Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Deep within the heart of the Khan-el-Khalili, Noah had picked up a shadow.
He’d noticed the man following him when he’d dropped into a stall to grill one of his contacts about the Aleaqrab. When Noah had left, he’d purposely gone past a stall covered with beautiful ornate oil lamps of hand-blown glass.
Sure enough, the man was in the reflections of the lamps, about twenty feet behind him. A darker Egyptian, it appeared, with a trim black beard and a taqiyah skullcap.
How long had the man been behind him? He wasn’t in uniform.
If he’d been followed from Shepheard’s to here, it meant one thing: whoever was following him knew his habits.
The idea added to Noah’s frustration that he hadn’t gotten the answers he’d hoped from the Khan.
Every time he’d mentioned the Aleaqrab, he was met with blank stares or fear. Those who knew about the organization weren’t speaking about it, no matter what Noah offered.
The man following him might be a lead.
Noah sped up, heading for a narrow lane. The man following him had some skill—Noah trusted he could keep up—and Noah rounded the corner into a darker alley with a blind turn. He waited just past the turn, back to the wall.
Within moments, the man was upon him. The man realized, seconds too late, that he’d been caught. Noah grabbed him by the front of his robe and shoved him hard against the stone wall of the alley. The man scrambled to get away, but Noah held him with an unrelenting grip, his sidearm at the ready.
“Who sent you?” Noah kept his voice to a low growl.
The man eyed the gun in Noah’s hands, his breath foul. He gave Noah a pleading expression. He babbled in rapid Arabic about being at Noah’s service and baksheesh.
Noah tilted his head. He preferred to get the man somewhere less visible. As it was, anyone might see the confrontation as they passed the alley. “Walk,” he said in Arabic. He released the man and motioned toward the alley, keeping the gun level with his back.
“Who hired you?” Noah asked.
“An Englishman,” the man said, his shudders lessening.
“I want a name.”
The man hesitated then said, “Osborne. He said his name was Osborne.”
Osborne?
That was the fellow who had hired Ginger.
Noah slowed. He had never met Osborne. Why would someone within the Foreign Office send an Egyptian to follow Noah?
Questioning the man was likely to be a waste of time and he was already weary of the task. “Go.” Noah shoved the man forward. “And don’t let me catch you following me again.”
The man gave a sniveling apology before running down the alley. Noah watched him disappear. He’d barely slept, and his head throbbed with the exhaustion. A strong cup of coffee would help—his progress had been less than promising anyway.
Hopefully Alastair had had more luck. He’d dropped in on his friend in Old Cairo after leaving Lord Helton. If anyone could find more information on the Aleaqrab or Khaled Al-Mashat, it would be Alastair.
He wound his way out of the Khan, stopping only for some coffee and a late breakfast. Then he headed toward the Savoy-Continental. Whatever reason Peter Osborne had for sending a man behind him, Noah was determined to learn of it.
He breezed into the Savoy still in his disguise. He strode toward Lord Helton’s office and let himself in without a knock.
Lord Helton was at his desk. He raised a brow as Noah sank into a chair. Setting his pen down, Helton’s thin lips twitched. “Do you have news?”
“No. I don’t suppose they’d sent you any further communications?
” The paper in front of Lord Helton was in Arabic.
One of Helton’s many assets was his thorough fluency in the language.
But he’d been in Egypt for nearly thirty years.
He’d even married an Egyptian woman, though she’d died in childbirth with Victoria.
That Lord Helton had never married again was one of the few manners in which his gentler side was apparent. But Noah doubted many people knew the story of his wife. Noah had only learned it through his friendship with Victoria.
Lord Helton shook his head, paling. “Alastair?” More than likely Helton struggled to restrain the emotion he’d showed the night before.
“Alastair will send word when he knows something. I spent the morning combing through my contacts at the Khan. I’m leaving Old Cairo to Alastair—his network there is more extensive.
” Noah leaned lazily against the chair’s arm, feeling more tired than ever now that he’d sat.
“An Egyptian followed me. Sent by Peter Osborne at the Foreign Office.”
“Osborne?” Lord Helton’s eyebrows drew together quizzically. “Why would he send a man to follow you?”
Noah kept his face blank. This was the sort of information Lord Helton ought to have heard before Noah brought it to him. Is he simply playing dumb? “I intend to find out. Is his office here at the Savoy?”
