Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
“Of all the places I’d never thought I’d see you set foot, the Turf Club ranks up at the top.” Alastair smiled as Noah sat across from him at a table in the lounge. A chess game lay in front of Alastair, ready for players. Noah settled in his seat, then moved a white pawn forward.
Noah scanned the interior of the exclusive men-only club.
Alastair exaggerated: Noah had been in here before.
One could hardly try to be effectual in the world of intelligence and politics in Cairo without entering the Turf Club.
Noah suspected Alastair kept his membership for the same reason.
But Noah did loathe it, especially as the war had gone on.
“The epicenter of misogynistic British imperialism?” Noah raised a brow. “We put a club a few blocks from Opera Square, then bar entrance to any locals, no matter their status. No wonder they hate us.”
Alastair chuckled, sipping his tea. He pushed a pawn forward. “How was the polo match yesterday?”
“Uneventful.” Seeing Ginger had been a highlight, but his shoulder was sorer.
“Though, I have more reason than ever to believe Stephen Fisher is planning something.” Noah studied the chess board.
Alastair had pushed his lowly pawn into a position to be taken by his own.
But today Noah didn’t feel like forcing his mind into studying his opponent.
He did that enough in everyday life. He took Alastair’s pawn with his own.
Alastair leaned back in his leather chair. “That’s hardly news. I have two pieces of information for you.” He moved his knight out, his eyes guarded.
Noah held a smile back. He knew better than to try to win a game of chess with either Alastair or Jack.
The two of them understood the mechanics of the game in a way Noah’s mind couldn’t fathom.
Knowing he was being baited, he moved his own knight forward to protect his pawn.
He asked a passing waiter for coffee, then turned his attention back to Alastair. “The Aleaqrab?”
“Fisher was right. They’re highly secretive.
But not too secretive for me.” A ghost of a smile spread on Alastair’s lips.
“One of my contacts told me of a meeting they’re having tonight.
To recruit. This is the password to get in.
” Alastair slid an envelope across the table.
“They’re meeting in the basement of Café Riche.
” He patted a canvas rucksack beside his chair.
“I have clothes for you here, no big disguise. You’ll be in close quarters, and I don’t know what they’ll put you through for recruitment.
” Alastair moved his queen to threaten Noah’s pawn once again.
The lead about the Aleaqrab was significant.
Noah hadn’t been able to pick up any other trace of them, even among his most trusted contacts.
But that they had yet to contact Lord Helton with further news was even more worrisome.
Helton was half-mad with worry. Noah had never seen him like this.
This morning the man had greeted him in his dressing gown, unshaven, with insomnia written on every crease of his face.
Noah took the envelope and tucked it into the breast pocket of his uniform. “What’s the second piece of information?” He moved his bishop across the board to protect the threatened pawn.
“Just an interesting tidbit. Your camel bone knife—the one your assailant at Ezbekieh had?” As Alastair moved his queen to threaten both Noah’s bishop and king, his lips twitched.
Noah blinked up from the game. Whatever he did now, Alastair would be likely to win quickly. He moved his bishop to protect the king. “What of it?” He’d forgotten about the damned knife.
Alastair waved at a passing acquaintance, then took one of Noah’s pawns with his queen. “I traced it to a merchant in the Khan. He claims he sold that knife to an English gentleman. He was quite proud of the fact.”
Noah moved his bishop out and tilted his head with surprise at Alastair’s words.
The news was more than an interesting tidbit.
While the merchant could be lying, Noah doubted it.
Culturally, many of the Egyptian merchants enjoyed their boasting, but Alastair was known among the native population.
Few would dare to lie to his face. “How did the knife get from an English gentleman to the Aleaqrab?” Noah asked.
Alastair gave him a sharp look, then moved his own bishop out. “How indeed?”
Fisher. Noah frowned. Stephen had been out of Egypt for over six months.
The timing didn’t seem likely. “Could Fisher have bought the knife while he was still in Cairo?” He looked at the game in front of him, then nearly groaned at the trap Alastair had set for him.
Only a handful of moves and another humiliating loss would be his. Alastair’s eyes reflected as much.
“The merchant claims he sold it only a month ago.” A pensive look came to Alastair’s eyes as he took another of Noah’s pieces. “You know I’m going to win in the next move, don’t you?”
