The Cairo Code Read Free Page B

heard you were living in Washington. But come to think of it, if I remember correctly, you’ve had a lifelong interest in Egypt. You have several archeological digs to your credit, and served here with military intelligence during the war. But I can only presume the real reason you’re here is that you obviously knew about Halder.”
    Weaver seemed at a loss for words, caught in a trap of his own making. He sighed, flopped into one of the chairs, but didn’t utter a word.
    â€œWas it Johann Halder back there in the morgue?”
    Weaver didn’t reply.
    â€œThen at least tell me why you’re here. And how you knew Halder. After all, it’s not every day I come across a story about a man who’s been reported dead, and yet might still be alive over fifty years later.”
    Still Weaver didn’t answer.
    I stared at him. “I get the feeling I’m talking to a brick wall, Colonel.”
    He remained sitting there, motionless.
    â€œAt least tell me why you’re here. One simple question. Is that too much to ask?”
    Weaver seemed to lose his patience. “ Carney, you’re like a dog after a bone. I’ve had enough of your accursed questions.” He stood up, as if to leave, and said firmly, “You’re a stranger to me. And I don’t discuss my personal business with strangers.”
    â€œOK, Colonel, if that’s what you wish. But I’d like to tell you something. Maybe come at this from another angle.”
    Weaver looked exasperated. “Shut it, Carney. I’m not in the mood.”
    â€œI think maybe you’ll want to hear what I have to say.”
    â€œI doubt it.”
    â€œJust hear me out for one minute. The moment I heard your name back in the morgue, I felt a shiver down my spine. I kind of like to think it might be kismet playing its part—fate to you and me, the kind of thing the Egyptians are so fond of believing in.”
    Weaver’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”
    â€œThe article I wrote about you after Dallas. You never asked how come I knew so much about your personal background, when there really wasn’t that much information on public record.”
    Weaver frowned, nodded. “I seem to vaguely recall all the facts were there, all right. But what of it?”
    â€œDoes the name Tom Carney mean anything to you?”
    Weaver looked totally astonished, as if I’d dealt him a blow. “Captain Tom Carney?”
    â€œThe same. He was my old man. You served in military intelligence together, and landed in North Africa during Operation Torch, 1943. You were wounded by shrapnel after a mortar hit your reconnaissance unit outside Algiers. He carried you back to American lines, under heavy enemy fire. He got a medal for that one, on your recommendation. He was also wounded twice for his trouble, and got shipped home.”
    The hardness peeled from Weaver’s face, all his aggression gone, and he studied me intently. “Well, I’ll be . . . So you’re Tom Carney’s son.”
    â€œMy old man talked a lot about you over the years. The feeling I got, you were once good buddies.”
    Weaver nodded, and his eyes watered, as if he were remembering. “He was a good man. Courageous. Honest. One of the best I served with. I was only sorry we didn’t keep in touch. Though I heard he died, what, maybe ten years back?”
    â€œTwelve. And still not a day goes by when I don’t miss him.” I looked at Weaver steadily. “I like to believe that sometimes lives intersect, even briefly, for all sorts of reasons we mortals can’t even begin to comprehend. Maybe it’s written in our stars. Like you and my old man. You know, it’s odd, but my father used to talk a lot about destiny. And maybe if he hadn’t been with you the time you were wounded, things might have turned out very differently, for both of you. Fate’s a funny