sorry, sir.’
Hassan closed his eyes. Yelling evidently hurt too much. ‘You call yourself my head of security?’ he said. ‘Look at me! And you let the man who did this wander around Egypt like some kind of holiday-maker?’
‘You’ll have my resignation as soon as—’
‘I don’t want your resignation,’ said Hassan. ‘I want Knox. I want him here. Do you understand? I want you to bring him to me. I want to see his face. I want him to know what he’s done and what’s going to happen to him because of it.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I don’t care what it takes. I don’t care how much you spend. I don’t care what favours you have to call in. Use the army. Use the police. Whatever is necessary. Am I clear?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Well?’ asked Hassan. ‘Why are you still here?’
‘With respect, sir, there are different ways to catch him. One, as you rightly suggest, is by using our contacts in the police and the army.’
Hassan squinted. He was a shrewd man, for all his wrath. ‘But?’
‘It was easy enough to secure their help last night. We simply told them that Knox had caused a serious incident on a boat but that the details were still unclear. But tomorrow and the day after, if we still want their active help, they’ll want evidence of this serious incident.’
Hassan looked at Nessim in disbelief. ‘Are you saying what he did to me isn’t sufficient evidence?’
‘Of course not, sir.’
‘Then what are you saying?’
‘So far, very few people know anything more than rumours. I picked your medical team myself. They know better than to talk. I’ve had my own people guarding your door. No one has been allowed in without my explicit permission. But if we involve the police, they’ll want to investigate for themselves. They’ll send officers to interview you and take photographs and talk to the other guests on the boat, including your Stuttgart friend and the girl. And you have to ask yourself if that would be helpful at this particular moment; or indeed whether it would be good for your reputation to have photographs of your injuries reaching the newspapers or the Internet alongside exaggerated reports of how they were incurred, which could easily happen, because we both know you have enemies as well as friends in the police. And you should also ask yourself what it would do for your personal authority if people got to see what a mere dive instructor had done to you, and that he’d managed to escape too, even if only for a little while.’
Hassan frowned. He knew the value of being feared. ‘What’s our alternative?’
‘We drop the charges. We say it was all a misunderstanding. We get the girl out. You lie low until you’ve recovered. Meanwhile, we go after Knox ourselves.’
There was a long silence. ‘Very well,’ said Hassan finally. ‘But you’re to take personal charge. And I expect results. Understand?’
‘Yes, sir. I understand entirely.’
I
It was Gaille’s first visit to Alexandria. There was congestion along the Corniche. The masts of fishing boats and yachts in the Eastern Harbour jangled like flamenco in a light breeze that brought with it a faint, acidic tang. She rested her head back, shielded her eyes from the early morning sun as it flickered between tall, rectangular, sun-bleached hotels, apartment blocks and offices, pocked with satellite dishes. The place was coming to life like a gigantic yawn. Alexandria had always been the late-riser of Egyptian cities. Shops were raising steel shutters, lowering canopies. Groups of portly men sipped coffees at pastry cafés and watched benignly as ragged boys and girls wended the traffic, selling packs of napkins and cigarettes. The alleys leading away from the front were tight, dark and faintly menacing. A tram already crammed with passengers paused to take on more. A policeman in a dazzling white uniform and flat cap held up his hand to divert them right. An ancient commuter train clanked and rattled with taunting slowness across a junction. Young boys played chase in the open cattle-carts.
Elena glanced pointedly at her watch. ‘You’re sure this is the right way?’
Gaille shrugged helplessly. Her only map was a crude photocopy from an outdated backpacker guidebook. Even so, she had a nagging suspicion that she must already have gone badly wrong to have ended up here, though she’d learned enough about her new boss not to admit it. ‘I think so,’ she equivocated.
Elena sighed loudly. ‘At least you could try.’
‘I am trying.’ Gaille couldn’t shake off the suspicion that she was being punished for her trespass yesterday, or was at least being opportunistically expelled from the Delta dig because of it.
They were approaching a large junction. Elena looked at her expectantly for directions. ‘Turn right,’ said Gaille.
‘Are you sure?’
‘It should be somewhere along here on the left or right.’
‘Somewhere along here on the left or right?’ snorted Elena. ‘That’s really helpful.’
Gaille leaned out her window, her brain aching from lack of sleep and coffee. There was a construction site ahead, a huge concrete high-rise with steel bars waggling like spider legs from the top. She said in desperation: ‘I think this must be it.’
‘You think this must be it; or this is actually it?’
‘I’ve never been to Alexandria before,’ protested Gaille. ‘How should I know?’
Elena huffed noisily and shook her head, but she indicated left and swung through double gates, then bumped along a rutted track. Three Egyptian men were conferring animatedly at the far end.
‘That’s Ibrahim,’ muttered Elena, with such obvious chagrin that Gaille had to fight back a smile. If Elena thought she was gloating … ! They parked. Gaille quickly opened her door and jumped down, suffering a momentary, debilitating flutter of shyness. Normally she was confident in professional situations, but she had no faith in her skills as a photographer and consequently felt a fraud. She went around to the back of the flatbed, ostensibly to check her belongings and equipment, but in truth to hide.
Elena yelled out for her. She took a deep breath to compose herself, fixed a smile to her lips, then walked around to meet them. ‘Ibrahim,’ said Elena, indicating the elegant man in the centre of the group. ‘I’d like you to meet Gaille.’
‘Our esteemed photographer! We are truly grateful.’
‘I’m not really a—’
‘Gaille’s an excellent photographer,’ said Elena, with a sharp glance. ‘What’s more, she’s an ancient languages expert too.’
‘Splendid! Splendid!’ He gestured
