
Near the hotel entrance, along the trimmed driveway framed by gently swaying palm trees, a road is barricaded, guarded by five uniformed police officers, and six burly plain clothes security.
Why so much security? I ask a passing staff member. "Mubarak," he replies nodding towards the blocked road, and moving away quickly before I can ask questions.
From the hotel beachfront more of Mubarak's security detail can be seen guarding his Villa, which lies ensconced behind the cliff. Fully uniformed men with guns in their hilts, pace, incongruous in the serene resort setting of blue waters and sunshine. >>> Ruth Sherlock | Monday, February 14, 2011