City of the Sun (41 page)

CHAPTER 39

“We can’t let you in unless you hold a ticket, sir, and we can’t deliver your note until intermission,” insisted the American marine at the entrance to the Museum of Antiquities, where the American Embassy was holding the Egyptian premiere of the smash hit film
Gone with the Wind
. The grass plaza in front of the museum had been converted into an outdoor cinema, and through the railing Kesner could see row after row of chairs, holding perhaps as many as a thousand people.

“This letter is urgent,” he explained, pressing the envelope into the marine’s hand. “I know Mr. Nukrashi would want to learn of this situation immediately. What is your name?” he threatened, pulling a note pad from the inside pocket of the Polish uniform he now wore.

“I’m not even sure where Mr. Nukrashi is seated,” the marine said, giving ground quickly.

“He is only the king’s public relations minister,” Kesner said. “Where do you think he would be seated?”

The marine took the envelope and signaled to a colleague to watch the entrance as he disappeared inside the gates, making his way down the red carpet, which was lined on both sides with lighted votive candles.

Kesner strolled around the outside of the compound, waiting for the marine to come back. Though he was at a distance, he could still see the screen.

“I couldn’t find him,” the soldier announced with a long face when he returned.

Kesner resigned himself to waiting—he wouldn’t budge until he confronted that weasel, Abdoul. He positioned himself to watch the film from behind the railing. Even though it was at a far distance and at an odd angle, he became fully captivated by it, right up until the last image of part one, Scarlett O’Hara’s silhouette against the dawn light, her fist clenched toward the heavens. When the lights came up, rousing him and the rest of the audience from their hypnotic state, he inquired again at the entrance, only to find the marines besieged by latecomers who’d been refused admission until the intermission. Kesner was preparing to wade into the fray and protest when he caught the shimmer of a white satin blouse behind the barred gate. He had to look carefully to be sure, but the girl looked a lot like Marianna Blumenthal, the scientist’s sister. She was shaking the hand of a tall man in a dark business suit and a grey tarbush.

Praise be to Allah … It was the lawyer, Léon Guibli.

CHAPTER 40

After a quick shower and a change of clothes, Mickey made it to the museum during intermission. He snaked his way through the boisterous premiere crowd. “Pardon me,” he repeated as he hurriedly danced between lines of people holding plates loaded with hush puppies, corn bread, fried oysters, and shrimp. He had no time to waste. Intermission was only forty-five minutes long, and the first thirty minutes were already gone.

“Not so fast.” Mickey felt a hand tugging on his jacket.

It was Sally, surrounded by friends, including Randolph Churchill. She flashed him a big grin and grabbed his hand, intertwining her fingers with his and pulling him toward her crowd.

Mickey tried to free his hand, but Sally held it tight. “You haven’t even called me!” she pouted.

“Sally, why don’t you tell everybody about the king’s Italian entourage,” a blonde in a khaki uniform sputtered with laughter.

Sally laughed. “Oh, you have to hear this one,” she said to the group as Mickey squirmed, eager to move on, but Sally wouldn’t let go of his hand. “As you all know, Ambassador Lampson loathes the king’s Italian friends, and he’s been trying for months to oust them as enemy nationals. Of course, Farouk won’t hear of it. These fellows are practically his family. So he
came up with the solution of having them convert to Islam and making them Egyptian citizens.” She began to laugh uncontrollably.

“The poor lads had their circumcisions today!” the blond finished for her, sending the group into paroxysms of laughter, except for Mickey, whose eyes kept searching the crowd.

“Give her my regards.” Sally blew him a kiss, finally setting him free.

He ran into a dozen people he knew, including Léon Guibli, the lawyer, who was accompanied by a flaming redhead half his age. Each greeting was an unwelcome impediment as he searched for Maya. Kirk was mercifully brief, not wanting to appear too friendly, since the chief of field police was attending the premiere as well.

Red and white lights started to flash, signaling the audience to return to their seats. Frantic to find her, he almost knocked over the life-sized cardboard cutouts of Vivien Leigh and Clark Gable that flanked the museum entrance as he dashed inside and jumped over the red rope that blocked the stairs. He ascended them two at a time to the upper floor, oblivious to the Tutankhamen treasures housed in the room. From the balcony he had a bird’s-eye view of the front lawn. The lights were dimmed but the moon was full, and he could vaguely make out the faces of the guests. He was determined to find her, even if it took him the entire remaining hour and a half of the movie to comb through every single row, and search every nook and niche of the garden.

Biting her nails, Maya stared at the screen, though she couldn’t pay attention to the movie. She’d seen Mickey in the crowd exchanging words with none other than Allegra’s brother, Léon Guibli. Alarmed at the danger this could bring, she’d ducked away. He hadn’t noticed her, and she hoped that she could avoid him by
hiding in the crowd. But now she spotted him again, standing on the balcony looking down at the guests. She started to panic—there was a good chance he would see her this time. She leaned forward, cupping her chin in her hand, her elbow propped up on her crossed knee, blocking her face.

