The Witness (21 page)

A ridiculous thought bloomed in the back of Goddard’s mind. He quickly stuffed it away as being just too far out of the box to even consider. “I don’t know, Collette. I just don’t know.” Goddard stopped at an intersection and realized he had no idea where he had wandered off to. “What I do know is that something isn’t right here, and we’re running out of time to figure out what it is.”

46

Tariq and Dalia strolled through the narrow streets of Sharm el-Sheikh. As they passed through the various souks, it seemed every shop owner was waiting for them with a “Hey, where’re you from?” or a business card held out. Occasionally they’d step into a shop if something caught their eye. But after a particularly disagreeable episode trying to disengage themselves from an overly aggressive proprietor, they decided to keep to the street.

The image of Kadeen’s dead face kept asserting itself in Tariq’s mind. He had seen it in his dreams night after night since he had first arrived in Casablanca. He couldn’t believe that it had happened.

Then there was Rania. She had every right to hate him, every right to wish him dead.
So what does she do? She forgives me. What kind of person does that? “Greater love has no man than to lay down his life for another.” Those were the same words Kadeen told me about Jesus, about him dying for me. And now Kadeen has died for me too. I’m racking up a pretty high body count.

He felt his body tense, and he fought back the emotions that he’d hoped he had thoroughly dealt with that morning.

“Are you okay?” Dalia asked. “You’ve seemed a little distant today. What’s going on in that mind of yours? Are you still mad about earlier?”

“No, of course not. You’re the one who had the right to be angry. It’s just . . .”

“Just what?”

Tariq kept walking, trying to sort out what he was feeling—about the manhunt, about Kadeen, about Ramy, about Dalia. As they passed a small jewelry shop, an idea blazed in his mind. Wrapping his arm around Dalia’s waist, he pulled her into the shop.

The store owner was welcoming them and promising to show them marvelous items that they would find nowhere else in all of Egypt. But Tariq ignored him. He examined a glass-fronted case, then pointed to a simple gold band.

“But, sir, I have much better examples of Egyptian gold in the back. If you’ll please let me show them to you, I’m sure—”

Tariq pulled out his cash and peeled off four large denominations, then pointed once again to the gold band, knowing he was probably offering about eight times more than the ring was worth. The proprietor quickly opened the case.

He handed the ring to Tariq, who in turn faced Dalia. Then, dropping to one knee, he said, “Dalia, I know this seems fast. All right, I guess it really is fast. You asked what’s going on in my mind. There’s a whole lot of stuff—crazy things, some things you know about and some things you don’t. But in the midst of all that craziness and uncertainty, there’s one thing that stands out firm and strong. I love you, Dalia Nour. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my whole life. When you know something is right, you just know, and I know this: I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to make you the happiest woman in the whole world. And I know that you would make me the happiest man in the world if you would agree to be my wife.

“Dalia Nour, will you marry me?”

“Tariq, I . . . I don’t know what to say.”

“Yes, you do. Say yes.”

Dalia’s face brightened, and in that moment she was the most beautiful woman Tariq had ever seen in his life.

“Yes.”

Tariq stood up, and Dalia threw her arms around him. The crowd that had gathered in the front of the shop cheered. Even the owner threw in a matching necklace and earrings for the newly engaged couple, each even poorer quality than the ring.

Walking out of the store, they received congratulatory handshakes and pats on the back. Tariq kept the presence of mind to never take his hand from his front pocket, thereby blocking at least two attempts at his wallet. Once they were back out in the sun, Tariq gave Dalia another hug. Then they continued walking through the souk.

Tariq couldn’t believe what he had done. He was a wanted man, people were dying all around him, and he’d just proposed.
What kind of an idiot am
I
?
But he knew the answer to that question immediately. He was an idiot in love. He couldn’t imagine losing Dalia, and he was afraid that if he didn’t get some sort of major commitment from her right away, then when she found out the truth of who he was, he’d never see her again.

When they reached the beach, they both slipped off their shoes. Tariq carried both pairs in his right hand while he kept his left arm tight around Dalia’s shoulders.

“I do have one condition,” Dalia said tentatively.

