Free Countdown in Cairo by Noel Hynd Page B

here socially, not professionally,” Alex said.
    “That makes three of us,” Guarneri said. “I guess it’s a check-yourgun-at-the-door sort of night.”
    “Really?” she answered, “I didn’t check mine.”
    Guarneri laughed. “What are you carrying?” he asked.
    “If everything goes well, no one will find out.”
    Even sitting, Guarneri came across as tall and powerfully built. He also came across as smart.
    Alex could always pick up when a man she was meeting showed some interest. There was something about the eyes on her, the body language, the tone of voice. She sensed it from Guarneri, just as she had the first night in Kiev with Federov.
    “See?” Federov said. “I told you Alex was my type of broad.”
    “Be careful what you wish for, Yuri,” she said back.
    In no way did she expect to feel anything in return for this new acquaintance. If she had felt ready for any sort of new relationship, it wouldn’t have been with either of these men. It would have been with her longtime friend and sporting partner, Ben, or it could have been with someone like Peter Chang, whom she had worked with in Madrid. But the bottom line was that Guarneri was an attractive man. Even though he was twenty-some years older, she picked up on something primal. And it surprised her.
    “Just visiting the city?” Guarneri asked her.
    “I live in Washington right now,” she said. “Treasury sent me up to keep tabs on Yuri. Nothing new about that, the US government seems to think I’m his babysitter.”
    “Ha! We should all be so lucky,” Guarneri answered.
    “What about you, Mr. Guarneri?” she asked. “Yuri says you live here?”
    “I have a brownstone in Brooklyn Heights,” he said. “And my name is Paul, if I may call you Alex.”
    “That’s fine,” she said. “And a brownstone in Brooklyn isn’t the worst thing that ever happened to you.”
    “No, it’s not,” Guarneri said. “I bought it a year ago when the market was down. I have room for my kids.”
    “You’re married?”
    “Divorced. Joint custody. Two girls, fifteen and twelve. My angels. A boy, eight. My devil.”
    “I get it,” she said.
    “I grew up on Long Island,” he said. “Glen Cove. Know it?”
    “I know where it is. I’m from the West Coast. So it’s just a short three thousand mile walk from where I grew up.”
    Guarneri had lived in the New York metropolitan area all his adult life, he said. He added that he had gone to parochial schools in Glen Cove, “run by some of the world’s toughest nuns,” as he put it, and then had gone to Cornell University where he picked up an undergraduate engineering degree while nearly freezing to death for six months of each of the four years. “My old man made plenty of money,” he said. “Not all of it legal, but he made it anyway. So I got sent to good schools. I try to do the same for my kids.”
    “That must cost you a few bucks,” she said.
    “Yeah. About fifty grand a year. Three private school tabs in the city.”
    “I’m told you used to be able to buy a house for that,” Alex said.
    “Now you can barely buy a judge,” Federov added.
    “Your father? Is he still in business or is he retired?” Alex asked, staying with Guarneri.
    “Neither. He’s dead. Someone shot him.”
    A beat, then, “Recently?” she asked.
    “My father was shot to death as he walked to his car in South Philadelphia,” Guarneri said. “Easter morning, 1973.”
    “I’m sorry,” she said.
    “So am I,” Guarneri said, “but it was a long time ago.”
    “If you don’t mind my asking, was anyone ever convicted of killing him?” Alex inquired. She felt Federov’s squinty gaze bouncing back and forth.
    “Don’t be silly,” he said. “Of course not. Look, he was connected to organized crime; he did what he did, and he took his risks. I loved him as a father, he was good to me, but I’m not going to sit here and say he was a good man. I’m not so sure he was. But I was provided for and so