Chapter II
In which the Good Doctor checks in at UN Regional Offices
Captain Fareeha Amari sat with her arms folded on the hotel lobby sofa. Her rifle was resting on her crossed legs. She appeared to be waiting, as she lightly kicked her boot-clad foot back and forth. Passing hotel staff and visitors gave her careful, inquisitive looks or talked to each other in low voices. Raising her arm to her face, she looked at the military-style watch she wore, then resumed her former pose. She appeared to be waiting for someone. Just then, a blonde woman came out of the elevator, looked around absently and headed towards the front desk. Immediately, Pharah stood up and walked over beside her, her long strides catching up with relative ease. "Oh! Good morning Captain!" Dr. Ziegler said cheerfully, "Where you waiting for me?"
"Yes", the Captain replied, "I am to accompany you wherever you go." she said as they walked through the large lobby.
"You slept well?" Pharah asked, looking sideways at her as they walked.
"I did indeed!" Angela answered. "I'm afraid I didn't manage to unpack even all my lingerie though," she started, but, sensing the Captain's embarrassment (probably from last night's incident), she deftly moved on. "I hope it isn't too hot out today," she said. Dr. Ziegler had dressed in a white dress shirt, medium length-skirt, and flats, in an attempt to compromise comfort in the heat with a sensible touch of formality.
She was re-tying her hair up as they walked. As she did so, her elbow bumped into the butt of Pharah's rifle.
"Gracious dear, do put that thing away!" Dr. Ziegler chided, pointing to the Captain's rifle, which she held in her hands. "We haven't even left the hotel!"
Pharah sheepishly complied, strapping the gun over her shoulder and across her back.
The man at the counter looked slightly startled at the weapon as the two women approached the desk. "What can I help you with?" He asked, trying to maintain composure and not to make eye contact with the Captain, "I hope your first night in Cairo was enjoyable."
"Oh it was," Angela replied, leaning on the counter.
"What I would like to know is," the good doctor continued, "Did a man by the name of Mahmoud Abbas leave a message for me?"
"Let me check," said the man, looking over at his computer screen. Pharah folded her arms, glancing around.
"Oh yes, there is such a note, he left it last night it seems." The clerk reached under the counter and produced a small note, which he gave to the doctor.
Dr. Ziegler opened it and read the contents:
Dr. Ziegler,
I hope you slept well. Have to work today but I will leave you in the care of Fareeha.
I have made reservations for us to have 8pm dinner at the 'Left Bank', a favourite restaurant of mine here in Cairo. See you then!
M. Abbas
"Well it seems I shall have to make it to the regional office on my own," she said, folding the letter. Captain Amari was peering over her shoulder. "I shall take you there," she offered. "I know the way; Dr. Abbas sent me the address this morning."
"Oh, well why didn't you say so!" laughed Angela, and she softly and playfully pushed the Captain's shoulder. Pharah was wearing a white sleeveless tank-top, minus the jacket she had sported the day before. Her substantial muscular arms and shoulders were visible as such, and the aesthetic of them left an impression on the good doctor as she did so. As for Pharah, she subconsciously noted the softness of the doctor's hand as she touched her shoulder. They were both partly, perhaps even mostly unaware of their own reactions at the time, and it was almost imperceptible, even had they been anticipating it - but it was nonetheless very real, like a brief, small spark in a dark room.
The two women walked out the front of the hotel, into the rising temperature of the morning, and stood on the sidewalk as the Captain hailed a cab, waving with her long, muscular arm. Placing her hand on the doctor's shoulder, she ushered her in the cab first, following herself after glancing around quickly. Pharah had a brief exchange in masri with the cab driver, and they departed. Angela sat primly on the edge of her seat, knees bent, while the Captain sat with a slight slouch, clutching her rifle upright between her legs.
"You are sure you know where this place is?" Dr. Ziegler asked, finally finishing re-tying her hair. Resting her elbow on the window, Pharah looked over at her, examining her closely for the first time. She was struck by the beauty of her golden hair in the Cairo sunlight, and her smooth, fair skin. Although she had escorted many VIPs and outsiders before, it was the first time she had been the bodyguard for a civilian, especially one like...Like this…
"What is it dear?" Angela was asking. Suddenly coming to, the Captain faltered "I-I was hoping you are not to hot in this weather," she said, recovering herself.
"It is so very hot, already so early in the day," Angela replied. She opened the window to let in the wind. "Well!" she exclaimed, reaching her arm out the window to catch the wind. It blew her hair out of her bun again, but she just laughed, feeling carefree. The wind blew Pharah's hair as well, and she in turn laughed a bit. The taxi man frowned at them in the rearview mirror even though he had no hair to be messed up. The doctor noticed and tried to suppress her laughter, drawing her eyebrows together in a mock frown, imitating him. The captain laughed freely for the first time at this, and Angela laughed too in response.
They came to a stop outside the UN regional office building. This is where Dr. Ziegler was officially to work, assigned as she had been to training local UN medical staff. It was a circular gray building, not particularly tall, but featuring a sleek modern design punctuated by angular column structures around its windowed exterior. Pharah got out of the cab, turning to look up at the building as she hoisted her rifle over her shoulder. Dr. Ziegler saw her as she stood there, wind blowing her thick black hair as she looked upwards, and it struck her that the Captain looked like some Egyptian goddess out of a legend.
"I shall wait outside for you," Pharah told her as they approached the front doors. "You will be safe inside; I shall wait until you return."
