Salem Express: Legacy of Death

CHAPTER ONE

JEDDAH, SAUDI ARABIA

16 December 1991

Mohammed Wali Walla paced nervously as he waited to board the Salem Express ferry bound for Safaga, Egypt. He was charged with ensuring that a Toyota and its deadly cargo were delivered safely into the hands of the Islamic Brotherhood in Egypt. The Brotherhood had promised to assist in transporting the car and cargo to the Sudan and the waiting Osama Bin Laden. As a senior leader of the al-Qaida network, he knew only too well the price of failure.

This part of the mission would be accomplished by a team composed entirely of veteran mujahedin from the war in Afghanistan. The defeat of the Russians proved to them that Allah was on their side. Now it was time to prepare to fight other infidels. The Americans had fouled the holy soil of Saudi Arabia with their presence, but when Osama Bin Laden had voiced a protest to their presence he was exiled. Soon the infidels would all pay for this indignity. America was not immune to retaliation for their affront to Allah.

Numerous pilgrims returning from their holy Hajh to Mecca were boarding the ferry. It was a 450-mile voyage to Safaga that would take many hours. Storms that frequented the Red Sea at this time of year could make the crossings miserable. Even now the wind was blowing stronger, and Wali could only hope it would spare his nervous stomach from any additional stress.

Fahid, his second in command, approached and said, All is in readiness my friend. Thanks be to God, responded Wali.

Wali watched intently as Jamal and his three companions drove the car onto the ferry. No one would be allowed to stay in the Toyota during the crossing, but the car and cargo would certainly be guarded closely.

Allah Akbar (God is great), thought Wali.

The horns announcing the imminent departure of the ferry were sounded to alert anyone not yet onboard to hurry. Wali walked up the gangplank followed closely by Fahid, and soon they were inundated by the throng of people packing onto the ship.

Wali could feel the excitement of the returning pilgrims who were now so close to home. He too was excited. Not because his journey was ending, but because it was just starting. Wali worked his way to the cafeteria to await word from Jamal as to the location of the car.

Tea, he ordered softly. After getting his tea he walked over against the nearest railing and waited. A short time later he watched as Jamal approached him.

It is done my brother, said Jamal.

Not here, come with me, responded Wali as he turned and walked toward the open deck area. The boat was so crowded that it was nearly impossible to find a place they could talk safely. They finally ended up near the bow where the wind and cold spray kept the other passengers away. Once there, they talked in low tones.

The car is on the second deck, Jamal informed Wali. It is locked and being watched, he continued.

We must be sure that it is protected, warned Wali. All our plans for revenge and holy Jihad are in that car.

Do not worry, my brother, all will go as planned Jamal told Wali.

Insh Allah, as God wills, stated Wali as he attempted unsuccessfully to light a cigarette in the ever- increasing wind.

I hope this storm does not make our brothers below too seasick, laughed Jamal. He had once been a merchant seaman and was accustomed to a rolling boat. For the others this was their first trip on the open sea.

I also pray for that, as ill men are not dependable guards, Wali rebuked Jamal.

I will return below to ensure the watch is maintained, Jamal said over his shoulder as he departed for the lower decks.

Wali stayed in the wind and cold while going over the plan in his mind. The wind seemed to be getting worse and the large black storm clouds looked foreboding.

May Allah protect us, whispered Wali as he threw his unlit, rain-soaked cigarette over the side.

Jamal could instantly tell that all was not well at the car. Fahid and two of the others were quite ill and the smell from their vomit was almost overpowering.

Curse the sea and all ships, spouted Fahid as he bent over with another bout of nausea.

Jamal remembered what the first mate on his initial voyage had said, There are only three kinds of seasickness. The first, you think you are going to die. The second, you know you are going to die. The third, you hope you are going to die. Jamal had suffered all three, but eventually he had become accustomed to the roll of the sea. He wondered what kind of seasickness his men were experiencing. Unfortunately they would not be at sea long enough to get over it.

Take the men on deck, he told Fahid. I will stay here with Ramalla and keep watch.

Thank you my brother, gasped Fahid. I don’t know if I could stand this closed-in area much longer. Are you sure you are alright without us?

Go, Fahid. You are of no use like this and who is there to bother us?

Come with me, Fahid called to the others, as he headed for the stairway and fresh air.

