Cairo
The jet descended smoothly over the desert on the approach to Cairo
International Airport. Rick leaned toward the window to watch for the
first sign of a runway. In the distance he could see the valley of the
Nile River, a great green swath which cut through the tan desert wastes.
"Excited?" Scotty asked.
Rick had to grin. "Excited? Why should I be excited? A trip to Egypt is
an everyday event for me. Stop asking silly questions and look at the
scenery."
"I would," Scotty told him, "only somebody's head is in the way. I won't
exactly say it's a fathead, but it's too thick to see through."
"Real subtle. I like the way you give delicate hints." Rick moved back
so Scotty could see, and watched as the great plane dropped toward the
desert, then touched down and sped along modern runways to the
administration building.
Two Egyptians were waiting as Winston and the boys walked down the
stairway, and the scientist at once hurried to greet them. Obviously the
three were old friends.
Winston introduced the two boys. The older of the two Egyptians was Dr.
Abdel Kerama. He was a tall, gray-haired man of distinguished
appearance. Rick thought that in traditional desert costume he would
look like the head sheik of all the desert tribes. The younger Egyptian
was Dr. Hakim Farid, a youthful, clean-cut man with an attractive smile.
Rick knew from Winston's advance briefing that these were the two
leading radio astronomers of the United Arab Republic, and that both had
international reputations in the field.
The Egyptian scientists made the boys feel at home right away. Dr.
Kerama took Scotty and Winston by the arms, and Dr. Farid fell in step
with Rick as the group walked toward the administration building.
"We're glad you could come," Farid said in excellent English. "We'll try
to make your visit interesting."
Rick thanked him. "I don't know whether we'll be of much use, but we're
willing to do anything we're told. All we ask is a little chance to see
your country."
"You'll have every chance," Dr. Farid told him. "Before there is any
work for you, Parnell will have to do a pretty thorough analysis of data
we've collected. It's a problem that has us ... what's the American
expression? Buffaloed?"
"That's it," Rick agreed. "What kind of problem is it?"
"It's what you might call very strange behavior on the part of a
hydrogen-line impulse we picked up while calibrating our receiver. Are
you familiar with radio astronomy?"
"Not very," Rick admitted. "I tried to read some of the current
literature when I found we were coming, but most of it is over my head."
"Then I won't bore you with a technical discussion. Briefly, the noise
emitted by hydrogen gas in space is very important to us in our analysis
of the nature and distribution of matter. This radio noise is, of
course, random. Usually when we are examining a hydrogen source we get
pretty continuous and regular signals. If we could hear it, there would
be a sort of hissing noise. Do you follow me?"
"So far."
"Good. Our problem is that we are picking up impulses. You might even
call them signals. They are on the frequency of neutral hydrogen, but
it's hard to believe they're natural in origin. We've about concluded
that somehow our amplifier system is modulating the incoming hydrogen
signal from the antenna. The trouble is, we can't locate the cause."
"Is that why you called Dr. Winston?" Rick asked.
"Yes. He has a reputation for finding bugs in electronic circuits. If he
can find this one, we'll be tempted to reward him with a pyramid or
something appropriate."
Rick saw the twinkle in Dr. Farid's eyes. "Better not make it a
pyramid," he said hastily. "His luggage is limited to sixty-six pounds.
They might not let him on the plane with it."
"A happy thought," Dr. Farid said seriously. "You have saved us from
possible embarrassment. It would be useless to give him a pyramid when
his weight limit is thirty kilos, as we call sixty-six pounds."
Rick chuckled. One reason he so enjoyed his association with scientists
was the dry sense of humor most of them seemed to share.
They reached the administration building and started through the
formalities of customs and immigration. The Americans had filled out
customs forms and currency declarations on the plane, and in only a
short time the formalities were over and their admission into the United
Arab Republic was official. The customs inspectors hadn't even asked
them to open their luggage.
The trip from the airport took over an hour. It led through Heliopolis,
City of the Sun, the first capital of a united Egypt. The land had been
governed for over a thousand years from Heliopolis. But that, as Dr.
Kerama explained, was over four thousand years ago.
