Countdown in Cairo

EIGHTEEN

Janet’s recall was encyclopedic when it came to devices that she had planted. She could recall all of them, where in a room she had put one, what had been the problems of location.

She had entered the apartment behind Alex, then stepped slightly ahead.

In this case, it all seemed so simple. Janet went down to her hands and knees on the living room floor, then turned slightly to an angle as she neared a coffee table that stood in front of a sofa. Alex followed her to the floor while Don Tomás was content to stand and watch.

Janet reached under the coffee table and quietly extended an index finger. Alex was next to her on the floor and positioned her head so she could see under the table. Her finger pointed to the listening device, still clamped exactly where she had put it several months earlier.

Janet turned toward Alex and said nothing. Alex nodded, not with anger but with understanding. Then Janet sprung up again and went to the bedroom. They repeated the on-the-floor guidance. Janet showed Alex the transmitter that had been wedged under the headboard of her bed.

Alex nodded. They left everything in place and returned to Don Tomás’s apartment. Down the hall, they heard Mrs. Rothman’s smoke alarm going off. They didn’t speak again until they were inside with the door closed.

“That deaf old bat doesn’t even hear her own smoke alarm,” Don Tomás muttered. “Can you believe that?”

But Janet was still dwelling on the electronic snooping.

“I’m sorry,” Janet said to Alex. “I had a job to do. Nothing personal.”

“I understand,” Alex said. “You’re forgiven. You had a job to do and you did it.” She paused. “Same as myself.”

“Oh, and there’s one other thing,” Janet said. “I mentioned it to the interrogators. They laughed at me and said it was impossible. But I’ll mention it to you.”

Alex waited.

“The three men in the bar in Cairo,” she said. “Carlos got close enough to eavesdrop. He could hear them, but he couldn’t tell what they were saying. At the time he didn’t know what language they were speaking. Then afterward, he realized what it was.”

“What was it?” Alex asked.

“Russian,” she said. “The day before he died, Carlos said he was sure. They were talking Russian.”

A few minutes later Alex was at the door. She stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind her.

From somewhere there was a noise in the hall. She turned around, looked in each direction, but saw nothing.

She reentered her own apartment. It was past 1:00 a.m.

She knew already that she was going to be sleep-deprived the next day. She would be dragging herself around as if she were dead.

On the street five stories below, Nagib and Rashaad were arguing furiously. Someone on the fifth floor had set off a smoke alarm. Around the corner from where he stood, vulnerable to view, doors began to open and a few people walked into the hall. Nagib had turned immediately and left, rather than be seen.

Rashaad was furious. The longer that it took to get the job done, the more chance that things would go wrong. They departed again, with their assignment still unfulfilled.