The night before I’d taken an old Mercedes taxi from Cairo airport to my hotel.
The driver was an ageing Egyptian called Mahmoud with good English, and by the time we arrived at the hotel, I had his phone number and an arrangement that he would be my chauffeur the next day. After the Zoom meeting with Larry. Kevin and Colin, I phoned Nagi El Abdeen. He’d been expecting my call, so we fixed a meeting for midday. Then I called Mahmoud.
At twelve o’clock precisely, Mahmoud’s Mercedes ground to a halt in a cloud of dust outside the wrought iron gate of Nagi’s old style villa in the quiet side street of Dokki on the west side of the river Nile.
I told Mahmoud to wait and walked to the gate. The house itself lay in a small courtyard marshalled by two Alsatian dogs. They weren’t barking yet but looked interested enough to start if I upset them. On a small brass plate fixed to the gate, it said, “Otaiba Business Consultants,” and next to it was a bell. I pressed the bell.
There was no sound audible to my own ear, but the dogs heard something and changed from mild and inquisitive creatures into maniacal beasts the like of which I had not seen since the last time I was there. Dogs and I have never got on and I was happy to remain outside for the time being until a woman in a colourful long dress, with her head partially covered in white cloth with gold border, emerged. The dogs stopped barking and went timidly to sit in the shade of the trees, the gate swung open and I stepped into the courtyard. The gate then closed behind me, and the dogs stood to watch as I followed the woman through the open front door of the villa.
I’d been there before so remembered the lay out. We entered a dark and stuffy room like a Victorian reception area with a small desk covered in papers, a white telephone, and a rattling air conditioning unit on the wall. There was an empty swivel chair behind the desk and a shelf bending under the weight of business directories in both Arabic and English. We passed through this room, and still without speaking, the woman ushered me through another wooden door at the far end. Then she departed and closed the door.
It was an exact repeat of my last visit but and coming from the bright sun outside to this all I could do was peer into the gloom as Nagi El Abdeen walked towards me across the tiled floor. We shook hands.
Nagi is a small man, probably in his mid-fifties, and I’ve never seen him in anything other than a white long-sleeved shirt and plain blue tie. Looking older than the last time we’d met, I saw that his hair was beginning to recede at the front, but he still kept the short grey stubble. Nagi was well-dressed, neat and presentable. He was also very wealthy.
We sat around a low glass-topped coffee table surrounded on three sides by an ornate wood-framed sofa and two matching chairs. He ordered tea, and the woman brought it. I think she’s his wife but Nagi had never introduced us. For a while we talked generalities as if it was where we had left off last time - business was up and down, there were Egyptian, Middle East, European and American problems, but the Arab-Israeli situation looked promising. Nagi understood politics very well.
We drank the tea, and then he sat back waiting for me to explain the reason for my visit. I had to be careful. Nagi operated behind the scenes. He was powerful, influential, and well connected with politicians and the Egyptian military. He was a fixer and a man who earned commissions or fees from whoever or whatever he knew. I know other men like Nagi. Some I trust, some I don’t. Nagi falls mostly into the trustable category, but there is always a need for caution. Upsetting Nagi could have serious repercussions. In fact, Nagi could well have been a friend of Mohamed Kader for all I knew.
They were, after all, about the same age.
But I had a strategy - the detail worked out during the flight from Bangkok.
“I’m here on a job for a client but other things have since come to light.,” I began. “It’s happened before. You start with a vague remit, ask a few questions and get answers that send you in a different direction. I’ll probably ditch the client.”
“Simple things often become complicated,” he replied.
I spoke slowly. “I can always work without a fee if I come across something illegal that’s going undetected. This case involves the pharmaceutical industry and research on infectious diseases. We’ve all heard about MERS and SARS. Epidemics and pandemics will happen more often as populations increase. We live in bigger cities, travel more and healthcare systems buckle under the increasing demand. Lethal virus can spread quickly and if treatments or vaccines are unavailable, it can be devastating.”
Nagi nodded philosophically, as I then went on to describe the scene that was giving me nightmares - that a new lethal virus had been created in a laboratory somewhere and was ready to be released for commercial gain.
Nagi was sitting forward, increasingly interested but probably wondering where this was heading.
“I believe it’s a private company. I believe the virus has been tested, shown to be fatal and is ready to be released. Can you imagine it being released in Cairo, Nagi? War declared by a private company?”
By the time I’d finished, Nagi was staring at me and shaking his head.
It was time to explain why I was in Cairo. “The company with the virus is probably based in Egypt,” I said.
Nagi blinked. “Why do you say that?”
“I’m a fraud investigator, Nagi. I’m also a businessman. An investigator investigates. A businessman does his market research, applies some common sense, experience and intuition.”
“So, who is it?”
That was the tricky part. “I’m looking at three businesses,” I said.
“Two of them I know something about. The third one is less easy, and that’s why I need some help.”
Nagi wandered to his desk.
“Serious allegations, Mark. You are saying there are Egyptian companies that avoid regulations and inspections that companies need to comply with in order to trade locally or internationally.”
It was well put.
I agreed. “But there is a bigger and wider problem here, Nagi. I am not pointing a finger at Egyptian authorities and saying they are failing to do their job because they are probably as good as anywhere.
The fact is, there are no controls in place to stop a company doing this sort of research whether they are in Egypt, America, Europe, Japan, or China. Some scientists have warned against the lack of international controls for years, but no one does anything. They say the technology poses risks more serious than anything that has gone before, and that includes the risk of nuclear war. But, unlike past arms races, no one talks about it. No-one acts. Governments ignore it. The public are in total ignorance.”
Nagi walked around his desk, and I thought he was going to sit behind it but no. He did a full circle and stood to look at me, thoughtfully stroking his chin. I went on.
“Organisations and companies who engage in this type of work can be inspected for compliance with good manufacturing practices, every conceivable official standard, and every other part of their business that bureaucrats can dream up including checks on health and safety and employment law, their tax, and even signs of bribery and corruption. Once they’ve got a product to sell, they might need approvals and registrations, which need more paperwork. Right?”
Nagi nodded in agreement.
“In the meantime, though, no one asks what the scientists and technicians in their white coats are actually doing with their test tubes.
Even if the inspectors asked, they could be lied to, and the inspectors with their clip boards would then write down exactly what they were told. A box is ticked, and away they go.”
Again, Nagi nodded as if he could easily picture the scene I was describing.
“The only time anyone gets to know what’s going on is if a scientist on an ego trip writes a paper, stands up at a conference, or fills out a form asking for more funding. It happens everywhere, Nagi, and I am not here to accuse Egyptian authorities of gross negligence.”
Nagi now wiped his stubbly cheeks, probably wondering where I was heading.
“And another thing, Nagi. You might think I’m suggesting it’s some big-name international corporation like a pharmaceutical giant operating in Egypt. I’m not. I’m talking about small businesses you’ve probably never ever heard of.”
That was it for now. I’d dangled a wriggling worm on a hook and could have gone on a while longer, but I needed Nagi to take the bait and say something.
He returned to our table and sat down. “More tea?” he asked.