Get some water from the lavatory, Jamal told Ramalla. Let’s clean this smelly mess up before we too are sick. Ramalla complied without any comment; fearful that if he took time to respond he would no longer be able to hold back the bile he felt forming in his throat. Never again will I go upon the sea, he thought. If this were not God’s work, I would never have come.

On the bridge the Captain watched the barometer expectantly. It looks like we are in for a serious blow, he told the helmsman. Keep a sharp lookout.

Yes Sir, the helmsman replied.

The first mate stormed onto the bridge. It will take a week to clean the smell out of the boat, he cursed. ‘These passengers are throwing up everywhere. The toilets are full and so is every bucket on the ship."

It is to be expected the captain calmly replied. Most of these people have never been on a ship and this storm is severe. I hope this weather does not prevent me from using the shortcut on this voyage.

Wali staggered back out on the deck. It was cold here, but the overpowering stench made it impossible to stay inside. People were curled up in fetal positions everywhere moaning between bouts of nausea. Many had actually thrown up all over themselves, but were too ill to care. Prayers to Allah could be heard emitting from those still coherent enough to ask for relief from this scourge.

Allah, why have you caused this storm to vex us when we do your work? prayed Wali. He noticed Fahid leaning over the railing. Rushing over to him he demanded, Who is watching the car?

Fahid slowly focused his eyes and after retching one more time he said, Jamal and Ramalla are there, although who would be about on an accursed night like this.

Our entire movement relies on us, responded Wali. If we fail, the Jihad is over. We would never be forgiven.

Insh Allah, was all Fahid could say.

This storm is getting increasingly worse, stated the captain. I think I will go in closer to the Egyptian coast and follow the shoreline north to Safaga. Bring her to a 240 degree heading, he ordered the helmsman.

It was dark now, and the waves were breaking over the bow soaking everyone on deck. Many of the passengers were too sick to care and just lay there in sodden misery. As the boat came about on the new heading, the rocking increased. The passengers’ moans turned to whimpering as they became weaker from the debilitating illness.

The normal route to Safaga was to remain offshore until you were able to follow the marked deep-water channel around the northern tip of the Panorama Reef. Then you would follow a southwest course that would ensure deep water all the way to Safaga. The captain intended to shorten the trip several hours by sailing between the Egyptian mainland and the Hyndman Reefs. These reefs lie just south of the port, and this was an extremely dangerous route to follow, even in good weather.

The winds had risen to gale force, but the captain was sure that as the Salem Express got closer to shore, the waves would ease up. As they approached Hyndman Reefs, they were impossible to distinguish in the storm’s waves. The captain, still confident the ferry was a safe distance from the reefs, was thrown forward by a sudden impact. The ship had struck a reef on its starboard side. Even worse, the visor on the bow was thrown upward by the collision. The visor was raised while the ferry was in port to allow cars to drive on or off the car deck. An open visor at sea and in the present weather conditions would allow massive amounts of water to enter the ship.

Reverse all engines, screamed the captain. The mate immediately responded by changing the ships telegraph, but the ship was already listing sharply to the starboard side.

Passengers started screaming as the list became more severe, and many were washed off the deck by the waves. The onrushing water entering through the raised visor and the holes caused by the collision with the reef continued filling the boat at an alarming rate. Soon the dire situation was obvious. Nothing could save the Salem Express from sinking.

Abandon ship, ordered the captain. Get everyone to the lifeboats.

The force of the collision knocked Wali off his feet. By Allah, what did we hit, he asked Fahid who was still too seasick to respond, or even care what had caused the jolt.

The abrupt change in the deck position told Wali that the ship was in serious trouble. Seeing the car now was imperative, and he ran to the stairway, only to be blocked by screaming people attempting to get up on the deck. He punched and kicked his way below, not caring who was being struck; his only thought was to save the cargo in the car.

As he reached the car deck, the water was already ankle deep and rising rapidly. Jamal and Ramalla were confused and starting to panic. Jamal had a bleeding cut on his forehead where something had obviously struck him.

We must get the cargo out, Wali shouted as he sloshed toward the car.

Ramalla immediately joined him at the trunk, but Jamal just stood there with blood flowing down his face. The keys, Wali screamed. We must have the keys.

Wali shook Jamal violently and asked, Where are the keys? Jamal continued his blank stare without responding. Desperation growing, Wali clawed at the other man’s pockets throwing out anything that were not keys.

