192
CAIRO TO DAMASCUS
decrease—put the greenbacks on the desk. He claimed he
didn't know what to do. He had never seen so many dollars
before. He would wait till morning, and ask his chief, in the
meanwhile keeping possession of the uncounted dollars. We
were anxious to get to Cairo that night and were in no mood
for delay.
"Telephone your chief and ask him what to do. That's simple enough."
Abdou Habi said he did not wish to disturb His Excellency
at this hour.
There were six of us in the wooden shack that was the
customs office—five Arabs, one American. The dollars, still
uncounted, were on the desk with a paperweight over them.
Abdou left his desk. I walked over to Moustafa, standing
some feet away, to ask his advice, when suddenly the lights
went out, plunging the shack into darkness.
"The money! The money!" I yelled, and hurled myself at
the desk.
Long experience in photographic darkrooms has given me a
sense of direction in the dark; almost instantly I located the
pile of dollars and placed my hand firmly over it. A split second later I felt a pair of moist fat hands crawling over mine.
At that instant someone lit a match. A nose's distance from
my face was the face of Abdou Habi.
No doubt about it now. Everyone sensed Habi's game. A
clamor arose to count the money immediately. I demanded
the phone to call the American ambassador. Moustafa began
to shout the names of Egypt's cabinet ministers and army generals he claimed to know. Habi was thoroughly intimidated.
He suddenly decided that we might perhaps risk disturbing
His Excellency. Habi wanted to carry the money, but I refused to give it up until he agreed to count it then and there.
After that I permitted him to pocket the bills, and asked
Moustafa to sit next to him and let his pistol press against the
would-be thief. The customs chief was cordial, apologized for