Blake. He waited until the lounge door had closed behind the Egyptian and then looked round the room. It was now completely empty. If he moved quickly, he would just have time…
The laptop lay, lid down, on the coffee table in front of him. He checked around once more, then raised the lid and pressed the power-on button. The blank grey screen flashed into life and after a few agonising seconds the website reappeared. It was exactly as he’d suspected.
The webpage Reda had been perusing was one he’d been looking at it himself not a few months before. All the same, he’d wanted to make sure. Attached somewhere close by there would be an email account and a host of private messages. But there was no time to go into that and anyway, his intention was only to confirm what had already been revealed – he had no licence to pry further. He reclosed the lid and sat with his hands clasped together, breathing deeply.
He was too long in the tooth to register a sense of shock – it was more like disappointment. Ever since he’d first encountered Reda in the quayside car park concerning the matter of Joan’s jewellery box, the young man had presented a practised and solidappearance. Now a shadow had been cast over him that seemed strangely out of place.
A noise in the corridor alerted him. He assumed a schoolboy air of innocence and affected a bored look, as if he’d grown tired of waiting.
Reda returned, one hand clutching a sheaf of notes.
“I’m sorry, Mr Blake, but this is the best I can do.”
“That’s fine.”
Blake accepted the offering and packed his wallet. All he wanted to do now was retreat and give himself time to think.
“Well, enjoy your trip.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Then, as if it were for his benefit alone – perhaps because Blake lived in the country and understood, or even as some kind of test – Reda made an addition in Arabic.
“Allah go with you, Mr Blake.”
“And with you,”
was Blake’s automatic reply.
He headed for the door and the light of the outside world. In the dim and artificial surroundings of the Forward Lounge, something had fundamentally changed and for the moment he wanted to be away from it. For all his poise and professional bearing, Reda was not all that he seemed and Blake could not see him in the same way again. But as he was continually fond of telling himself, Egypt was a land full of surprises.
Chapter Ten
Blake returned to his cabin and sat on the end of the bed. It was heading towards the middle of the afternoon and a quiet calm had descended over the ship. Those passengers who remained on deck were forced to seek the shade while the rest had already retreated to their rooms and the comfort of a peaceful nap. Unlike the previous afternoon, Blake was determined to stay awake, and rather than slump into the chair overlooking the mesmeric flow of the river and risk dozing off, he elected to perch somewhere deliberately less comfortable where he could take stock and give himself time to review the situation.
Despite his interest in the politics of Egypt and his years of extensive research, Blake was quick to acknowledge that he knew little of al-Wasat al-Jadid. Its founder, Abou Elela Mady, had once been a member of the Muslim Brotherhood but had thought their political convictions too narrow and in 1996 had broken away to form his own party. They professed to be moderates and had sought to create a tolerant Islamic movement but its attempts to register as an official party had been rejected a number of times. Under the current emergency laws, they were still a banned organisation and had been brought before a military court on the charge of setting up a party as an Islamist front. To be identified as a member would be to lay yourself open to the risk of imprisonment and possible torture. Why then was Reda so interested in their website, and how deep was his involvement?
In the six or so weeks since his departure from the Embassy, and more
thought Blake. He waited until the lounge door had closed behind the Egyptian and then looked round the room. It was now completely empty. If he moved quickly, he would just have time…
The laptop lay, lid down, on the coffee table in front of him. He checked around once more, then raised the lid and pressed the power-on button. The blank grey screen flashed into life and after a few agonising seconds the website reappeared. It was exactly as he’d suspected.
The webpage Reda had been perusing was one he’d been looking at it himself not a few months before. All the same, he’d wanted to make sure. Attached somewhere close by there would be an email account and a host of private messages. But there was no time to go into that and anyway, his intention was only to confirm what had already been revealed – he had no licence to pry further. He reclosed the lid and sat with his hands clasped together, breathing deeply.
He was too long in the tooth to register a sense of shock – it was more like disappointment. Ever since he’d first encountered Reda in the quayside car park concerning the matter of Joan’s jewellery box, the young man had presented a practised and solidappearance. Now a shadow had been cast over him that seemed strangely out of place.
A noise in the corridor alerted him. He assumed a schoolboy air of innocence and affected a bored look, as if he’d grown tired of waiting.
Reda returned, one hand clutching a sheaf of notes.
“I’m sorry, Mr Blake, but this is the best I can do.”
“That’s fine.”
Blake accepted the offering and packed his wallet. All he wanted to do now was retreat and give himself time to think.
“Well, enjoy your trip.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Then, as if it were for his benefit alone – perhaps because Blake lived in the country and understood, or even as some kind of test – Reda made an addition in Arabic.
“Allah go with you, Mr Blake.”
“And with you,”
was Blake’s automatic reply.
He headed for the door and the light of the outside world. In the dim and artificial surroundings of the Forward Lounge, something had fundamentally changed and for the moment he wanted to be away from it. For all his poise and professional bearing, Reda was not all that he seemed and Blake could not see him in the same way again. But as he was continually fond of telling himself, Egypt was a land full of surprises.
Chapter Ten
Blake returned to his cabin and sat on the end of the bed. It was heading towards the middle of the afternoon and a quiet calm had descended over the ship. Those passengers who remained on deck were forced to seek the shade while the rest had already retreated to their rooms and the comfort of a peaceful nap. Unlike the previous afternoon, Blake was determined to stay awake, and rather than slump into the chair overlooking the mesmeric flow of the river and risk dozing off, he elected to perch somewhere deliberately less comfortable where he could take stock and give himself time to review the situation.
Despite his interest in the politics of Egypt and his years of extensive research, Blake was quick to acknowledge that he knew little of al-Wasat al-Jadid. Its founder, Abou Elela Mady, had once been a member of the Muslim Brotherhood but had thought their political convictions too narrow and in 1996 had broken away to form his own party. They professed to be moderates and had sought to create a tolerant Islamic movement but its attempts to register as an official party had been rejected a number of times. Under the current emergency laws, they were still a banned organisation and had been brought before a military court on the charge of setting up a party as an Islamist front. To be identified as a member would be to lay yourself open to the risk of imprisonment and possible torture. Why then was Reda so interested in their website, and how deep was his involvement?
In the six or so weeks since his departure from the Embassy, and more
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