Redemption - Leon Uris [189]
“Jeremy and Christopher Hubble,” Rory whispered. “Jeremy Hubble.”
63
After several individual forays into Cairo, Serjeant Major Tarbox and Rory Landers, sporting his new first serjeant chevrons, got the distinct impression that Cairo was not Paris.
Rory had come from the stillness of Christchurch into the bombast of an untidy swarm of crowds, shrill sounds, impatient horns, wild aromas, glaring sun, strangely hidden women in black, unkempt streets—all a confused bazaar that was the ancient system of order the Cairenes thrived in.
The city was now host to a new army, and every vendor and every beggar, bar, brothel, omnibus tour, cameleer, and merchant reacted. Thousands of newly minted and carved genuine ancient artifacts, as well as a brigade of guaranteed virgin prostitutes, suddenly appeared.
The influx of soldiers’ cash and their enormous thirsts produced foul vetches of native wines and beer leaving a trail of upchucks and near blindness.
The greed of the sellers was boundless. It was not as though they had invited this foreign army to their city.
In short order the Anzacs and the British despised Cairo, and the feeling was mutual except for the Pound Sterling. Coming from a land where a handshake was a man’s honor, the Aussies felt taken in. As a result, in their flamboyant campaign hats they led a number of rowdy retributions. The Cairo police were a bit timid, so the military patrols were cleaning up messes from dawn to dusk and back to dawn.
Rory, Johnny, and Chester had a priority: to find an oasis of solitude in the maniacal mélange.
Due to a visit in Cairo years earlier as a Royal Marine, Johnny Tarbox boasted he could better cut through the maze of grubs, gooks, and geeks. Johnny hunted down the boss of the Terrier pack outside the camp gate and came up with a full-blown thug named Walid.
The Terriers performed all manner of duties in the camp, from polishing shoes to running errands to escorting new arrivals up the pyramids.
Walid operated the employment center, assigning the better jobs to members of his extended family, friends, and those who kicked back the most baksheesh.
Figuring he was playing the system, Johnny offered a goodly sum of five quid to put him in touch with the right man in the old city.
Walid’s promises were extravagant and, for another two quid, Johnny could be connected with the “protector” for the lively Aguza District.
Tarbox knew that somewhere in those dark and twisting lanes with all that hollering and those delicious and non-delicious smells, there had to be a jewel of a hideaway…with belly dancers to the right and belly dancers to the left…and decent booze.
“We have to have decent booze.”
“My man will take care of you, first class,” Walid promised, and Johnny felt pleased with himself for cutting through all that chasing around and Oriental red tape.
First Serjeant Rory Landers took on the center of Cairo on the east side of the river and the Buluq District. A string of two- and three-star hotels lined the river bank. Rory felt a rooftop apartment with three bedrooms would be definitely in the realm of possibility.
As for Chester, they were worried about sending him into the morass of the marketplace. He was doing a bang-up job working on the mule manual. In fact, he was doing all three of their jobs.
However, when Rory and Johnny returned to camp a bit down in the mouth, Chester reckoned that Cairo had certain similarities to Hong Kong. Johnny and Rory agreed to let him join the search but ordered him to cruise only in the safer areas.
It was their fourth trip in, an overnighter, to stage the all-out hunt. They synchronized watches and fanned out They would return to the bar across from their hotel near the railroad station at two-thirty the following day.
The clock in the rail tower tolled three, which actually meant it was two o’clock because the clock was an hour off. The city shuttered itself for the midday respite from the debilitating wet heat fuming up off the Nile.
Rory was the first to return. He fended off the foul brew they attempted to