Path of the Assassin

CHAPTER 26

Cairo was an amazing city. The official population was around eleven million, but when outside workers streamed into the city during the day, the numbers shot up to between sixteen and seventeen million. It was an eclectic mixture of old and new. Donkey-drawn carts shared the streets with shiny new Mercedes as men in business suits shouldered their way down sidewalks with men dressed in the traditional robes known as galabiya. Egyptians referred to Cairo as Umm al-Dunya, “the mother of the world,” and Harvath was no stranger to it. He had been here many times. It was a city that you absolutely loved or hated, and Harvath loved Cairo. Though he wasn’t crazy about Egypt’s politics, that didn’t stop him from appreciating its people and their incredible culture.

The row of Suburbans sped down the paved street, passing side streets that were nothing more than sand. Sand was everywhere here, and dealing with it was part of life in a desert. Egyptians went so far as to wrap bedsheets around their parked cars to help keep them free of it. It wasn’t pretty, but it was practical, and that was the mentality of the Egyptians. They did the best with what they had.

The team slowed down as they got further into the city and were caught in the snarl of one of Cairo’s inevitable traffic jams. As far as Harvath could see, there was nothing ahead, but a sea of aging Fiat and Peugeot sedans. Drivers leaned on their horns rather than using their blinkers to indicate lane changes. A family of six, piled into an old 1940s motorcycle complete with sidecar, sneaked past them on the right.

At el-Geish Square, Harvath could make out the Gate of Conquests and told Bullet Bob to pull over.

“What for?” he asked.

“I’m gonna get some breakfast,” replied Harvath.

“Why don’t you wait until we get to the embassy and have something there?”

“Because I’m hungry now. Listen, find Morrell and tell him I stopped off for a bite and that I’ll be there shortly.”

Bullet Bob radioed the other drivers and the caravan came to a stop. Harvath got out of the Suburban and walked around to the driver’s-side window to thank his friend. He stuck his hand in and they shook.

“What’s this? No baksheesh?” asked Bullet Bob.

Baksheesh was slang for “tip.”

“Sure, I’ll give you a tip,” said Harvath. “Don’t drink with the blacksmith’s wife. You’re liable to get hammered.”

Bullet Bob winced as if he were in pain. “God, that’s a bad joke,” he said.

“Hey, nobody’s perfect,” replied Harvath.

“I hope you’re packing more than that lousy sense of humor.”

Harvath raised the front of his shirt a fraction and displayed the butt of his forty-five-caliber.

“Good. Watch your back. If we don’t see you at the embassy, give me a shout the next time you get near Fort Bragg. Our tour is up, and we’re rotating back at the end of the week.”

“Will do,” said Harvath. He stood back as Bullet Bob gave the order to move out, and the Suburbans rolled off toward the embassy.

The Gate of Conquests was the northern gateway of a fortification that once encircled the original center of Cairo. Harvath loved this part of the city. In addition to bringing his favorite knife from home, Harvath had also brought along a couple of hundred dollars. While he respected Morrell’s black op’s policy of not bringing any ID with him, he had learned early on that carrying extra money was never a liability. In an escape-and-evasion situation, his watch and any money he had could always be used to help buy his way to safety.

Harvath found an exchange machine and traded some of his U.S. currency for Egyptian pounds. It wasn’t the best rate in town, but all he needed was a little walking-around money.

He continued south until he found himself in the bazaar known as the Khan El-Khalili, which was once a meeting place for caravans traveling from Asia to Africa. The present-day Khan El-Khalili was a warren of winding streets and twisted alleyways. The narrow passageways were filled with boutiques, carts, stalls, and workshops making and selling all manner of goods imaginable — white and green marble chessboards, black alabaster statues, wooden boxes inlaid with mother-of-pearl, intricate mosaics, faded tapestries, bright silk carpets, gold jewelry… there was no end, it seemed, of what was for sale here.

Harvath followed alleys bearing the names of trades their tenants once specialized in — Al-Khayameya, for tent makers, Al-Fahhamin, for coal traders, and Al-Nahhassin for coppersmiths. As he traveled this last alley, the sound of present-day smiths could be heard as they pounded their hammers against shiny sheets of copper and brass. The air was heavily scented with spices and the flowers from nearby perfume shops.

On El-Fishawy, Harvath stopped at the famous teahouse, Fishawy’s, and ordered a rich Turkish coffee and a couple of small herbed spinach pies to eat. He sat outside and watched the men across from him smoke the traditional shishah, or water pipe, as shopkeepers with buckets and mops washed the entryways and sidewalks in front of their stores. The smoke from the apple-flavored tobacco mingled with the lemon scent of cleaning solution and rose into the sky, further intensifying the already fragrant ambience.