Finally the keys were located. The ever-rising water was now waist deep, and some of the cars were actually starting to float in the deeper water. Wali struggled toward the trunk crying for aid, Help me great Allah to have the strength to do your bidding.

The decks of the ship were covered with screaming people. The vessel had stalled and was leaning so far to starboard that passengers on that side of the deck were falling off. The lifeboats were impossible to launch at this severe angle. Unbelievably, only about ten minutes had passed since the ship collided with the reef.

Get those people off, we are going down, the captain told the first mate. The mate immediately went out on the deck to try to assist the hundreds of people now in a full state of panic. Some were jumping into the raging sea, and others were clinging tenaciously to the ship hoping somehow their lives would be saved.

Get off the ship, he shouted, but his voice was drowned out by the screams of helpless, desperate people. Grabbing one woman and her child, the first mate headed overboard. As all three disappeared into the angry waves and howling winds, the ship’s officer thought, maybe I can at least save two of them.

The water was rushing into the car deck at such a pace that Wali was not making any headway in his determined attempt to open the trunk and retrieve the cargo from its hidden compartment. Could he and Ramalla get the secret cargo to the surface and into a lifeboat? he wondered. His progress was slow and the water was already up to his shoulders. The car was starting to become more buoyant and move slightly. Ramalla hung onto the roof, reaching out his hand to assist Wali.

Allah save me, Wali cried out desperately.

Finally, he was able to grab Ramalla’s hand and with one final effort pull himself to the car. Now, he thought, all I have to do is open the trunk and remove the case. Surely he and Ramalla were capable of getting it up to the deck.

Wali slid down to the trunk, which was now completely submerged. Taking a deep breath, he dove down and inserted the key. He turned the key, but could not lift the trunk. The water pressure was holding it closed. He tried again and again holding his breath until he started to see spots. When he surfaced there was only about five inches of clearance between the water and the ceiling. Ramalla was gone, either drowned or run away.

Taking another deep breath of air he swam back down to the car’s trunk. The entire car was now bouncing in the water like a cork due to the air that was trapped inside the vehicle. As he again tried the trunk, Wali thought, No, it cannot be. Allah would not allow them to come this close to using the deadly cargo to decimate the hated United States and then fail.

Eventually he had to surface, but when he rose there was no surface. Banging his head sharply on the metal ceiling, he realized his previous five inches of air space was now water. Knowing he was dying, his heart filled with anger. He would not be an instrument in destroying America. Without the cargo, none of them would.

The scene on the ship’s deck was one of horror. The ferry was sinking rapidly, waves washing over her superstructure. Not a single lifeboat had been launched. Without power, the Salem Express foundered like a wounded animal that is awaiting death. The captain stared out over the doomed vessel. Insh Allah, he muttered.

Fahid had been swept from the deck as the boat sank, and fear had driven the problem of seasickness from his mind. Thrashing around trying to keep his head above water in the enormous waves he thought, surely a lifeboat will be coming from the ship. In a few brief moments, the ferry sank deeper and deeper into the ocean. Clearly, no lifeboat would come. He turned to see the lights of shore and other ships on the inside of this killer reef. Everything that could possibly save his life seemed so far away, too far for a poor swimmer like him.

As he looked back toward the Salem Express, he was horrified to see the ferry was gone. Only twenty minutes had passed since they had collided with the reef, and all that remained of the huge ship was a large group of swimmers splashing about in the water. Cries for help were everywhere. People could be heard screaming for loved ones or entreating Allah for assistance. There seemed to be no one to help them, not man, not God.

An officer from the Salem Express swam near Fahid. The man was attempting to save the life of a small child as well as his own. Keep swimming toward the shore, he shouted. The current is pulling us there. All you have to do is stay afloat.

Fahid started to swim deliberately toward the distant shore. Everyone around him seemed to be doing the same. Coughing, sputtering and crying, they swam frenziedly in the huge waves. Some sank beneath the surface, too tired or too poor a swimmer to make the distance. Many more would perish before this tragedy was finished.

After swimming for what seemed like forever, the shore only appeared slightly closer than before. Fahid could only see the shore when he rose on the crest of a wave. The group of swimmers became smaller and smaller as the relentless waves culled out the next victims. Fahid knew it was only a matter of time before he too sank into the depths. Already tired, the shore seemed too far away.

