Greg Rucka - A gentleman_s game

El-Sayd took the knapsack back from him, showed him the padded straps. "The shahid arms it here on the right strap and detonates it here with the left. The buttons are hidden and ride high, so it looks like he's adjusting the pack, nothing more."

"She," Sinan said. "Not he."

"Really?"

Sinan nodded. "A great woman. Pure and strong. She deserves Paradise as much as any man I have ever met."

El-Sayd gave him a look, as if surprised by Sinan's words, then nodded. "She has to turn away from the target for maximum effect. Make sure she understands this, Sinan."

"She will do it correctly."

"Sometimes they get excited, they detonate early. Tell her to be calm, to focus on the words of the imam, on what awaits her. Make sure she understands that she will feel no pain, that there is only the decision, the action, and her arrival in Paradise, in the place that awaits her."

"She knows these things already, my brother."

"Tell them to her again, Sinan. I have seen too many shahid lose their nerve at the last minute, and it has cost us dearly in the past. They panic. Do stupid things. Some simply run, try to get rid of the bomb, return home. Others, they turn themselves in, Sinan. They go to the Zionists and ask for mercy."

"As if they would receive it."

"This girl of yours, she's seen a lot, she's been with Abdul Aziz, with you, with your comrades. If she were to lose her nerve and surrender herself to the British or the Americans, she could compromise all of you."

"I understand."

El-Sayd set down the knapsack, then handed Sinan the remote. It was a squat plastic box, shorter but thicker than a package of cigarettes, with two buttons set into its face and a single small lightbulb above them. The antenna was stubby, wrapped in black plastic.

"This is the insurance," el-Sayd told him. "Right button arms the bomb, left button detonates it, same as with the backpack. In open terrain, its range is almost a kilometer, but near the embassies it will be half that, if you're lucky. Once she closes on the target, you'll have to follow her."

Sinan looked at the remote in his hand, frowned. It was heavy and crude, and he felt that, just by holding it, he was committing to betraying Nia in some way.

"Which button does what?" el-Sayd asked him.

"Right arms, left detonates, like the backpack," Sinan said, moving his frown from the remote to the other man. "I understand."

"I know you don't like it, that you don't think this necessary, Sinan. But trust me, insurance is a good thing to have."

Sinan's nod was reluctant.

"You like this girl."

"I do. I want her to have this thing, to be shahid."

El-Sayd's eyes narrowed and he looked hard at Sinan. "Then don't fail her. Don't let her bow to her fear. Make certain she remembers what awaits her, that is where her mind must be. Not on what she is doing, but on where she is going."

"I will, as I have said."

El-Sayd hesitated, and Sinan wondered why he seemed so suddenly unsure.

"May I offer you some advice, my brother?" el-Sayd asked.

"Please."

"Don't tell her about the remote. Only if she balks, if you have to use the phones. Tell her then, but not before."

He didn't like that and knew it showed on his face. "I will not lie to her."

"It is not a lie if you do not speak of it. It is not a lie if, as you say, it is unnecessary. Only if it becomes necessary should you tell her, that is what I mean to say."

Sinan looked at the remote again, then back to el-Sayd, before nodding, accepting the logic.

"It won't be necessary," Sinan promised. • "She's stopped," Matteen said.

"What?"

"She's stopped." Matteen moved back from the binoculars, to let Sinan look. "Across the street from the embassy grounds, facing the river. She hasn't moved in almost a minute, she's just staring at the damn river."

Sinan rushed back to the window, pressed his eyes to the binoculars.

Nia stood motionless, staring at the Nile, morning traffic streaming along the Sharia Corniche el-Nil behind her, pedestrians and tourists making their way quickly along the eastern bank of the river. The guidebook was still in her hand, but held loosely against her thigh, as if forgotten.

Sinan cursed softly. The binoculars were good, but not so good that he could make out her expression, that he could tell what she was thinking and, more, what she was feeling.

"Move," he whispered. "Move, Nia."

"She's frozen."

"No," Sinan snapped. "Give me the phone."

He heard Matteen moving to the desk, but he didn't look away from the view through the binoculars, just extended a hand back to him, waiting to be handed the mobile. Nia hadn't moved, not a fraction, not a muscle.

Matteen put the phone in his hand, and Sinan tore his eyes away long enough to make certain he hit the right button, then pressed the mobile to his ear, hearing the hiss, then the ringing. Through the binoculars, Nia still hadn't moved, apparently watching one of the many faluccas on the river floating past, even though he was certain she could hear the telephone ringing in her pocket. Then, as if pulling her limbs through glue, she tucked the guidebook beneath her left arm, reached into her right pocket, and produced her phone.

"Sinan?" Her voice was almost lost in the sounds of the traffic around her.

"It's me, Nia."

"I've never seen the Nile before. Last night, when we arrived, I didn't get to see it."

"Nia, what's going on?"

Her answer was lost in the sounds around her, coming into his ear.

"I didn't hear you, Nia, please, say it again."

"I said you should see it. You should come down and see it, close by."

"I've seen it before. When I was here before."

"Oh, yes. When you were a student."

"That's right," Sinan said. "Nia, what are you doing?"

"There are guards, Sinan. They're outside, something's happening. I can't get close."

Sinan panned the binoculars, trying to get a glimpse of the British Embassy through the gaps in the buildings below him. The Shepheard's Hotel had been chosen because it had the best vantage point for their purpose, but even so, construction in the Garden City of Cairo had thrown up buildings of irregular height, all of them with rooftops covered with aerials, advertisements, and other signs of life.

It wasn't any good, he couldn't see.

"What the hell is she doing?" Matteen asked.

Sinan moved the binoculars back to Nia, or to where Nia had been, but she was no longer standing there, and feeling rising panic, he began panning his view around, trying to spot her.

"Nia?" He tried to keep his voice calm. "Nia, where are you?"

There was no answer and again Sinan was assailed by the sounds of traffic.

"-to the north side of the block, then around that way."

"What?"

"I'm going to go around the block and try to come down Sharia Amerika al-Latineya."

"Hold on," Sinan said. "Stay on the phone, don't hang up."

"I won't hang up. I like hearing your voice."

"I like hearing your voice, too." He turned the binoculars on the tripod, trying to find Nia in the traffic walking below, but the angle was too steep from the room and he couldn't see her. He pulled back from the tripod, glancing at the phone long enough to make certain he was pressing the mute button, then looked to Matteen.

"What is she doing?" Matteen demanded.

"She says there are guards, that she can't get close to the embassy. She's heading north to circle around. I think she's going for the secondary target, the American Embassy."

"You think?"

"I can't find her. She's heading in the wrong direction, our angle's no good."

Matteen swore, turned away, swiping the remote from the desk as he headed for the door.

"Wait!" Sinan said.

"She's shahid, Sinan!" Matteen barked at him. "Our job is to ensure she remains that."