He’d gone back to his hotel, grabbed a copy of the local phone directory from the reception desk downstairs, and taken it, along with a street map of eastern Cairo, up to his room. Then he’d started from the airport and worked his way outwards, calling each of the major hotels he had located, asking to be connected to Mr Bronson’s room. It wasn’t the commonest name in the world, and the receptionist at the fifteenth hotel he rang told him that the guest he was looking for had been out of his room all day. It was as easy as that. Killian packed his bags and paid his bill, then set off towards the hotel where he now knew Bronson and Angela were staying. He drove past the building, then pulled in to the side of the road a hundred yards or so beyond it and looked back. The hotel was situated on a reasonably straight section that offered good visibility both ways, and Bronson, of course, could approach it from either direction. But the main road ran along one end of the street and that, logically, would be where Bronson would be most likely to appear, so that was where Killian decided to wait.
