life would be incomplete without this woman. Love’s arrow had struck its fatal wound while they were studying the complexities of the tourist trade together. In this area, she had a distinct advantage over him as her father happened to be the very same Faragalla that Makana was now waiting for. Talal thought he might improve his standing with the girl’s father by persuading him to enlist Makana’s services to solve a problem that had been worrying him.
With a glance at his watch to see if the minute hand was still doing its job, Makana picked up a creased and well-read newspaper. He had ignored it at first, noting that it was several days old, but the appeal had started to grow as his interest in the tourist business waned. On an inside page he found a double spread about a recent spate of attacks on churches. It was not the first time the Coptic community had been targeted and in all likelihood it would not be the last. Every now and then somebody would get it into their mind that a 14 per cent minority posed a deadly threat to the way of life of the other 86 per cent. Violence towards Christians had been going on for centuries. The response from those on high had been the usual murmurs of consolation and promises of change to come. Al-Raïs himself, the president, was pictured shaking hands with the Coptic pope, always a useful gesture even if it signified little in the way of real change. The Minister of the Interior claimed confidently that such events were the result of a criminal element which was trying to undermine the country, and called on everyone to help fight this attack on the nation’s security. At the bottom of one page, tucked into the corner, there appeared a brief mention of a church in Imbaba which was battling against the threat of closure due to the building having been declared unsafe. There was a blurred photograph of a fierce-looking priest declaring he would fight until his last breath to keep the church open. In the closing lines of the article, the journalist noted that the priest, Father Macarius, was regarded as a controversial figure, accused by some locals of conducting satanic rituals, which may or may not have been related to the recent spate of young boys being murdered in the area.
Tiring swiftly of this nonsense, Makana tossed aside the paper with a sigh and got to his feet to begin pacing. There wasn’t much room for pacing, most of the office being cluttered with desks, all of which, bar one, were empty at this hour. Talal had led him to believe that Blue Ibis Tours was a fairly successful operation. It now seemed obvious that Talal’s eyes were clouded, firstly because he was employed by the company, and secondly, and probably more significantly, by the fact that he was infatuated with the owner’s daughter. Makana decided he would hold on a little longer, for the boy’s sake if for nothing else, but his first impressions were not encouraging. Either they were doing so well the owner didn’t need to be on time, or, more likely, there was so little to do nobody could be bothered to be behind their desks at nine in the morning.
The only occupied desk was the one closest to the door, facing the entrance. The woman who sat behind it was the person who had let him in. She certainly didn’t seem short of work.
‘I don’t have any record of an appointment,’ she had said, looking him over and coming up short of conviction. ‘Can you tell me what it concerns?’
‘Mr Faragalla would not thank me for discussing his business without his permission.’
To her credit she did not show annoyance at this. Instead she tried calling her boss a couple of times without luck. Obviously Faragalla had better things to do with his time than answering the telephone. Now the woman seemed to take pity on Makana. She ceased the clicking of her keyboard and reached for the telephone again.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, listening for a time before replacing the receiver. ‘Are you sure I can’t get you something to drink? Coffee or tea?’
Makana reconsidered his options and decided a cup of coffee would not be out of place. ‘Have you worked for Sayyid Faragalla for long?’
‘Almost a year,’ she smiled briefly. ‘How time flies.’
Makana was beginning to warm to her. He smiled back.