“A better ring? Trust me, I will get you the most exquisite—”

“No, it’s not that. Although there is that, and that is important, this is not that. This is much more important than that.”

“I have no idea what you just said,” Tariq said with a nervous chuckle, having understood exactly what she had said. There was a hitch, a snag, a problem that could blow this whole thing apart.

Stopping in the soft sand, Dalia turned toward Tariq. “I need to get my parents’ blessing.”

“What? But you haven’t even seen them in how many years?”

“I know, I know. But it’s important to me. It’ll be important to my family. This is how we do things. It has to be done.”

Tariq turned from her and started walking toward the water. Then, turning back, he said, “That’s great! Your dad’s going to love me.”

Dalia ran to Tariq. “He will! I know he will! He’ll fall in love with you just like I have.”

“When? After he converts me? Didn’t you say that they expected you to marry a Christian? If you couldn’t tell by the time we’ve spent together, I’m definitely not a Christian!”

Tears welled up in Dalia’s eyes, then began to spill down her cheeks. “Obviously, I’m not much of one either.”

Tariq pulled her against him. “I’m sorry, Dalia. I went too far. If we need to get your dad’s blessing, we’ll get your dad’s blessing. And if I need to convert, for you I’ll convert. I mean, how hard can it be? I’ll say what he wants me to say, then let him sprinkle some water on my head and he’ll be happy.”

Dalia chuckled softly against his chest. “You make it sound so businesslike, like it was some spiritual transaction. My dad always said that becoming a Christian is about the heart; the head and hands come later.”

“Meaning . . . ?”

“It’s not what you do; it’s what you believe.”

That idea sounded familiar. “Is that what you meant before, in the museum? When you said heaven is a gift, not a payment?”

“That’s exactly it,” Dalia said as she looked up at him.

This conversation was reminding Tariq of the one he had had with Kadeen. Abruptly Dalia reached up and wiped away a tear Tariq hadn’t even realized was sliding down his cheek. “Tariq, what’s wrong?”

“I recently found out that a friend was killed.”

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Dalia said, replacing the tear with a kiss.

“I just wish I knew whether, when he got to the other side, he was disappointed or whether it was exactly what he had expected it to be.”

“I wish I knew too,” Dalia said quietly. They stood there holding each other for a long time. The warm sea breeze blew through their hair, and the gulls cried out over the water. Neither wanted to move. Neither wanted to face the questions that remained in their minds about life, about the future, about death.

Eventually, with a long sigh, Tariq said, “Shall we head back to the hotel? I think we have to make some travel plans to Jordan.”

“What? Now?”

Tariq chuckled. “Of course now. We’re halfway there. There’s no use going back.”

“But I have to give them warning.”

“Let’s make it a surprise.”

“I don’t have enough clean clothes for the trip.”

“I saw this cute little shop on the way,” Tariq said with a smile.

“What about my job? I have a flight tomorrow.”

“Call in sick. Better yet, tell them an unexpected family issue has come up.”

Tariq couldn’t help but laugh as he watched Dalia frantically try to come up with a reason to delay seeing her parents. Finally she threw her hands up in the air and said, “Well, I guess we’re going to Jordan.”

As they started their walk back, Tariq wrestled with whether he was doing the right thing.
Even if they traced me to Cairo, there’s no way they could have trailed me to Sharm. And it would be almost impossible to make the connection with Dalia and her family. We’ve got to go while we still can. Once we get to Jordan, I’ll be back near my own neighborhood. Then Ramy and I can straighten all this mess out with the authorities, and we can start planning a wedding.

47

They crossed the street and reentered the crowded souks. Both were lost in their own thoughts. It seemed that the number of people in the market had doubled since they were there less than an hour ago. Keeping Dalia under his arm, Tariq used his size and determination to push his way through, always looking for the path of least resistance.

Ahead of them in the crowd, he spotted a European-looking man walking toward them. He reminded Tariq a bit of the two air marshals they had met at the Italian restaurant on Zamalek, except this one seemed like he was on a mission.

Tariq pretended to laugh, then nuzzled Dalia’s neck.