His luck seemed to change when he bumped into another swimmer. A middle-aged woman was using an empty cooler as a float. Grabbing the cooler, he tried to hold himself up too, but the cooler was not buoyant enough to support both of them.

May Allah forgive me, Fahid whispered as he came to a decision. He grabbed the cooler and struck the woman in the face, attempting to take away the cooler. Again and again he struck her, yet she maintained her desperate grip on the cooler’s handle. Fahid grabbed the other handle tightly and raised his leg to kick her in the face. His repeated strikes were starting to take effect as the woman tired. Finally, she lost her grip on the cooler, and it was his.

I am saved, he gasped. Thanks to Allah.

A blow on his shoulder caused him to turn. The woman, as fearful as a ghost, was trying to get back the lifesaving cooler. He kicked away from her, stroking as hard as he could. She continued on, screaming and striking in a hysterical effort to stay alive. If she got a grip on him she would pull him under with her. Continuing to swim, he successfully kept the same distance between them.

Would she never go under, he thought. Die you foul bitch, he screamed. You are endangering the work of God.

As if in response to his final shouted curses, the women slowly sank beneath the surface. Her arched hand was the last thing to disappear and her finger seemed to point directly at him. Murderer, he heard in his mind.

Now that the ordeal with the woman was over, he tried to concentrate on keeping his head above water. Even with the added buoyancy, the waves continued to pass over his head. Each time this happened, the cooler would pop him back to the surface allowing him to cough up the water he had swallowed. He felt like he had been in the water for days rather than hours. His only thought was would the night never end?

The lights on his right seemed much closer than the ones on shore and must be from boats at anchor. Could he swim to them, he wondered. Since the current was not going that direction, the decision was made for him. Save your strength, he told himself.

Throughout the night Fahid altered between crying and praying. Numerous promises were made regarding the perfect Moslem he would be, if only he would get to shore alive. He wanted badly to sleep, to just lie down and close his eyes. Must not do that, he said aloud to himself. Just keep going.

Gradually the area seemed to lighten behind him. The sun is coming up. The night has ended, he cried aloud. The shore was barely visible, now only several hundred meters away. There were far fewer swimmers left splashing in the water. Most had perished during the night. Seeing someone exit the water on the shore, Fahid believed he might survive this cruel ordeal after all.

Eventually his feet felt the bottom. He was now able to walk, but was still reluctant to let go of the cooler; his sole contact with life. Dragging himself up onto the shore and falling on his knees, he began to cry, Thank you for my deliverance and praise be to Allah. Once he stopped moving, he fell asleep almost immediately.

Upon waking, he noticed that others had made shore also. Most of the survivors were young men, with a few women scattered among them. There was only one child who was being carried in the arms of a large man that Fahid recognized as the ship’s officer who had told him to swim with the current toward the shoreline.

Fahid then realized that he must get word to the brotherhood of the lost cargo. The lethal weapons that just yesterday had promised destruction and death in the United States no longer existed. Surely they could not blame him for this loss. Then you never knew, since to them failure was unacceptable. Perhaps disappearing would be best for him. After all, the brotherhood would consider him dead, and the numbered account in Switzerland would ensure him a comfortable life. Any life though was preferable to death. Let the secret die with the Salem Express.

The search for survivors continued for several days. Out of approximately 650 passengers and crew members only about 180 reached the shore and lived. The vessel now rested on her starboard side in over 100 feet of water. Divers recovered many bodies from the cabins, but eventually the recovery operation was declared too dangerous. The remaining portion of the ferry was sealed off. This was an unnecessary tragedy that changed the lives of so many, both the night the Salem Express sank and in the future.

CHAPTER TWO

EGYPT

June Present Time

Bret Davis was awakened by the stewardess’s statement, Fasten your seatbelt for landing. He sat up, put his seat up, and tightened the seatbelt he had been wearing loosely. This long trip had been exhausting. The fact that Alitalia Airlines had been six hours late departing New York, causing him to miss a connection in Milan, had not helped. Fortunately the airline was able to arrange another flight, and he only had to wait two hours in the Milan airport.

Stretching, he looked out the window. Excuse me, he said to the nervous looking passenger in the window seat. Leaning across gave him a better look at the Great Pyramid on the port side of the aircraft.

