Preface : Reda, the Egyptian tour guide, has been arrested following a riot in Aswan. Blake and Lee Yong set out to rescue him.
They left the ship as discreetly as they could and headed toward the Corniche. The sky was again pitch black but the town was lit by the glow of street lights and the torch-like beams of car headlamps cutting through the night. Ahead of them, the square which had been the scene of such disruption barely twenty four hours earlier, stood empty save for the same discarded evidence which had littered it the night before. Doomed to be forever parted from its mate, the lost shoe still lay unclaimed amongst the wreckage.
Once across the road, Blake began looking for a turning to the right.
“I’m told it’s down here somewhere…”
Sharia Abtal was the same street in which they’d seen the young man with his head bandaged - but he was long gone and so too at least was the broken glass, cleared away by some responsible shopkeeper. All the same, other traces of the conflict remained.
The police station was half a mile down on the left hand side. Unlike the Governorate building which was new and of modern design, it was old and single-storied. Of rather decrepit appearance, it was painted in a sandy brown colour that matched the shade of the surrounding desert. It reminded Blake of the jailhouse in a cowboy western and on entering, he half expected to see John Wayne with boots and stetson sauntering across the set. Instead of which they were greeted by a dimly lit interior and the stale warmth of humanity, the scent of sweat tinged with a whiff of urine. Above their heads, a solitary ceiling fan whirred disconsolately, shifting the foul and humid air from one side of the room to the other. Lee Yong immediately covered her nose and mouth with her hand to prevent herself from gagging.
Behind the counter a clerk sat at a desk, shuffling paper. He was evidently Nubian - dark-skinned, short and of slight build - and had found his way into the uniform of a sergeant that was far too big for him. He looked like a child who’d discovered his father’s wardrobe was unlocked and had tried on his clothes, his hands barely extending beyond the ends of his sleeves. Round his neck, his buttoned collar hung as if suspended on a stick. He slowly got up and came to the counter, but rather than make any effort to speak, he enquired by jerking his head sullenly in their direction.
Blake doubted he’d understand English and so spoke in Arabic.
“We’ve come about Reda Eldasouky.”
The clerk didn’t flinch. The name obviously meant nothing to him.
“Have you filled in a form?”
“No.”
The clerk pushed a pen and a grubby sheet of paper across the counter towards him.
“We don’t need to fill in a form,” said Blake. “We’re British.”
In remote parts of the world it was always worth a try. Had he still been employed by the Embassy, he’d have considered invoking diplomatic immunity.
The clerk shrugged, totally unimpressed.
“Everyone fills in a form.”
Blake pushed the pen and paper to one side and tried a different tack.
“We’re here to see Mr Rasheed.”
This time there was a flicker of interest.
“The Chief? You’ll be lucky - there’s a queue …”
Behind them, a row of plastic chairs was set against the wall. A young black, barefoot and in combats and a sweat-stained top lay slumped in the far corner, asleep. Half way along, beneath an iron-grilled window, an unshaven Egyptian dressed in shorts, singlet and open-toed sandals sat forward, elbows on knees, his leg jiggling uncontrollably. They were an unprepossessing pair. If this was the queue and the clerk expected backsheesh to jump it, he was out of luck - they were paying enough already.
“We’re expected,” said Blake.
The clerk shrugged again. So?
“Passport?” he asked.
Blake fished in an inside pocket and placed it on the counter. The clerk flicked carelessly through it to the back page, glanced at the photograph, glanced at Blake, then snapped it shut.
“Wait here,” he commanded and taking the passport with him, meandered slowly off down the corridor, whistling loudly.
High above their heads, the ceiling fan groaned at its thankless task while beneath the row of plastic chairs, a cockroach scurried towards its hole.
With her hand still covering her face, Lee Yong shuddered.
“Can’t we just collect him and go?”
“Unfortunately not,” said Blake. “There’s a protocol to go through. We’ll just have to grin and bear it.”
In Egypt, jail was not a hotel you chose to stay in.
The clerk returned, but at no greater pace. And to pay Blake out for the incident regarding the form, he waited until he’d recovered his position behind the counter before pointing back in the direction from which he’d just arrived and giving another economical jerk of his head.
“Oh, for God’s sake!” Blake steered Lee Yong away by the elbow. “Come on, let’s get it over with.”
At the far end of the corridor, a door stood open, inviting them forward...
Birds of the Nile - An Egyptian Adventure by N. E. David is published by Roundfire
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- eBook £4.99 || $7.99
- Sep 27, 2013. 978-1-78279-157-7.
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- Paperback £11.99 || $20.95
- Sep 27, 2013. 978-1-78279-158-4.
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