“Dalia, I’m about to say something to you, and it is a matter of life and death that you show no emotion,” he said with deadly earnest. “Now laugh and tell me whether you understand what I’m saying to you.”

A choked chuckle burst forth from Dalia, and she croaked, “I understand.”

“Do not look at him, but there is a tall man coming toward us. I believe he is here to kill me. I can’t tell you why right now, but I promise I will explain everything later. There are things about me you don’t know, Dalia, but you must trust me. Will you do exactly as I say?”

“Yes.”

“When I push you, I want you to fall to your right all the way to the ground. Got it?”

“Yes.”

Tariq gave her a quick kiss on the neck, then straightened up. He laughed and stroked her hair. Dalia laughed too, but he could see the fear in her eyes when she looked at him.

The man was close.
Please let this be a false alarm. Please let this be a false alarm.

But Tariq knew it wasn’t. The way the man was walking with only his left arm swinging told him that he had a weapon in his right.

The distance between them closed rapidly. Just before he reached them, Tariq pointed to something in a small purse shop and veered them that direction.

He pushed Dalia hard into the shop, then spun to meet his attacker. The man swung a long military knife up from his side. Tariq swung his left arm hard outward, deflecting the blow. Then, using his momentum, he angled a kick to his attacker’s knee. The man’s leg buckled. The European tried to keep his balance, and as he did, Tariq grabbed his right arm with both hands. One more kick and the man fell to the ground. Tariq followed him down, using all his force to direct the knife into the man’s neck and through his windpipe.

Immediately Tariq turned toward the shop to check on Dalia. When he did, his heart sank. A second attacker was lifting her roughly to her feet. Tariq quickly reached his hand under the dying man’s shirt and into the small of his back. He found what he hoped would be there.

Just as the second man stepped out of the shop and, with a grin, raised a gun to Dalia’s temple, Tariq fired two shots, lifting off the back of the man’s head. Dalia screamed, as did the shop owner.

Tariq stood and scanned the crowd for another gunman. He could see the fear in the eyes of the people as they cowered from him. Seeing no one else, he grabbed Dalia’s hand and pulled her after him.

“Let’s go,” he yelled. “We’ve got to get out of here now.”

He was grateful to feel no resistance from her. Soon they were running through the mass of shoppers, knocking people over left and right.

Once they cleared the souks, Tariq headed for the docks. Dusk was just beginning to fall. Many of the fishing and recreational boats were coming in, and the dinner cruises were just setting out.
Perfect,
Tariq thought. Their feet hit hard on the dock, then clomped on the wood as they made their way past the slips.

Tariq was looking for a boat, any boat. It just needed to look fast and be empty. Finally he found a six-meter ski boat at the end of the wooden pier that would do. He jumped on, then held out his arms to help Dalia in. She only hesitated for a moment before letting herself fall into his arms.

Tariq began searching under the seats and in the ski ropes and eventually found a key on a small floatie hanging on a hook in the engine compartment.

He quickly cast off, ran to the wheel, started up the boat, and eased her out of her slip. The boat slid into the inlet and got lost in the water traffic. It wasn’t until ten minutes later, after he had cleared the rest of the boats and exited Naama Bay, that he opened the engines up and headed north toward the Gulf of Aqaba.

48

Half an hour later, after Tariq had navigated Tiran Island at the mouth of the Gulf of Aqaba, he throttled back the engines. Once the ski boat had slowed to a speed that wouldn’t require his full attention, he swiveled his seat to look at Dalia.

She was huddled with her legs tucked under her on the seat behind him. There must have been a blanket stored under the rear bench, because she now had it wrapped around her.

“Dalia,” Tariq said.

There was no response.

“Dalia,” Tariq said again, this time getting up to move toward her.

“Stop! Don’t,” she commanded. She was looking at him, but in the half-light of the waning moon he struggled to make out her features.

Tariq sat and shut the engines all the way off. He leaned toward her but didn’t leave his seat. The silence was broken only by the gentle lapping of the water against the sides of the boat.

Tariq waited. Time passed. At one point he could hear her crying. He wanted desperately to reach out to her, to comfort her. But since he was the source of her tears, he knew that, at least for now, he had no comfort to give.