A Gentleman's Game

41

Egypt-Central Cairo, the Shepheard's Hotel 20 September 0937 Local (GMT+3.00) Sinan watched Nia through his binoculars from the window of his room in the Shepheard's Hotel, knapsack on her back, guidebook in her hand, dressed in T-shirt and shorts and sunglasses, just another visiting sightseer, exactly as they had rehearsed. He smiled when she stopped at the corner, asking a passerby for directions. She was very good, very convincing, and it made him proud and happy to know that she would soon be shahid. The sunlight glittered on the cross she wore on the chain around her neck, the final touch to her disguise, a Christian woman looking to take in the Coptic sites.

"Where is she?" Matteen asked.

"Turning from the marina, about three hundred meters to go," Sinan said.

"Let me see."

They swapped places at the window, Matteen putting his eyes to the binoculars on their tripod, Sinan stepping back to the desk, where the cellular phone and the remote were lying. Neither would be required: Nia would telephone only if something were wrong, and he would use the remote only if she were going to be apprehended. There was no danger of that, he was sure. He had faith in her.

He loved her.

And she had told him last night, as he saw her to bed in the adjoining room, that she loved him.

He didn't think about the opportunity that her death would deny them, and he didn't mourn her for what she was about to do. Rather, it gave him a powerful sense of pride that their bond was so deep, so profound, that they had come together in this wonderful way, Nia making the journey to Paradise, Sinan there to see her on her way.

If he had been able to articulate it, he would have gone so far as to describe the situation as romantic. • While Matteen had taken Nia to the hotel, to settle them into their rooms, Sinan had returned to the cafe on Sikket al-Badestan that he and Aamil had visited so long ago-a lifetime ago-to meet their contact, a man named Hafiz, and to acquire the components for the bomb.

But instead of Hafiz, Sinan had found Muhriz el-Sayd waiting for him, and for Sinan, it was a triumphant homecoming indeed. To be face-to-face with the man who had turned him away, and in so doing turned him toward Salih and Abdul Aziz, to meet him as an equal, was yet another moment of pride.

"Sinan," el-Sayd said. "A better name than the last time we met."

"I am a better man now, Allah be praised," Sinan had replied. "A change you helped to make happen. It is good to see you, my brother."

"I saw a boy who would be a jihadi. Now I see a man. Our friend speaks well of you, Sinan. He says that, with time and Allah's blessings, you will achieve great things."

"If Allah wills it."

El-Sayd had clapped a hand on his shoulder, kissed his cheeks in greeting, and Sinan had returned the gesture, relishing the acceptance. They had moved to a room in the back of the cafe, and el-Sayd had given him the knapsack, already prepared, and the remote, and the two mobile phones.

"The bomb is a good one," he'd said. "Like the ones Hamas uses on the Zionists. Eight kilos of explosive, PE9, another four of nails, all of them coated with rat poison. This is a big one, Sinan, it will kill many."

Sinan had hefted the knapsack experimentally. It was heavier than they had planned for by about three kilos, but he was confident Nia would be able to carry it without difficulty. It had been well packed and made no noise when he moved it, the shrapnel packed tight around the charge. Coated with poison, the nails would create hideous wounds that would hemorrhage uncontrollably.

El-Sayd took the knapsack back from him, showed him the padded straps. "The shahid arms it here on the right strap and detonates it here with the left. The buttons are hidden and ride high, so it looks like he's adjusting the pack, nothing more."

"She," Sinan said. "Not he."

"Really?"

Sinan nodded. "A great woman. Pure and strong. She deserves Paradise as much as any man I have ever met."

El-Sayd gave him a look, as if surprised by Sinan's words, then nodded. "She has to turn away from the target for maximum effect. Make sure she understands this, Sinan."

"She will do it correctly."

"Sometimes they get excited, they detonate early. Tell her to be calm, to focus on the words of the imam, on what awaits her. Make sure she understands that she will feel no pain, that there is only the decision, the action, and her arrival in Paradise, in the place that awaits her."

"She knows these things already, my brother."

"Tell them to her again, Sinan. I have seen too many shahid lose their nerve at the last minute, and it has cost us dearly in the past. They panic. Do stupid things. Some simply run, try to get rid of the bomb, return home. Others, they turn themselves in, Sinan. They go to the Zionists and ask for mercy."

"As if they would receive it."

"This girl of yours, she's seen a lot, she's been with Abdul Aziz, with you, with your comrades. If she were to lose her nerve and surrender herself to the British or the Americans, she could compromise all of you."

"I understand."

El-Sayd set down the knapsack, then handed Sinan the remote. It was a squat plastic box, shorter but thicker than a package of cigarettes, with two buttons set into its face and a single small lightbulb above them. The antenna was stubby, wrapped in black plastic.