"Oh, thank you dear, I shouldn't take very long! Today is just for introductions you know!" Fanning herself and pushing her wind-blown hair back off her forehead, Dr. Ziegler went inside. Pharah assumed a position to the left of the sliding doors, resting her hands on the butt of her rifle, putting the barrel-end down on the ground between her legs, and waited. Every now and then someone in a suit or a medical jacket would go in or out of the building, but being as it was a UN building, they barely gave her or her rifle a second glance. Perhaps they were used to seeing such people. The fact is, Pharah was much more comfortable in this kind of environment - as opposed to a hotel or other such place. She had been trained as a fighter and security guard from the time she was a child; martial arts, marksmanship, field operations, and weight training. She always felt the most fulfillment when engaging in these things, and she truly enjoyed herself doing them. Perhaps it was because she had never known much else; but she never longed for much more than these things, which all together comprised Fareeha Amari's world. She was a woman born and bred in Egypt; she was as tough as grains of sand held in the hand and as beautifully enigmatic as the shifting shape of dunes in the desert winds.
Inside the building, Dr. Ziegler was touring around the facilities, being introduced to staff and meeting a handful of her pupils-to-be. One of the things she enjoyed the most was meeting new people, and talking to said people. Her natural adeptness at it was largely to thank for her being in the position she was in; being not only a brilliant medical expert, but also possessed of a vibrant international network to the extent she was. She had made sacrifices, to be sure - none in the way of ethics, thankfully, but her personal life was quite limited in scope. Her job was for all practical purposes her hobby. Though having had more than a few would-be suitors in the context of her work, Dr. Ziegler's relationship resume was quite sparse. Despite this, she never had the time to get lonely, and was a woman who enjoyed her work such that, she reasoned, she would be happier investing into it fully rather than not. More than anything, she enjoyed the new faces and new places her work afforded; the shifting of these things was her only constant. Love was not something she had thought too much about, much less fallen into. It was not that she avoided love, just that, love had simply not found her yet.
Outside, Pharah looked at her watch, raising it up to her face as was her habit. The sun had moved since they arrived, and now the Captain no longer stood in the shade. On the side grass adjacent to the main entrance were a few palm trees, but nothing that provided substantial shade. Besides, she had told Angela this is where should be, and so here she would stay. The Cairo sun was deceptively hot; floating still with seeming innocence in the cloudless blue sky, yet emitting a strong, dry heat all through the day until the moment it disappeared behind the dunes. Pharah wiped her forehead with her forearm; she was beginning to sweat. She was less affected by the heat than, say, Angela would have been, but the quiet golden sun took no prisoners. She shifted from one leg to the other. "Ealayk Allaena," she said. Reaching down, she pulled the neck of her tank back and forth at the chest, trying to create airflow around her body. She suddenly wished for something with which to fan herself.
Just then, she heard the sound of voices and a familiar laugh. Dr. Ziegler came out of the building-she was talking to someone as she walked out, and appeared to be be exchanging farewells.
"...And thank you so much for the bearings; I don't know what I would have done without you!" She was saying. "Good-bye! Good day!" Pharah picked up her rifle, rested it on her shoulder, and walked over to Angela's side. The doctor turned to notice her for the first time. "Oh! You've come. Such nice people here and I'm gl - Dear Pharah, look how soaked you are! I am so sorry; I stayed talking far too long, just thinking of myself, and now just look at this!" 'Soaked' was perhaps a bit of an exaggeration, but the Captain was indeed sweating quite a bit-her chocolate skin was glistening, and her tank had a faint damp patch across the front. "I will be fine Dr. Angela," She said, adding, "but let's find a taxi as quick as we can."
"Of course!" Angela chirped, walking briskly towards the street. Pharah followed, and the two stood on the sidewalk as a cab approached. Putting away her rifle and wiping her chin with her forearm, the captain hailed and they quickly got in.
As they closed the door and were off, Angela pulled herself forward to address the driver, and with a concerned face, asked, "Can you please turn the air conditioner on high, for my friend?" Something about the loud and deliberate way she said it, and her matronly earnestness made Pharah laugh. "Don't worry, Doctor Angela. I am accustomed to much more than this," she said. Still, she did seem a bit uncomfortable. Probably attempting to cool off more, she reached down and rolled up her tank at the waist, revealing her midriff. This drew Dr. Ziegler's surprised glance. She had known the captain was quite muscular - the round shoulders and long, muscular forearms were hard to miss. But seeing Pharah's deeply cut, aesthetically arranged abs, glistening in the sunlight, was a new surprise for the doctor. She had never seen a woman like this; who was she? Who exactly was this woman, Fareeha…? As quickly as it had come, this moment passed - regaining her composure, Angela reached into her breast pocket and pulled out a medium-sized handkerchief. "Here, Pharah dear, use this, I insist!" With a nod of appreciation, the captain took it and unfolded it, with an endearing awkwardness that suggested she was unaccustomed to handling such dainty objects. She extended on arm, then the other in turn as she wiped herself with the gift. She then wiped her face, the sides of her neck, and along her deep, beautiful collarbones. "There! You keep that dear," Said Dr. Ziegler warmly. Her hair had fallen loosely out of its bun again. Now finished, and much refreshed, Pharah turned to her and smiled. "Thank you, Doctor Angela," She said softly. "You naturally show kindness to others, even with nothing to gain. From now on, I shall call you rahma - Mercy."