Rick was awed. Coming from a new land where a hundred years seemed a
very long time, the antiquity of Egypt stirred his imagination. But
there was little that seemed ancient in modern Heliopolis. There were
attractive, modern apartment houses, new public buildings, and rows of
trees carefully trimmed into perfect green cylinders.
The entry into Cairo itself was through rows of tall wooden or brick
structures, along streets traveled by everything from the latest
European cars to plodding donkey carts. The people were dressed in a
variety of costumes, from suits and dresses that would have been
suitable in New York, to traditional Arab dress with flowing robes and
the cloth headdress that is held in place by a band or roll of fabric
around the head, just above the eyes.
The car passed the railroad station and the great statue of Rameses the
Second, Pharaoh of Egypt. The Nile came into view, and Farid pointed out
the row of hotels on the other side. The Shepheard's and the Nile Hilton
flanked the older, Victorian bulk of the Semiramis, where they would
stay. They sped across a bridge, entered a plaza full of honking horns
and speeding cars, then moved to the comparative quiet of a street along
the Nile embankment to the hotel.
Uniformed attendants came running for their bags. The group entered the
lobby, and Rick looked around with interest.
The Semiramis was big, with lofty ceilings and chandeliers. The walls
were decorated with scrolls and tapestries. The rugs had once been red.
There was a kind of eighteenth-century grandeur about it, even though it
had turned a little shabby over the years.
The formalities of registration were completed, then the Americans went
to the cashier and exchanged dollars for Egyptian pounds and coins in
units called piastres. They carefully put away their receipts for the
exchange, since currency control in the country was strict.
"Go ahead," Winston told the boys. "Farid and Kerama will come with me.
I want to start talking over this interesting problem of theirs, and I
imagine you want to rest."
Rick did not feel in the least like resting, but made no comment. He and
Scotty got into a tiny, ornate elevator cage with walls of gilded-iron
lattice. There wasn't room for the porters with their bags; they ran up
the stairs while the boys rode with the smiling elevator operator. It
wasn't a fast ride.
"Climbing rate, one hundred feet per minute," Scotty said. Rick grinned.
They were let off at the third floor, and weren't in the least surprised
to find the porters waiting for them. They followed the men into a room
that made them stop short with amazement.
The entrance to the hotel and the lobby had been big, but the room was
enormous, spacious, and very tastefully furnished, European style.
"As big as Grand Central Station!" Scotty exclaimed.
Rick echoed, "We'll rattle around in here like a pair of pebbles in a
fifty-gallon tank."
The bath was larger than most American hotel rooms, with a twenty-foot
ceiling, and the closet would easily have accommodated a king's
wardrobe. Rick thought that maybe it had, in times past.
He tipped the porters and closed the door behind them, then motioned to
Scotty. "Go on down to the other end of the room and shout. I want to
see if I can hear you."
Scotty started to oblige, grinning, then turned and called, "Come look
at this view!" He had discovered that the French doors at the front of
the room opened onto a tiny balcony that overlooked the Nile.
The great river was only the width of a narrow street away. Sailing
gracefully along with brown sail set was a Nile boat. The bridge they
had crossed was directly ahead of the boat, and Rick looked for the
drawspan through which it would pass. There was none!
"He'll crash right into the bridge!" Rick exclaimed. "Why doesn't he
correct his course?"
"Rudder stuck, maybe," Scotty offered. "But why doesn't he drop the sail
and try to lose headway?"
They watched helplessly as the boat, fully fifty feet in length, bore
down on the bridge. There were many people in sight, and a steady line
of cars crossing the bridge, but no one paid the slightest attention.
Scotty grabbed Rick's arm. He started to laugh. "Look at that mast!"
Fascinated, Rick watched as the huge mast dipped slowly backward,
triangular sail and all, until it lay nearly flat on the deck. The boat
slipped under the bridge with room to spare. On the other side, the mast
slowly went up to its normal rakish position again, the sail filled, and
wind and current bore the boat steadily down the Nile.
"Not exactly the way we'd do it," Rick said with a grin, "but pretty
effective." It was a reminder that they were in a new land, where
customs were strange to them.