“I don’t believe so. But”—Lord Helton checked his pocket watch—“in a few hours he’ll be at the polo match the Ladies of the Missionary Society are hosting in Ezbekieh.
It’s a charity match to raise money for the Red Cross, and they’ve recruited some officers to play.
” He folded his hands. “For that matter, I need to send my regrets. I was set to play in the match, and I’m not feeling up to it given the circumstances.
” He gave Noah a sharp look. “Would you care to take my place?”
Noah rubbed the back of his neck. He hadn’t played polo in over a year and was completely out of practice. Lord Helton was one of those men who regularly played in the Gezirah Club. “I’m not certain they’ll view me as a suitable replacement but if Osborne is there, it might be worth my while.”
“He’ll be there. He’s on the other team.” Lord Helton wrote an address on a slip of paper. “This is the headquarters for the Ladies of the Missionary Society. Please give them my regrets.”
Noah took the address from Lord Helton and stood. As he turned to go, Lord Helton said, “Peter Osborne thinks you’re responsible for the crimes that Lord Braddock committed last spring. He’s been digging, trying to find out the truth about the information I concealed on behalf of your lover.”
Noah recognized Lord Helton’s purposeful dig at Ginger for what it was: an attempt to draw blood where he could. This might the best time to tell Lord Helton about the marriage, have the matter done with before Helton found out another way.
But if Peter Osborne dug too deeply, Ginger’s family could be at risk. They’d be ousted from society.
Noah met Lord Helton’s eyes. “Which crimes, precisely?” Why had he played dumb about the man following Noah, then?
“All of them. He’s very concerned about the smuggling ring and the underground network with the extremist nationalists though. He believes both to be currently active.”
“And are they?”
“They’ve changed leadership, to be sure.” A haggard expression crossed Lord Helton’s face. “We captured who we could, and Fisher is cooperating and giving us names we’ve needed all along. But it’s too late for some of it. Trails have long since gone cold. Men have vanished.”
“Are you at risk from Osborne’s search?”
Lord Helton lifted his pen. “We’ll see. I concealed more than I should have.” He nodded toward the door. “You’d do well to remember that when you’re around the Whitman woman.”
Lord Helton’s words weighed heavily on Noah. He knew what Helton had risked. When he’d chosen to spare Ginger and her family from Lord Braddock’s crimes being known, Helton had put himself in a position where his own job could be scrutinized.
But how had Osborne learned of any of it?
“It would be highly coincidental for Peter Osborne to dig into Braddock’s crimes at the same time as Stephen’s return, wouldn’t it?” Noah remained fixed in front Lord Helton’s desk.
Lord Helton’s gaze was analytical. “What are you suggesting?”
“I’m suggesting Peter Osborne has had his information from the only other person who knew the extent of Braddock’s crimes: Fisher himself.
” Noah set his hands on Lord Helton’s desk and leaned toward him, an energized buzz in his arms. “Think of it. Who else could have given him the threads with which to search? Fisher was certainly forthcoming about Lord Braddock’s concession—but why?
What could he possibly have to gain from making so much of this information available? ”
“Are you asking me or simply musing upon the possibilities?” The breath that Lord Helton drew was exasperated.
“I’ve told you before and I’ll repeat it.
You’re too emotionally involved with this whole affair.
You can’t be a part of this investigation any longer.
You’ve lost complete objectivity with Fisher. ”
“It’s my emotional involvement that kept me searching for a trace of the Aleaqrab from midnight until now,” Noah remarked dryly. “I need to question Fisher. With Alastair’s help. You know Alastair has the means—”
“Alastair’s methods will not be acceptable for a man of Fisher’s social status.” Lord Helton tapped his pen against the desk. “Trust me to do my job, Benson. Fisher is no longer your concern. And neither is the Whitman woman. Don’t force me to say more on the subject.”
Noah came to a fully upright position. “So long as I’m breathing, Ginger Whitman will always be my concern.
She’s my wife not my lover, for the record.
And if you threaten her again, not only will I stop my search for Victoria, but I’ll also request an immediate transfer to France.
Fortunately, I know French and German just as well as Arabic.
Don’t forget it.” Then Noah left Lord Helton’s office, before he said anything he might regret.