“We’ve sealed the city,” he mumbled, sipping the latest in the endless stream of steaming cups. “Every road has been barricaded – the airport, the train stations, the bus stations, the trolley-bus stations, the Express Tram to Heliopolis. Every taxi has been alerted. Scott’s picture and the girl’s have been run off by the hundreds and will soon be in every public building, on utility poles, in the hands of everyone connected with transportation. Should either be seen, the nearest police official is to be notified. The newspapers are carrying the same pictures.”
“What about the river?”
“Every available launch is patrolling. And Marfak has assigned helicopters and light aircraft for searching the desert.”
“And yet,” mused Badran, when his cousin paused for another sip of his coffee, his heavy lips searching tentatively for the edge of the hot cup, “just one slip and they’ll wriggle through. Darken their faces, throw galabias over them, and they’ll blend right in with the fellahin.”
“I know” Tahio sighed, well aware of the enormous chances for failure. He peered blearily through the steam rising from his coffee. “We tried to cut off Giza and we’re undertaking a house-by-house search, but they’re probably already out. Only Allah knows whether or not they doubled back into the city or headed south or . . .”
His voice trailed off.
“Get the military involved.”
“Marfak’s in,” Tahio repeated. “And as soon as authorizations can be made, we’ll have army detachments. But even then the net will be too porous. Much too porous.”
“So, we’ll have to anticipate them,” decided the long-legged Badran.
“Anticipate them?” Tahio scoffed. “Tell me, Abdullah, how do you anticipate Jews?”