"This is the insurance," el-Sayd told him. "Right button arms the bomb, left button detonates it, same as with the backpack. In open terrain, its range is almost a kilometer, but near the embassies it will be half that, if you're lucky. Once she closes on the target, you'll have to follow her."

Sinan looked at the remote in his hand, frowned. It was heavy and crude, and he felt that, just by holding it, he was committing to betraying Nia in some way.

"Which button does what?" el-Sayd asked him.

"Right arms, left detonates, like the backpack," Sinan said, moving his frown from the remote to the other man. "I understand."

"I know you don't like it, that you don't think this necessary, Sinan. But trust me, insurance is a good thing to have."

Sinan's nod was reluctant.

"You like this girl."

"I do. I want her to have this thing, to be shahid."

El-Sayd's eyes narrowed and he looked hard at Sinan. "Then don't fail her. Don't let her bow to her fear. Make certain she remembers what awaits her, that is where her mind must be. Not on what she is doing, but on where she is going."

"I will, as I have said."

El-Sayd hesitated, and Sinan wondered why he seemed so suddenly unsure.

"May I offer you some advice, my brother?" el-Sayd asked.

"Please."

"Don't tell her about the remote. Only if she balks, if you have to use the phones. Tell her then, but not before."

He didn't like that and knew it showed on his face. "I will not lie to her."

"It is not a lie if you do not speak of it. It is not a lie if, as you say, it is unnecessary. Only if it becomes necessary should you tell her, that is what I mean to say."

Sinan looked at the remote again, then back to el-Sayd, before nodding, accepting the logic.

"It won't be necessary," Sinan promised. • "She's stopped," Matteen said.

"What?"

"She's stopped." Matteen moved back from the binoculars, to let Sinan look. "Across the street from the embassy grounds, facing the river. She hasn't moved in almost a minute, she's just staring at the damn river."

Sinan rushed back to the window, pressed his eyes to the binoculars.

Nia stood motionless, staring at the Nile, morning traffic streaming along the Sharia Corniche el-Nil behind her, pedestrians and tourists making their way quickly along the eastern bank of the river. The guidebook was still in her hand, but held loosely against her thigh, as if forgotten.

Sinan cursed softly. The binoculars were good, but not so good that he could make out her expression, that he could tell what she was thinking and, more, what she was feeling.

"Move," he whispered. "Move, Nia."

"She's frozen."

"No," Sinan snapped. "Give me the phone."

He heard Matteen moving to the desk, but he didn't look away from the view through the binoculars, just extended a hand back to him, waiting to be handed the mobile. Nia hadn't moved, not a fraction, not a muscle.

Matteen put the phone in his hand, and Sinan tore his eyes away long enough to make certain he hit the right button, then pressed the mobile to his ear, hearing the hiss, then the ringing. Through the binoculars, Nia still hadn't moved, apparently watching one of the many faluccas on the river floating past, even though he was certain she could hear the telephone ringing in her pocket. Then, as if pulling her limbs through glue, she tucked the guidebook beneath her left arm, reached into her right pocket, and produced her phone.

"Sinan?" Her voice was almost lost in the sounds of the traffic around her.

"It's me, Nia."

"I've never seen the Nile before. Last night, when we arrived, I didn't get to see it."

"Nia, what's going on?"

Her answer was lost in the sounds around her, coming into his ear.

"I didn't hear you, Nia, please, say it again."

"I said you should see it. You should come down and see it, close by."

"I've seen it before. When I was here before."

"Oh, yes. When you were a student."

"That's right," Sinan said. "Nia, what are you doing?"

"There are guards, Sinan. They're outside, something's happening. I can't get close."

Sinan panned the binoculars, trying to get a glimpse of the British Embassy through the gaps in the buildings below him. The Shepheard's Hotel had been chosen because it had the best vantage point for their purpose, but even so, construction in the Garden City of Cairo had thrown up buildings of irregular height, all of them with rooftops covered with aerials, advertisements, and other signs of life.

It wasn't any good, he couldn't see.

"What the hell is she doing?" Matteen asked.

Sinan moved the binoculars back to Nia, or to where Nia had been, but she was no longer standing there, and feeling rising panic, he began panning his view around, trying to spot her.

"Nia?" He tried to keep his voice calm. "Nia, where are you?"

There was no answer and again Sinan was assailed by the sounds of traffic.

"-to the north side of the block, then around that way."

"What?"

"I'm going to go around the block and try to come down Sharia Amerika al-Latineya."

"Hold on," Sinan said. "Stay on the phone, don't hang up."

"I won't hang up. I like hearing your voice."

"I like hearing your voice, too." He turned the binoculars on the tripod, trying to find Nia in the traffic walking below, but the angle was too steep from the room and he couldn't see her. He pulled back from the tripod, glancing at the phone long enough to make certain he was pressing the mute button, then looked to Matteen.

"What is she doing?" Matteen demanded.

