stood behind him.
‘You Franklin?
‘That’s right.’
‘ New York Times ?’
‘That’s me.’
‘I have a letter for you. It’s a kinda introduction.’
‘From New York?’
‘From Washington.’
Franklin looked up. The man was dressed in a lightweight wash’n’wear tan suit. His face was the same colour. The man behind him could have been his brother. Franklin took the envelope, held it up to the light to see the shadow outline of the letter inside and tore open the end. He pulled out a single sheet of paper, headed United States Cairo Embassy. It was from the State Director of the Washington Bureau.
‘Glad you are out. Good rovers never die, they say. The Mid East has gone sour and our advice too lately accepted. It’s now spreading and need immediate conversation with you so call me from Embassy soonest. Cheaney will explain. Regards, Heinzerling.’
Franklin held out his hand and the man helped him up. ‘You Cheaney?’ And the man nodded.
‘You’ve something to tell me?’
‘Sure,’ said Cheaney. ‘We have a car for you. Let’s talk on the way to the Embassy. This is Joe.’
‘They always are.’
Joe smiled back.
‘Can I get a shower?’
‘Sure. Just about everything here my friend, except tail, but I reckon we could manage that at a push. D’you know Joe here tells me he can even get pretzels nowadays. Can you imagine pretzels in Cairo? They’ll be selling baskets of fruit for Yomtov next.’ He grinned. He had a fat shiny face as if it had been regularly polished and small bullet eyes deep set and green. His paunch fell over his trousers. Joe ate pretzels. Cheaney looked as if he was fond of Budweisers.
‘I’d be happy,’ said Franklin, ‘with a shower and a change of clothes. And perhaps a quick call home.’
‘You betcha,’ said Cheaney. ‘Joe here will look after everything. Leave it to him.’ Joe smiled again, the same broad grin on the same fat, polished face.
Joe manoeuvred the black Embassy Chevrolet through the mass of bodies in the road outside the arrivals hall. Passengers hauled luggage away from porters, taxi drivers hawked their girlfriends, tin-chinking beggars masqueraded as totally blind and terribly crippled. He swung the car through a gate marked in English ‘SECURITY AREA. NO ENTRY’ then through another with the same sign, halting only for a moment as the red and white painted barrier was raised by a saluting security guard. Then on to the tarmac of the apron, within fifty yards of the refuelling Galaxies, past the cargo shed and a sudden right turn on to the main Cairo road. Joe knew the airport, and the airport security men knew the Chevrolet.
‘You know the President’s going to make a speech?’ Cheaney asked. He lit a Camel cigarette and handed it to Franklin.
Franklin inhaled and then filled the car with heavy purplish smoke.
‘Yes?’ he said, inhaling once more. ‘Be one helluva lot of bullshit.’
‘Maybe,’ said Cheaney.
‘Five months in office and already playing the odds.’ ‘Finding his feet, perhaps,’ said Cheaney.
‘He reckons the Saudis are going to be frightened off? Who’s advising him?’
‘Who’s advising the Saudis?’
‘Meaning?’
‘Somebody is. This Rahbar guy is not doing this on his own.’
There was a pause before either man spoke again.
‘How much does the Agency know?’ Franklin turned in his seat to face Cheaney.
‘We’re still struggling, but it’s piecing together. One helluva jig-saw, though.’
‘How much d’you know?’ Franklin asked again.
‘We know who started the coup. We know that Gaddafi did the footwork and we think we’ve got most of the names who met at that hotel in Baghdad. What we don’t know is which one of them is working for Moscow. Do you?’ Franklin drew on the cigarette again and Cheaney’s fat face, wet and shining now with sweat, was hidden for a moment in the smoke.
‘Yesterday, Cheaney, I had an audience with the King. The Agency had given the
‘You Franklin?
‘That’s right.’
‘ New York Times ?’
‘That’s me.’
‘I have a letter for you. It’s a kinda introduction.’
‘From New York?’
‘From Washington.’
Franklin looked up. The man was dressed in a lightweight wash’n’wear tan suit. His face was the same colour. The man behind him could have been his brother. Franklin took the envelope, held it up to the light to see the shadow outline of the letter inside and tore open the end. He pulled out a single sheet of paper, headed United States Cairo Embassy. It was from the State Director of the Washington Bureau.
‘Glad you are out. Good rovers never die, they say. The Mid East has gone sour and our advice too lately accepted. It’s now spreading and need immediate conversation with you so call me from Embassy soonest. Cheaney will explain. Regards, Heinzerling.’
Franklin held out his hand and the man helped him up. ‘You Cheaney?’ And the man nodded.
‘You’ve something to tell me?’
‘Sure,’ said Cheaney. ‘We have a car for you. Let’s talk on the way to the Embassy. This is Joe.’
‘They always are.’
Joe smiled back.
‘Can I get a shower?’
‘Sure. Just about everything here my friend, except tail, but I reckon we could manage that at a push. D’you know Joe here tells me he can even get pretzels nowadays. Can you imagine pretzels in Cairo? They’ll be selling baskets of fruit for Yomtov next.’ He grinned. He had a fat shiny face as if it had been regularly polished and small bullet eyes deep set and green. His paunch fell over his trousers. Joe ate pretzels. Cheaney looked as if he was fond of Budweisers.
‘I’d be happy,’ said Franklin, ‘with a shower and a change of clothes. And perhaps a quick call home.’
‘You betcha,’ said Cheaney. ‘Joe here will look after everything. Leave it to him.’ Joe smiled again, the same broad grin on the same fat, polished face.
Joe manoeuvred the black Embassy Chevrolet through the mass of bodies in the road outside the arrivals hall. Passengers hauled luggage away from porters, taxi drivers hawked their girlfriends, tin-chinking beggars masqueraded as totally blind and terribly crippled. He swung the car through a gate marked in English ‘SECURITY AREA. NO ENTRY’ then through another with the same sign, halting only for a moment as the red and white painted barrier was raised by a saluting security guard. Then on to the tarmac of the apron, within fifty yards of the refuelling Galaxies, past the cargo shed and a sudden right turn on to the main Cairo road. Joe knew the airport, and the airport security men knew the Chevrolet.
‘You know the President’s going to make a speech?’ Cheaney asked. He lit a Camel cigarette and handed it to Franklin.
Franklin inhaled and then filled the car with heavy purplish smoke.
‘Yes?’ he said, inhaling once more. ‘Be one helluva lot of bullshit.’
‘Maybe,’ said Cheaney.
‘Five months in office and already playing the odds.’ ‘Finding his feet, perhaps,’ said Cheaney.
‘He reckons the Saudis are going to be frightened off? Who’s advising him?’
‘Who’s advising the Saudis?’
‘Meaning?’
‘Somebody is. This Rahbar guy is not doing this on his own.’
There was a pause before either man spoke again.
‘How much does the Agency know?’ Franklin turned in his seat to face Cheaney.
‘We’re still struggling, but it’s piecing together. One helluva jig-saw, though.’
‘How much d’you know?’ Franklin asked again.
‘We know who started the coup. We know that Gaddafi did the footwork and we think we’ve got most of the names who met at that hotel in Baghdad. What we don’t know is which one of them is working for Moscow. Do you?’ Franklin drew on the cigarette again and Cheaney’s fat face, wet and shining now with sweat, was hidden for a moment in the smoke.
‘Yesterday, Cheaney, I had an audience with the King. The Agency had given the
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