The Alexander Cipher Page 0,41
bag. “For his daughter. Your daughter.”
The woman looked at Ibrahim in bewilderment. “This is for Layla?”
“Yes.”
“But… who are you?”
“My name is Ibrahim.”
“The archaeologist?”
“Yes.”
She bit her lower lip thoughtfully. Then she went back inside her flat. “Mohammed,” she said. “Come here. Your archaeologist friend is visiting.”
Mohammed appeared from a side room, ducking his head beneath the low lintel. “Yes?” he asked anxiously. “Is there a problem at the site?”
“No,” said Ibrahim, showing a bit more of the book. “It’s just… my father used to read to me from this. I thought maybe you and your daughter . . .” He opened the book and flipped through the pages, showing off the gorgeous illustrations inside: pictures of Alexander from history and myth.
“It’s beautiful,” gaped Mohammed. He glanced at his wife, who hesitated then nodded. “Layla’s been talking about you all evening,” said Mohammed, coming to grasp Ibrahim by the elbow. “I know it would mean a great deal to her if you gave it to her yourself.”
ALEXANDRIA WAS USUALLY one of the most welcoming of Egyptian cities, but the tensions between the West and the Arab world had reached here, too, and Knox took a cool nod from a young Egyptian man out with his woman as he paid his taxi driver on the street outside Gaille’s hotel. Normally, he would have shrugged it off, but with Hassan to worry about, it preyed on his mind. All these people. How could he tell which ones were dangerous? The ones who smiled, the ones who scowled?
Like many of the city’s cheaper hotels, Gaille’s was on the top two floors. The old lift rattled and shook as it ascended past floors of gloom and darkness. He pulled back the mesh door and stepped out. Behind the reception desk, the balding middle-aged concierge was talking with a young bearded man. They both looked at Knox without even trying to hide their disdain. “Yes?” asked the concierge.
“Gaille, please,” said Knox.
“The Frenchwoman?”
“Yes.”
“And you are?”
Knox had to think for a moment to remember the name Augustin had given him. “Mark,” he said. “Mark Edwards.”
“Sit, please.” The concierge turned back to his friend, picking up their conversation again. Knox sat in a blue armchair, white fluff leaking from the tattered upholstery. A minute went by. Still the concierge made no effort to alert Gaille. Another minute passed. The two men were chatting away, not looking his way, their contempt clear. Knox had no wish to make himself conspicuous, but there came a point when doing nothing would be more memorable than doing something, so he stood up, brushed fluff from his trousers, went back over to reception. “Call her for me,” he said.
“In a minute.”
He put his hand on the counter. “Call her,” he said. “Now.”
The concierge scowled but picked up his phone and dialed her extension. A phone tinkled dully down the hall. “You have a visitor,” he told her. He put the phone back down and resumed his conversation with his friend without a word to Knox.
Another minute passed. A door opened and closed. Footsteps hurried on the hard wooden floorboards. Gaille appeared around a corner, wearing sneakers, faded jeans, and a baggy black sweatshirt. “Mark,” she frowned. “What are you doing here?”
“Augustin couldn’t make it, I’m afraid. Crisis at work. I hope you don’t mind a last-minute substitute.”
“Not at all.” She looked down at her dowdy clothes, pulled a face. “Are we going anywhere fancy?” she asked.
“You look fine,” Knox assured her. “You look gorgeous.”
“Thanks.” She smiled shyly. “Then shall we just go? I’m starving.”
He ushered her inside the elevator. The concierge and his bearded friend glared as he slammed closed the mesh door a little more vehemently than necessary. It was dim and tight inside; two people was all it could comfortably take. They stood shoulder to shoulder as it clanked slowly down six floors. “Charming man,” he muttered once they were out of earshot.
“My guy in Tanta was even worse, would you believe?” said Gaille. “He gave me those looks—you know, as if he held women to blame for every evil in the history of the world. I felt like asking him, why run a hotel? Why not run a YMCA or something? Just nice young boys.”
Knox laughed and hauled open the door again as they reached the ground floor. “You like seafood?”
“I love seafood.”
“There’s this restaurant I used to visit a lot. I haven’t been there for a while, but I thought we might give it a try.”
“That sounds great. You know Alexandria