Читать книгу Deadline Yemen (The Elizabeth Darcy Series) - Peggy Hanson - Страница 19

CHAPTER 15

The men in the front seat began to ask me questions… How long had I [been here]? What was I doing here? How much money did I have in the bank? Did I take pictures and notes on the war?

Steven C. Caton, Yemen Chronicle

Michael Petrovich showed up on the sidewalk as I arrived at Nello’s little restaurant near Tahrir Square. He grinned as we almost ran into each other, me in my black outfit. It annoyed me. Did he think I couldn’t resist meeting him?

“After you,” he said, holding the door.

Feeling outsmarted in several ways, I entered as graciously as I could. Not getting rid of the burqa before I came was a mistake. Now at least one person from the hotel knew what I might be wearing in the street. More importantly, I would not have time for a heart-to-heart with my old friend, Nello. He might even have some word about Halima, since he’d sent me to her as an informant when I was here before. Why had I mentioned Nello’s restaurant to Michael Petrovich?

Nello was astounded to see me. Ignoring my companion, he trundled over and hugged and kissed me on both cheeks, reaching up to do so. “Elizabeth, Elizabeth! You are back!”

“Nello, you know I couldn’t stay away from your spaghetti sauce for long!” Patting his pudgy shoulder and smelling garlic and oil made me feel better than I had all day.

When he saw my companion, Nello was more subdued, acknowledging the businessman’s presence as he would any client’s. Michael Petrovich put out his hand and Nello reluctantly responded. Petrovich’s teeth gleamed in a wolf-like smile.

Paranoia again. Fox, maybe? Michael was not a wolf, I was sure.

We sat at one of the tables covered with its red-and-white-checkered cloth. Nello had stepped out, leaving us to his well-trained waiters.

“Something important, Elizabeth. I am sorry. So sorry.” He’d given Petrovich a quick nod as he left.

“I suppose it’s hard being a woman in Yemen.” My companion smiled—condescendingly, I thought.

The tack was one I warm to, though. “Actually, the freest being of all in Yemen is a foreign woman. We can go anywhere, see anyone, sit with men or women, even sit with them en famille, while they’re together. If you follow a few basic rules, like modest dress and behavior, people will treat you with respect. I love Yemen that way!”

Michael was amused. “Not quite the reputation the place has!”

Both of us were served pasta marinara by one of the waiters.

“No, but it’s a nice little secret, known by only a few women. And all this kidnapping stuff? There is always, always a man as target, possibly accompanied by women. Yemenis would find it beneath their warrior dignity to kidnap or assault women. It doesn’t fit into the honor code.”

Michael looked thoughtful. “Yeah. Maybe.” He sipped at the Coca Cola bottle that held something stronger than Coke. “Tell me more about what you were doing during the war years. Seems like you might have had a lot of access.”

It was an odd way to phrase things. Was Michael’s businessman persona a front? Maybe he was in intelligence, as I’d earlier thought? Sana’a was full of spies from all over the world. Was this why he had suggested lunch? I paused. Yes, I had had access. My access to English-speaking Halima had put me ahead of the journalist pack, as most of the Arabic speakers on assignment were men—and thus completely walled off from the lives of half the population.

But I had to think carefully before speaking. Strangers on a plane have the oddest habit of telling each other things they wouldn’t mention to their nearest and dearest. Since we were in Sana’a, where foreigners are likely to run into each other, I should watch my tongue.

“Oh, I don’t know. I was new to Yemen and it’s a complicated country, as you must know. We spent a lot of time rounding up the usual suspects to try to get information—government and embassy spokesmen, representatives of international organizations, journalists…”

Michael watched me closely as I spoke. He might harbor the same suspicions of me that I did of him. On the surface, I would be a logical spy, I suppose, looking quite innocent.

So would he.