Proficiency in a foreign language, just as in shooting, was a perishable skill, and while Harvath trained on several firing ranges in and around Washington, D.C., on a weekly basis, he had not had many occasions to speak Arabic since leaving the SEALs. From what he could decipher from the newspaper of the man sitting next to him, the hijacking of United Airlines flight 7755 was the lead story of the day, followed by the Islamic world’s ever increasing outrage with Israel. There was an overwhelming distrust of the Jewish state, especially as it had made no progress in its investigation into the Hand of God organization. Accusations were running rampant that Israel was actually behind the terrorist attacks. Not surprisingly, Iran, one of the most volatile powers in the region, had begun canceling leave for its soldiers and was pledging its full cooperation and support to the Palestinians, as well as the rest of the Arab world, if war with Israel broke out.

Through the open window, the café’s television, which had served as nothing more than background noise, now caught Harvath’s attention as it replayed a news conference from Cairo, taped earlier that morning. Though the participants were speaking English, an Arabic voice translated for the station’s Egyptian audience and was given more volume. The two simultaneous languages made it difficult to understand. Harvath asked the waiter to turn up the volume.

Doctors stood behind a makeshift podium with a piece of paper taped to it that read, “Anglo-American Hospital.” It was obvious that this hospital didn’t do a lot of news conferences and that they wanted everyone to know who they were. Standing in the background were Mayor Fellinger, Bob Lawrence, and several other suits, who Scot guessed were either with the airline or the embassy. The press conference was already in progress and a British doctor was saying, “… was brought here by ambulance early this morning and is now in stable condition. We expect her to make a full recovery. Her prognosis is very good.” Harvath figured the man was referring to Meg Cassidy and was positive when he added, “As to the patients transported via helicopter to El Salam International Hospital, at this point I am going to turn the podium over to Mr. Tom Ellis, of the U.S. Embassy here in Cairo, who can address that issue further. Mr. Ellis?”

“Thank you, Dr. Hill,” said Ellis as he took control of the podium. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. At this point, I do not have much information for you, but what I can tell you is this: Six people in total were transported to El Salam International Hospital this morning, as Dr. Hill mentioned. These individuals were wounded either during the hijacking itself or during the raid upon the aircraft. Three have already been treated and released. Another remains in serious, but guarded condition, while two others are in surgery at this moment. As I get more information, of course I will be happy to share it with you, but at this point, we are withholding names until we have been able to contact their families. As Mr. Lawrence mentioned earlier in the press conference, United Airlines has set up a one — eight-hundred number back in the States for families of passengers wishing to know the status of their loved ones.

“As you might have heard, it has been reported that passengers assisted in wresting control of the aircraft away from the hijackers.” Harvath was surprised that the powers-that-be were going public with this information so early. He set down his coffee and leaned forward to hear the television better. “I can confirm for you that these reports are, indeed, true. In fact, a large portion of the credit is to be given to a lone female passenger, the one being attended to by Dr. Hill and his staff here, who subdued several of the hijackers single-handedly and then, with the help of fellow passengers, held the plane safe until military personnel were able to secure the situation.”

The small conference room where the press conference was being held erupted in a roar of questions from the press. Ellis held up his hand to silence them. “At this point we are not going to reveal this woman’s name. As I said, we are trying to contact the families of those who were injured first. The last thing we want is for family members to hear about their loved ones from their televisions rather than personnel from the State Department who are equipped to answer questions and help provide any assistance that might be needed.

“I will say that this woman’s ability to have such an impact upon the outcome of this situation not only speaks volumes about her courage, but also speaks volumes about the ineptitude, lack of organization, and lack of leadership on the part of the hijackers. When this event first began to unfold, there was serious concern, as there always is in a situation of this nature, about the level of expertise and determination of the hijackers. What we’ve learned is that they were not a highly trained cadre, but rather a disorganized band of amateurs. In the wider world of terrorist events, this group was obviously not very well trained.”

Harvath couldn’t understand what he was hearing. This Ellis guy, who had CIA written all over him, was putting a literally unbelievable spin on what had happened. The men who committed this hijacking were anything but incompetent. They were highly motivated and extremely well trained. Why was Ellis saying these things?

“These facts notwithstanding,” continued Ellis, “both the U.S. and Egyptian governments take the crimes committed in connection with the hijacking of United Airlines flight 7755 very seriously. We are confident that we will apprehend all of the people involved in the planning and execution of this act of cowardice. To that end, we are asking the international community for its help in identifying this man, Hashim Nidal.” Ellis held up a computer-generated composite sketch.

“He is the ringleader believed to have masterminded and orchestrated the hijacking. This sketch was developed with the assistance of an eyewitness, and we feel…”

Harvath had gone from not understanding what he was hearing, to not believing it. Obviously, Meg Cassidy had helped the CIA develop a composite sketch of Nidal. If they were circulating a sketch, that could mean only one thing. Somehow he had gotten away. But that was impossible. Security at the airport had been airtight. The only way he could have gotten out of there was in cuffs or a body bag.

Something bad was going on, and the only thing Harvath knew for sure was that whatever it was, it had Rick Morrell’s dirty little fingerprints all over it.