Sarit had been sitting in the waiting area on the Egyptian side of the border between Taba and Eilat for the last twenty minutes. They had told her to step aside and wait there so they could process the others more quickly. That did not bode well. Firstly, it meant that they were not letting the queue behind her pressure them into making a snap decision. Secondly it meant that they were taking it a lot more seriously than she had expected. She thought they would simply treat her as a scatterbrained tourist and wave her through. Instead, they were alert to the possibility that she might indeed be a terrorist or at least a passport thief.
The one thing she still had going for her was that it was still early morning and so it was unlikely that the right person would be on duty. Anyone with access to the police computer could confirm that the passport had been reported stolen, but only one or two police officers would be in any position to contradict the claim that the passport had been found or that she was the rightful passport holder.
Sarit didn’t even know how long the real Kelly Harker would be staying in Cairo, suspecting that she was on some package tour and that was their ‘shopping afternoon’ in the bazaar. That meant she had probably by now been given some sort of temporary travel documents by the British Embassy and then whisked away with the rest of the group. Depending on the itinerary of the group she could be on a cruise boat on the Nile, climbing Jebel Musa (the traditional Mount Sinai), or flying down to Sharm for a few days of swimming and sunbathing.
If so, then it would not be easy for the police to contact her quickly. The most the officer in charge could say would be that he hadn’t been updated and the woman had carried on with her tour group. It was extremely unlikely that Sarit would be brought face to face with the woman she was impersonating, but it was touch and go whether she would be allowed through or detained until the matter was fully and finally resolved.
‘I have some good news for you, Miss Harker,’ said the border official. ‘We spoke to the officer in charge, and he said that he was the one who recommended you to look in your hotel room to make sure the passport hadn’t fallen out there. He is pleased that you followed his advice, even if you were too embarrassed to tell him.’
A beaming smile broke out across Sarit’s face. She couldn’t believe her luck. So less than a quarter of an hour later, Sarit was crossing into Israel. On the Israeli side of the border, they started grilling her on the purpose of her visit. She cut it short by telling them in Hebrew that she was not Kelly Harker but Sarit Shalev and asking them to contact Dovi Shamir at a number she gave them.
After a two-minute conversation between officials, she was taken aside to a private room where she was allowed to talk to Dovi herself.
‘I’ve got a lot to tell you,’ she said, demonstrating her penchant for understatement.
‘You had me worried,’ he replied. ‘I’ll send a chopper.’ He hesitated to add that he was still worried.