Fox Tracks by Rita Mae Brown

Author:Rita Mae Brown [Brown, Rita Mae]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780345532985
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2012-11-19T13:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 18

“Do you think they’ll try to kill you?” Crawford asked, voice emotionless as he leaned back in his cozy den chair. Dismay crossed Tariq’s face. “No. I’m not that important.” He paused. “At least I hope I’m not.”

“You’re important enough for Congressman Rickman to accuse you of fronting for the Muslim Brotherhood.” The older man, well dressed even at home, twisted a half smile. “He is, of course, an idiot hoping to get publicity, which he has, claiming this whole hullabaloo is for the sake of national security. All right, you’ve come to me for help. You owe me the truth.”

“Yes, sir.” From his perch on the edge of a Morris chair, Tariq lifted his deep brown eyes to Crawford’s light ones.

“Are you a member of the Muslim Brotherhood?”

“No. I am a Coptic Christian. There are twelve million of us in Egypt and we are under great stress. Churches have been burned. You may not remember but a little over a year ago in Cairo the military publicly abused some of our women. Pushed them around. Mocked them and roughed them up.”

“Rape?”

“No one is saying that, including the victims, but our women were attacked publicly by the military in Cairo because they aren’t Muslim and don’t follow the dress customs of that faith. As for the Muslim Brotherhood, I fear them more than the military. I fear anyone eager to impose their religion upon another.”

“Hmm.” Crawford smiled as his wife Marty came in with a silver tray holding tiny china cups, a small pot of espresso, delicate little plates—upon which rested curled orange peels, lemon peels, and both white and natural sugar cubes—and a large plate with chocolate swizzle sticks. “Thank you, darling.”

Marty kissed him on the cheek, then said to Tariq, “I know we don’t make coffee like you get at home, but I think I’ve come close—and oh, would you like some clotted cream?”

“Clotted cream?” Tariq’s eyebrows rose. “How I loved that when I studied in England. No, thank you. But with great good fortune, I will visit you in the spring with fresh strawberries.”

She clapped her hands without making much noise. “And I’ll have the clotted cream. That’s perfect.” She then looked to her husband, whom she understood and loved despite all. “Anything else?”

He reached up to run his hand down her forearm. “Not a thing.”

She left the two men as her husband poured the coffee.

Tariq nodded slightly as he took the proffered cup. “You are a fortunate man.”

Crawford looked at his wife’s back as she moved down the hall. “One of the reasons I am where I am today is because I found her. I’m not exactly a warm and fuzzy guy. She makes up for it, and she rightly reprimands me for missing things about people.”

Tariq smiled. “My mother’s version of that was to say nothing to my father but to throw up her hands, roll her eyes to heaven, and leave the room.”

The two men laughed, then Crawford continued his interrogation. “For you and your people, it probably doesn’t matter who governs Egypt.

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