Actually, the flight on the Alitalia 737 from Milan to Cairo was comfortable. Instead of five small seats across, this plane only had four larger ones. This seating arrangement was almost as good as the first class on most other flights. The food, however, was no better than any other airline food.

Bret wondered if his guide from the travel agency would still be at the Cairo airport, since he was now almost ten hours behind schedule. He was planning a week of sightseeing in Egypt before meeting Patrick Donovan at Safaga for their assignment.

He thought of Patrick, the person that had been his best friend since they were in Boston College and NAVY ROTC together. Remembering the SEAL training they had endured and how they helped each other get through Hell Week still brought a smile to his face.

Their backgrounds were very different. Bret came from a middle class family. His father was a retired Captain in the Coast Guard and could afford to send him to college.

Patrick, on the other hand, came from a poor family in South Boston and had to work extra hard to get the full ROTC scholarship. Even with his scholarship, waiting tables for extra money was required. Patrick was a marine engineer, an excellent pilot, and one of the best scuba divers Bret had ever known.

Patrick’s one failing in Bret’s eyes was that he was a firm believer in marriage. Bret felt marriage was an unnatural lifestyle. He believed that to stay married to one person your entire life was beyond the capacity of most men and women. Based on his life experiences, what started as a two people loving each other, eventually turned into tolerating each other at best. Or even worse, hating each other.

Bret believed many forms of love could last for a lifetime, like the love some parents have for children. The phrase happily married was an oxymoron, and marriage was a socially accepted fantasy that could only lead to apathy or hate.

Some would say his view of marriage was the result of his own parents getting a divorce when he was three and later his being reunited with his father after his mother was killed in a car wreck. However, many married people, in a moment of truthfulness, would agree with his view of marriage.

Bret’s father was a stern man seldom given to overt signs of affection. The only time that Bret could remember him losing his composure was at his mother’s funeral. Bret was only five years old, but the memory was vivid of that cold, drab, rainy day as he watched his father standing at his mother’s grave with tears in his eyes. Bret was too shocked to cry at the funeral, but when he did start crying it took several days for him to stop.

Any person who has played with magnets, has very quickly learned the rule, opposites attract. This is one way of explaining Bret’s attraction to the Donovan family. Patrick’s family was a very close and loving group of Irish descent. There was always hugging or kissing among family members. Bret remembered how uncomfortable he had felt the first time he had visited that house. Patrick’s mother had given him a huge hug and sat him right down and started to feed him.

When Patrick Donovan senior came home, the scene turned to pure pandemonium with all family members trying to get hugs in at the same time. Patrick’s father was a huge, jovial man who worked for the city of Boston in the road maintenance division. Bret witnessed, for the first time in his life, a husband sweeping his wife off the floor in an overt show of affection. That first night was unlike anything Bret had ever seen before, and he could explain the activity as only occurring in Patrick’s home.

Bret had slowly become part of this family and had spent most of his free time from Boston College visiting the Donovan’s home. He always wished that his house was like this home but contented himself with what he had.

Bret knew his father cared for him very much, just as he felt a deep love for his father. Even though his father’s job kept him busy, Captain Davis always found time to take Bret fishing or hiking in the Massachusetts countryside. The joy of catching his first native brook trout and cooking the fish with his father over an open fire still ranked as a very fond memory and some of the best food he had ever tasted.

Looking to his father for advice was something Bret still did, since the advice was always given in an honest and non-judgmental manner. He would have stopped to see his father on the way to Egypt except his father was attending the funeral of an old military comrade at Arlington National Cemetery.

Even though nothing was ever said, Bret knew his father was disappointed he did not make the Navy a career. How could he explain to his father that the service and its regimentation were an impediment to what he wanted to do in life? Even though he had a great deal of respect for the members of the military, Bret knew active military was a difficult and often thankless job.

So while the Navy had fulfilled his desire for travel, excitement, and diving, the freedom he needed for writing and expressing himself was missing. The articles he wrote were often biting condemnations of very important people. This style of writing would never have been tolerated if he were still in on active duty. He had remained a member of the Naval Reserves and held the rank of Lieutenant Commander. He knew this earned him the unspoken approval and respect of his father and satisfied his need to serve a system that would not accept him for himself.

Bret was awakened from his reverie by the bumping of the plane’s landing, and he tried his best to sit patiently while the aircraft taxied to the concourse. As soon as the motion of the plane stopped, he got up, grabbed his carry-on from the overhead bin and stood in line with other impatient passengers waiting to exit the aircraft.