Noah took one of Alastair’s pieces then knocked his own king over. “One of these days I’ll take the time to read that book on chess you bought me. If you’d like to play checkers, you might find my skills are much better.”
Alastair huffed, moving his queen into checkmate. “Don’t take the fun out of the game, old boy. Checkmate.” He set the board up once again as the waiter brought Noah’s coffee. “You’d better get Darby sooner rather than later. I haven’t had a decent game of chess since he left.”
“As soon as I have Victoria back, I’m leaving.
” The delay in going to get Jack weighed on him heavily.
Noah ducked his chin. “Speaking of information, I have two more people to inquire about. Peter Osborne, who works for the Foreign Office, and Freddy Mortimer. The latter is connected to the Braddock concession and Ginger needs to find him.”
Alastair pulled a notebook from his breast pocket and scribbled the names with a pencil. He glanced over the edge of the book. “And the Osborne fellow?”
“He’s apparently investigating me for Lord Braddock’s crimes.” Noah’s lips twisted. He’d tried to confront Osborne three times the previous afternoon, both before and after the polo game. Somehow the man had skillfully avoided him.
He might have to pay a visit to the Foreign Office.
Alastair slipped the notebook back into his pocket and nodded toward the chess board. “Shall we play another round?”
“I suppose. Though I’ve never been inclined to do anything where I’m certain to lose.” Noah rolled his shoulders.
The laugh Alastair released was loud. “Truer words have never been spoken, my friend. At least you’re aware of it.”
The sun had long set when Noah approached Midan Suliman Pasha, but the streets near the square still bustled with activity.
Turning his attention to Café Riche, Noah waited as a tram passed, its whistle merrily ringing in the air.
This part of Cairo attracted tourists, who called it “the Paris on the Nile” because of the buildings artfully arranged along six streets radiating out from a traffic circle.
Elegant and French neoclassical in style, the restaurants and shops here were a favorite among the Anglo-Cairo community.
He approached the dark wood-trimmed glass doors of Café Riche. The café was packed.
He’d donned a simple cotton galabeyah tunic and a muted keffiyeh headpiece, along with a wig. But with this many people still out at night, the risk of being seen and recognized seemed high. He wished his disguise could have been better.
Still, he made his way inside and headed toward the door that led to the basement, keeping his gaze down. When he reached the door, he gave a tap.
The door opened, and a man with thin wire-rimmed glasses peered at him. “As-salaam alykum.” Noah bent his head, the fabric of his keffiyeh grazing his cheek. He gave the greeting Alastair had instructed him to use.
He was admitted into a passageway that led to stairs.
The man at the door directed him to move on.
In the basement, he found a room guarded by two men with rifles, and inside two dozen men were gathered.
They didn’t all sit together. Some stood, while others lounged on floor pillows.
The room was dimly lit but adequate. In the corner was a large printing press.
Noah hung back near the door. Instinctually, he didn’t like the look of the place. If the only exit was the door he’d come through, the danger in being here increased exponentially. He preferred a place with multiple points of entry.
He scanned the room, then found a few more doors. Exits?
Who knew where they led.
He recognized some faces of the leaders of the nationalist movements the British had labeled as extreme, the ones now calling for the overthrow of the British. These were the men who encouraged resistance and riots.
Unlike the way the upper crust of Anglo-Cairo society liked to characterize these men, they were not peasants.
Some were lawyers and writers. Others were members of distinguished families in Egypt.
Men whose ardent sense of nationalism had bloomed under the likes of Mustafa Kamel and other nationalists who had come before the war.
What they lacked, more than anything, was a leader to unite them.
Noah lifted his gaze at the sound of approaching footsteps. A tall man emerged from one of the other doors, hunched over. He straightened once inside.
“Al-Mashat,” one man said to the newcomer with a welcoming voice. “We were thinking you wouldn’t come.”
Khaled Al-Mashat? That was the name Stephen had given Noah as the leader of the Aleaqrab. Noah peered at him closer, then stiffened.
No wonder Alastair hadn’t been able to find him.
Though he’d been called Al-Mashat, that wasn’t his name. Noah knew him in an instant: Khaled El-Masry. The son of one of the most distinguished generals from the Mahdist war in Egypt in the late 1880s.
And Noah’s uncle.