ARAB by Jim Ingraham Read Free Book Online Page B

you off to?”
    “I have a luncheon date with a high official at the airport.”
    She laughed. “Sail on, my friend,” watching him pick up the tab.
    *
     
    He was seated in the restaurant on Gezira long before the great man arrived. Keeping Esmat Bindari waiting would have been inexcusable. He could not afford to ruin this one-in-a-million chance to make a good impression. He was, after all, only a mechanic. And the man who had invited him here was an important man.
    He was glancing out the window over rooftops at high buildings on the opposite bank of the Nile when he turned at the mention of his name. Surprised he pushed his chair back and got clumsily to his feet.
    “No, no, sit down,” Esmat said, walking smartly up to him but not extending his hand. He was smiling, undoubtedly at Bashir’s awkwardness.
    “Have you ordered?”
    “No, I just got here,” Bashir said. He had been waiting a half hour.
    “Good, then you must try the tahina. And the oriental bread here is exquisite.” He caught the notice of a waiter and placed his order. “With tea,” he said, smiling, unmindful that his having placed an order without consulting his guest was patronizing and rude. But Bashir smiled. He was offended but at the same time relieved. On his own he wouldn’t have known whether to order a full meal or merely an appetizer like this tahina . Perhaps a meal would follow.
    “So,” Esmat said, spreading a cloth napkin over his lap, “they tell me you’ve been hard at work learning about electrical systems.”
    “Avionics, yes,” Bashir said.
    “State of the art, I imagine.”
    “Just about.”
    “And you’ve done work on corporate jets?”
    “Yes.”
    “Like the president’s?”
    “A Learjet, yes. But a later model, a model 55.”
    “And what does that go for?”
    “New? I think they’re asking three and a half million, American. Maybe more.”
    “Ooo, That much!” Esmat leaned back when the waiter arrived with the food.
    The emanations from this man were just noises. He was neither listening nor thinking about what he was saying. Bashir felt slightly offended but he contented himself with watching the man’s small hands break the bread and dip a piece into the pureed chickpeas and sesame-seed paste.
    “Go ahead, try it,” Esmat urged.
    Bashir had eaten it before, but, to please the man, he pretended it was a new experience.
    “I understand you sublet an apartment in Garden City.” Esmat said.
    How and why would he know that?
    “Oh, don’t be surprised,” Esmat said, laughing, the food still in his mouth. “You are an important member of our team. We like to know all about our key employees. I assume you can practice your inglizi there.”
    Bashir wrinkled his face in puzzled surprise. I’m a “key” employee? He wanted to believe he was being considered for promotion, but he knew better. He was a mechanic, a well-trained mechanic, but nothing more. Yet, why had he been invited here? Had to be a reason.
    “Aah,” Esmat said, wiping his mouth with the napkin. “You are wondering why I’ve invited you here.”
    Is this man a mind reader? “I’m flattered,” Bashir said.
    “As well you should be. Tomorrow you are to report to Rifaat Nasr. You know who he is?”
    “Of course,” Bashir said. Nasr was the engineer in charge of security for the president’s Learjet.
    “Very soon you will be working for him.”
    For a long moment Esmat sat there smacking his lips, enjoying the pleased look on Bashir’s face. He pushed back his chair. “Enjoy your lunch,” he said, rising abruptly. He gave Bashir a little wave and walked away.
    Bashir watched him glide past tables and potted palms and disappear past a decorated screen where, hopefully, he would stop at the cashier’s station and pay the bill. What happened? It was impolite in the extreme to have walked out like that, to have made no excuse, to have abruptly got up from the table. He could at least have pretended to enjoy a few moments of