She had to be honest with herself. Though she’d jumped at the opportunity to accompany Lili and Fernando to the premiere to meet and thank their benefactor, who had at last obtained all of the family’s papers for Palestine, part of her had been secretly hoping to run into Mickey at this very American affair. She longed to see him, even if she’d have to come up with more lies. What did it matter? She was leaving in two days and had to be gone before the imminent transportation strike could thwart their plans. But right now Mickey had to be regarded as a danger. How on earth did he know Allegra’s brother?

She squirmed in her seat, trying to devise an escape plan, while Lili, next to her, irritated her by noisily cracking pumpkin seeds with her teeth in the tradition of Egyptian cinemagoers. Maya snapped to attention when she heard her name whispered. She didn’t need to turn her head; she knew who it was.

“Psst,” Mickey hissed a couple of times despite the growls of nearby spectators.

She ignored him. She had nothing to say to him. She owed him no explanation.

“Psst, Maya,” he called again, louder this time.

“Shh,” the guests protested.

My God, he was making a scene, and she couldn’t ignore him. She felt Lili’s elbow in her ribs and straightened in her seat. Her heart pounding, she slid her eyes sideways to the aisle. Mickey’s white jacket glistened in the dark.

“It’s your American friend,” Fernando whispered. “I ran into him yesterday.” He waved at Mickey.

Maya reluctantly turned to face Mickey. It was too dark to see his expression, but she could make out the gesture he was making with his index finger—
Come over here
.

“Later,” she mouthed, waving him off.

“Maya,” he insisted louder, disregarding the increasing rumbling around him. “I must have a word with you.”

Maya saw a marine guard heading their way. She exchanged a nervous look with Lili, and rose to her feet. She squeezed through the row of seats, flushed with embarrassment.

“We need to talk,” he said when she joined him in the aisle.

“Can’t it wait until the end of the movie?”

“No, it can’t,” he responded, looking sternly at her while the guests escalated their protests.

Maya looked toward Lili. She and Fernando were craning their necks. Mickey signaled for her to proceed down the aisle in front of him, which she did, feeling like Marie Antoinette on her way to the guillotine. She tried to think of Erik and Vati and how they needed her, but when Mickey took her elbow to direct her away, she melted instantly from his touch. She was so glad he was all right. She’d worried a great deal about the things he was mixed up with.

He stopped when they reached one of the luxurious palms that were interspersed among the mango trees and ancient statues in the vast courtyard.

“I can tell you the ending,” he said. “She loses the guy because she’s stubborn and stupid.”

“Her life changed her,” Maya retorted. “It made her hard and defiant.”

“That’s too bad, because underneath she loved him all along.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Just the truth,” he said, pinning her to the palm tree. “If you’re capable of that.” He looked daggers into her eyes. “I see you’re wearing the perfume I bought you.”

She shrugged.

“You put too much on,” he said matter of factly. “A lady should be more subtle.”

“I don’t like what you are insinuating.” She pushed him away hard and took a step back, but he grabbed her.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just don’t want to be toyed with. I thought we laid out the ground rules on our first date.”

She looked away.

“Why did you have your uncle tell me you had left Cairo?”

She wished she could say, “Because you talk too much. You know too many people. I saw you talking to the very man who is helping us get our papers tonight. You’re dangerous to my safety and to those I love.” But she swallowed the impulse and instead just murmured, “You wouldn’t understand.”

“That’s not good enough,” he shot back. “The fact that you needed to lie is baffling to me. Did you think I was going to disregard your wishes?”

“You
are
disregarding my wishes,” she fired back, but then sighed deeply. “Mickey, I’ll be leaving Cairo in less than forty-eight hours, and I’ve already explained to you that I don’t want to see you anymore.” She met his eyes straight on. It was a mistake. They were disconcertingly intense and vulnerable, and she couldn’t resist being drawn into them. The light from the projector danced across the frown on his forehead. She had a powerful urge to smooth it by pressing her lips against it but closed her eyes instead. She opened them again. “I’m not Scarlett O’Hara,” she declared calmly, “and you’re not Rhett Butler.”

He shook his head and gave her a terse smile. “Well, I tried.” He turned and walked away, leaving her confused and distraught.

While a band on the lawn played the film score, marines in red, white, and blue top hats directed the guests to the museum entry hall where the party was being held and dancing was the order of the night. The line was long and the American ambassador stood by the door, pumping hands eagerly and accepting congratulations as if he had produced the movie himself. The crowd was bubbling with praise for the film and its stars and gossiping about its budget while stealing sidelong glances at the buffet table. Maya wished she could enjoy herself with such delights, but all she could think about was Mickey. She wondered if he was still here and didn’t know whether she wanted to run into him again or escape this place as soon as possible. She had the nagging feeling that she had made a terrible mistake.