While only slightly over 6 feet in height and 178 pounds, Bret still stood taller than most of the passengers around him. His height advantage allowed him to see a stunning dark-haired woman from the starboard side of the plane staring at him. With a gleam in his soft brown eyes, he unconsciously brushed back his sandy hair and stared back. This beautiful woman seemed embarrassed to have been caught looking, and she immediately turned her face away. She must have started her travel in Milan; she looks too neat to have been traveling very long, he thought.

Bret looked down at his disheveled clothes and felt his greasy hair. I must look like hell, he realized. That is probably why she was staring, he surmised.

Proceeding off the plane and following the other travelers toward the immigration counter, Bret noticed several individuals standing off to the side holding signs aloft. He was pleasantly surprised to see a sign with his name.

Walking over to the sign, he said, I’m Bret Davis.

I am Karim, your guide, the young man stated as he extended his hand.

Bret shook his hand asking, What do you recommend is the quickest way to get through customs?

If you will give me your passport and visa I will walk you through immigration. Then we will pick up your baggage, explained Karim.

Bret handed over the documents and followed Karim as instructed. In minutes, they were through the barrier and heading toward the baggage area.

Do you have any cameras? asked Karim.

I have several cameras with housings as well as a whole bag of scuba gear, responded Bret.

We will have to get the serial numbers of the cameras and register them before we pick up your baggage, explained Karim. This is to ensure that the cameras leave with you and are not sold in Egypt.

Don’t worry about those cameras, they stay with me. I need them to make my living, said Bret.

While waiting at the baggage carousel, Bret again noticed the same young lady from the plane looking his direction. Naturally he was very tempted to walk over and introduce himself, but knowing the customs in most Moslem nations frowned on such public overtures, he contented himself with some furtive glances in her direction.

This mirage of beauty was about 5’6" tall, had dark eyes and hair and the slim, supple figure of an athlete. Bret had a hard time not staring directly at this lady. Being what is euphemistically called, a leg and butt man, Bret found this woman’s figure fascinating and truly a visual pleasure. The thought of being fortunate enough to hold, caress, and make love with this woman was a place Bret refused to let his thoughts drift, at least not for more than a few tantalizing moments.

The alarm warning the waiting travelers that the luggage carousel was moving startled Bret from his sexual fantasies. Surprisingly, one of the first bags was his clothing suitcase, lulling him into thinking that he would get through customs rapidly. Unfortunately he had numerous bags and his last two were just that, the last two bags to appear on the carousel that he now silently cursed.

Karim had managed to acquire two porters and a large luggage carrier. I thought only ladies were supposed to travel with this much baggage. I cannot believe a man can have so much luggage, his guide said with a smile on his face.

Only the one suitcase is my clothing, the rest is diving and underwater photography equipment I need for my job, Bret explained defensively to Karim. The bulk of my gear was shipped to the dive shop in Safaga. What you are seeing is only the can’t-do-without equipment I always carry with me. You got lucky and did not even know it.

Do you have the serial numbers of the cameras with you? asked Karim. Yes, responded Bret, I always keep those numbers in the event equipment is lost in transit, and I might need to use my insurance for replacing the equipment. The serial numbers are here in my Palm Pilot.

Very impressive. I wish all the travelers I guide for were as organized as you. Karim said. I will only be a short while. Now would be a good time for you to exchange your money.

Bret went to the Money Exchange window and traded $1000 in U.S. currency for Egyptian money. By the time he signed the forms and counted the money, Karim was returning with his bags and the porters.

All finished Mr. Davis, asked Karim? We have a van waiting for the trip to the hotel; which is about a forty-minute ride from the airport.

The minute that Bret exited the air-conditioned airport, the extreme heat of Egypt was as obvious as if he had walked into a solid wall. Breaking into an instantaneous sweat, he found the heat almost unbearable. He wondered if he would be able to adapt to the heat during this sightseeing week without any scuba diving to cool off. He immediately accepted Karim’s offer to wait in the van while his gear was loaded. The air-conditioned shade was much more tolerable.

In a few moments, his baggage was stowed, and the van was on the way to the Imhotep Hotel. Bret noticed that one of the men sitting silently in the van’s front seat was armed. Who is that? he asked Karim.