"You learn something new every day," Scotty agreed. "Let's unpack, then
go visit the city."
"Better wait and see what Winston has in mind for us," Rick cautioned.
He began to stow his clothing in one of the big dressers. He lifted a
shirt, and stared down at the Egyptian cat nestling among his T shirts.
"Tell you what, if Winston doesn't need us, let's deliver the cat. We
can see some of the city coming and going."
When their clothes were stored, they washed away the grime of travel and
Rick called Winston's room.
Hakim Farid answered. "Don't think we've forgotten you," the young radio
astronomer said. "But Parnell and Kerama wasted no time in getting down
to business. I doubt that you could interrupt long enough to get a
sensible answer. Do you have any plans?"
"We have an errand at El Mouski," Rick replied. "Would it be all right
for us to go?"
"No reason why not. You'll need a car. I would offer you mine, except
that you have no local license. You could take a taxi, but a licensed
dragoman would be better. Suppose I suggest one with a car?"
Rick remembered that Bartouki had told them a dragoman was a
guide-interpreter. "That would be very good of you," he replied.
"All right. I will send one I know, or a friend of his if he is not
available. Wait in your room and he will come for you."
Rick thanked Farid and hung up. He reported the conversation to Scotty.
"First time I've ever had a guide in a city," Scotty said. "Makes me
feel important, like visiting royalty or something. Couldn't we just get
a map instead?"
"We'd still need a car. Might as well get one with a built-in talking
map. Besides, I like the idea. I want to be escorted like a visiting
prime minister."
There was a paper laundry bag in the closet. Rick used it to wrap the
cat against possible scratches. Scotty took the few moments to get some
cards written, to which he signed both their names.
There was a polite knock on the door, and Rick opened it. He gaped at
the sight of what was apparently their dragoman. He was a magnificent
figure in blue pantaloons and short red jacket. He had an engaging black
face marred by three straight hairline scars that ran in a diagonal
across his cheeks.
"Have honor to present me," the figure announced formally. "Name of
Hassan. To serve you."
"Come in, Hassan," Rick invited. "Are you the dragoman Dr. Farid sent?"
"Is same, _ya sidi_. To serve you."
Rick introduced himself and Scotty. He inspected the guide with
interest. Hassan was young, with a friendly white-toothed smile. The
scars identified him as Sudanese, but Rick didn't know enough about the
markings to tell what part of the Sudan he came from. A different part
from Bartouki's servant, though, because the scars were at a different
angle, and Hassan had three on each cheek.
Rick's quick imagination could picture the Sudanese in a different
setting, with scimitar in hand, guarding the palace of a legendary
sultan. It was hard to imagine him in the prosaic role of a guide. Rick
resolved to take a picture for Barby's benefit. A blackamoor warrior
right out of the tales of Scheherazade! That was how she would see it.
The boys shook hands with the dragoman, and Rick saw that he responded
to their obvious friendliness. The costume was an odd one, though. Rick
hadn't seen any like it on the street, and he wondered if Hassan wore it
for effect, since most of his customers probably were tourists. Later he
found that the guess was right.
"Where you like to go?" Hassan asked.
Scotty spoke up. "You know El Mouski?"
Hassan's face split in a wide grin. "Who does not?"
"That'll teach me to ask silly questions," Scotty said ruefully. "Like
asking a New Yorker if he ever heard of Central Park."
The boys walked downstairs with Hassan, since it was faster than taking
the elevator, and went to the alley behind the hotel where he had parked
his car.
The car was a small foreign sedan of a make neither boy had ever heard
of. Apparently Hassan also used it as a taxi, because the front
passenger seat was taken up mostly by a taxi meter.
Rick showed Hassan the address in his notebook. The guide shook his
head. "Please, you read."
Rick looked at him with astonishment. A guide who couldn't read? But
apparently it was so. "It is the store of Ali Moustafa," he explained.
Hassan shrugged. "I do not know it. But it can be found. _Enshallah._"
Although the boys did not recognize it then, the word was a common
expression meaning "If God wills it."
They would learn it, though, and with it other Arabic words, including
_zanb_, _dassissa_, and _khatar_--or, in English, crime, intrigue, and
danger!