"She says there are guards, that she can't get close to the embassy. She's heading north to circle around. I think she's going for the secondary target, the American Embassy."

"You think?"

"I can't find her. She's heading in the wrong direction, our angle's no good."

Matteen swore, turned away, swiping the remote from the desk as he headed for the door.

"Wait!" Sinan said.

"She's shahid, Sinan!" Matteen barked at him. "Our job is to ensure she remains that."

Then he was out the door, and after a moment, Sinan was scrambling after him, out into the hall, running to catch him at the elevator. Matteen was already inside, glaring at him angrily, one foot holding the doors open, and he yanked it clear as soon as Sinan was in with him.

"Keep talking to her," Matteen said. "Find out where she is."

Sinan put the phone back to his head, heard Nia saying his name, but dropping out, the signal suddenly weaker in the elevator.

"-Sinan? Are you-ere, I cou-oice ight now."

"I'm still here, Nia," he said. "I'm still here."

"-inking about-ared-inan, it's not right."

He realized the mute was still on, switched it off as the elevator reached the lobby and Matteen rushed out, heading for the street. Sinan raced after him, trying to keep himself from shouting into the phone.

"Nia? Nia, can you hear me?"

"When did Allah tell Muhammad that there were six pillars, Sinan?" Nia asked. "You've studied, you're smart. I looked all through my Qu'ran, and I couldn't find where the Prophet says it is the Sixth Pillar."

"It's not in the Qu'ran, not like that." They were out on the street now, Sinan chasing after Matteen's wake as he threaded through the crowds on the sidewalk, heading north.

"But that's what I mean, Sinan. It's not there, that's what I'm saying. The Prophet told us to love and to honor and to respect. He told us to live in peace, even with those not like us. He told us to pray, to be pious, to be charitable, to honor Allah, the One God. He told us to make the Hajj, that we might see the world as he saw the world, and to fast during the days of Ramadan. But he never told us that jihad was the Sixth Pillar, Sinan. He never spoke those words."

They'd reached the corner, turned east, heading toward the Midan Simon Bolivar, with its monument and roundabout. Matteen was still ahead of him but slowing, scanning both sides of the street, straining to find her through the traffic.

"Nia, think about what you're saying," Sinan urged. "The Prophet was a great man, he taught us many things, but to raise him, to elevate him too far, that's idolatry, that's mushrikun."

"Why was it so frowned upon in the camp to speak of Muhammad, Sinan? When did acknowledging the Prophet become a sin?" Her voice was clearer now, her words spoken with more volume, with more certainty, and Sinan could hear her thoughts crystallizing.

"The Prophet was a servant, Nia, just as we are servants. Glory is to Allah, praise Him, not His servants."

"I don't think Allah is so hard-hearted, Sinan. I don't think Allah who taught Muhammad the True Religion thinks so poorly of His creation, of His children. Even the children who do not share the Truth, even them, we are taught to respect the People of the Book, to honor Jews and Christians, not to kill them."

"The Jews were turned to apes and swine, Nia, because they turned away from the Truth. The Christians forsook the One God and now worship many, their money, their possessions-"

"But they aren't, Sinan! They aren't pigs or apes, they're not animals! They don't worship their money, they only have money!"

Matteen, ahead of Sinan, turned south, now heading down Sharia Amerika al-Latineya. Sinan tried to spot her, looking about frantically, and he saw the grounds to the American Embassy down the block, the guards and barricades, and he slowed as he reached Matteen, trying to conceal his anxiety, lowering his voice again.

"Nia, listen to me," Sinan said. "You trust me, right?"

"Of course I do, Sinan."

"You had a friend, you told me about him. You loved him. Think about him, Nia, think about what happened to him, and what he would want from you."

There was silence, and Sinan thought that maybe he'd reached her.

Then Nia said, "He wanted peace, Sinan. More than anything, he wanted peace. As all Muslims want peace."

Matteen had stopped, looking at him with anxious curiosity. The remote was still in his hand.

"Where are you, Nia?" Sinan asked.

"I'm on the corner."

"Which corner?"

"Sharia Maglis Ash-Shaab."

"I can't see you."

"I know." Nia's voice quavered. "I can't do it, Sinan. It's wrong. I'm sorry, but if I am going to go to Paradise, I want to earn it through good works and good words, not like this. Not as a martyr. I'm sorry, Sinan."

"As am I," he said, and he reached out to the remote in Matteen's hand, and he pressed the two buttons in quick succession, the right, then the left.

They heard the explosion, and then the screams, and Matteen stared at Sinan, dumbstruck, as Sinan lowered the phone, turning it off. He felt his eyes beginning to burn with tears, saw frantic people running past him, crying and yelling, heading both toward and away from the site of the explosion.

"What did you do?" Matteen asked him hoarsely.

"I saved her," Sinan answered, and started down the block again, to see who Nia had claimed on her way to Paradise.