He is a member of the Police, put here for your protection. Security is assigned to all tourist transportation, explained Karim. His guide seemed to be competent and continued to enlighten Bret with facts about Cairo and Giza.

While crossing the Nile River en route to the hotel, Karim explained that most of the drinking water in Cairo was treated Nile water. While the water had no adverse effect on the native population, the same could not be said for the tourists. Karim was emphatic about the necessity to use bottled water, even to brush his teeth.

As Karim’s soft voice continued with explanations of local information, Bret started to doze off. A short time later they were pulling up in front of the hotel. Here too, security was apparent. The front entrance had both armed guards and a metal detector. Karim escorted Bret to the registration desk and helped with the process of getting his room.

Bret explained that he would like his diving and camera equipment stored. All he would need now was his clothing suitcase, and the small soft camera case that held his 35mm Nikon.

Karim replied No problem sir, we will store your equipment in our downtown office until you leave. I will arrange for additional storage for you at Luxor during your visit there.

Thanks. I really dreaded the thought of hauling that equipment around with me. What time do we meet tomorrow?

I will be by at 0800 to pick you up to go to Giza, the great pyramids, and the Cairo Museum. The hotel starts serving breakfast here at 0600.

Well then, I’ll head for my room, yawned Bret.

The bellboy will guide you and carry your luggage Mr. Davis. If there is nothing else I can do, I will see you in the morning.

Goodnight Karim, said Bret. Lead on, he said to the bellboy who had been waiting patiently with the luggage cart.

This way sir, the bellboy replied as he led off down the hallway.

As they walked, Bret noticed his surroundings and was pleased. The hotel was modern and clean, spreading over several acres with gardens scattered sporadically throughout. All rooms, actually bungalows, offered the guest privacy and comfort without elevators or stairs. The large pool appeared immaculately clean as the blue water sparkled from the underwater lights. Several restaurants, each specializing in a different cuisine, were also available.

All Bret wanted was a shower and a good night’s sleep in a real bed, not some seat in an airplane. The long trip had taken its toll, and the feeling of exhaustion was starting to overtake him by the minute.

The bellboy opened the door to room 104, turned on the lights, carried in his luggage, turned down the bed and then handed Bret the room key. Predictably, he stood with the momentary hesitation used by all hotel personnel worldwide as they await their expected tip. Bret handed the boy a five-pound note, about $2.50 in U.S. currency. The young man bowed his way to the door saying, Shukran, as he left.

Once the door was closed, Bret immediately used the bathroom facilities, since his rapid exit from the plane, customs, the van ride, and checking into the hotel without a restroom stop had resulted in a feeling of increased discomfort for the last hour. After answering the call of nature and unpacking clothes, he took a long hot shower and left a wake-up call for 0600. With the only audible sound in his room being the gentle hum of the air conditioner, sleep came almost immediately.

The ringing phone woke Bret with a start. After a moment or two, he reached for the phone. Hello, he rasped into the mouthpiece. Immediately a metallic voice replied, This is your 0600 wake-up call. Thanks, was his response, not awake enough to realize there was only a computer on the other end of the telephone line.

He still felt the effects of jet lag and would have liked to stay in bed a while longer, but sensed Karim would be waiting faithfully at 0800. Dragging himself from the bed, he headed for a wake-up shower. Since he slept nude, he could proceed directly to the warm rushing water. After the return-to-the-living shower, he toweled his muscular body vigorously. He actually felt pretty good about his physical condition. Certainly not good enough for SEAL training, but at 34 he still had a flat firm stomach. All the scuba diving had kept his legs and lower body trim.

After shaving, he dressed in a lightweight pair of pants and short-sleeve shirt preparing for the omnipresent heat. A hat was also a good idea, and he dug out an old floppy one from his suitcase. After grabbing his camera bag, he was ready for breakfast. The 24-hour coffee shop by the front desk had an excellent buffet. The only thing missing was bacon or any other type of pork. The last time Bret had gotten back from an extended stay in a Moslem country, he had ordered two eggs and a half-pound of bacon for breakfast. You always miss what you can’t have, he thought to himself.

By the time Bret was finishing his third cup of coffee, he saw Karim walking toward him. Are you ready to go? Karim asked. I will be as soon as I finish this coffee, responded Bret.

"It looks like a wonderful day for sightseeing. We will visit Giza this morning and then go to the museum