Night Train to Memphis

Chapter Twelve

THE ROOM HAD been stripped of all personal possessions, whether by Schmidt or by John’s hypothetical searchers I could not determine. ‘They’ became less hypothetical as we continued our own search; they had made quite a neat job of it, but I doubted Schmidt would have removed the mattress from the bed and then replaced it and the bedclothes. The searchers must have been men; they hadn’t bothered to tuck in the sheets.

‘Is there a night train to Memphis?’ I asked, investigating the drawers of the nightstand.

‘There’s one to Cairo. Close enough.’ John returned from the bathroom. ‘Nothing there. What about the chest of drawers?’

‘Only the souvenirs he bought today.’ The Nefertiti bag had been on top of the pile. I turned it upside down and shook it. ‘He’s even taken the few odds and ends I left – cosmetics, sunglasses – ’

‘Chocolates, apples, and gingerbread?’

I didn’t want to be reminded of the night in the abandoned church when we had ‘dined’ on the odds and ends I carried in my backpack. Sooner or later I would have to deal with those widening cracks in my defensive walls, but not now, not when we were still four hundred miles from safety and Schmidt was someplace or other doing God knows what, and Mary was looking forward to renewing old acquaintances. I said shortly, ‘He might have left us some money.’

‘He wouldn’t leave anything of value. The point of the message was to suggest that neither of you intended to return to this room.’

‘Obviously,’ I said.

‘That’s it, then. There’s nothing else except a few travel brochures. I’ll go first. Take the next elevator. I’ll meet you at the car.’

But when I got out of the elevator he was standing nearby, glancing at his watch as if waiting for someone who was late for an appointment. A slight sideways movement of his head drew my attention towards the registration desk.

I saw Foggington-Smythe first. He was bareheaded, and his face was set in a frown as he talked with the clerk. The clerk kept shaking his head. He was looking, not at Perry but at Perry’s companion. From behind all I could see was white – fur coat, long evening frock, bleached hair.

I ducked behind a convenient pillar. John sauntered towards me and paused to light a cigarette. ‘Yours?’ he asked.

‘No. I don’t think so. Yours?’

‘At this point we must assume everyone who isn’t for us is against us. Walk, do not run, to the nearest exit.’

It was the only thing to do; I’d be even more conspicuous lurking in doubtful concealment. But I felt as if I were being followed across the lobby by a gigantic searchlight, and when someone barred my path I almost jumped out of Feisal’s oversized sandals.

‘Excuse me, young fella.’

I looked wildly over my shoulder before I realized I was the young fella in question. The speaker was a grey-haired American wearing a bright red fez. He wanted to know where I had bought my shirt. Innocent creature that I am, I didn’t realize that wasn’t all he wanted until he suggested that we have a drink while we talked it over.

I was about to tell him what he could do with his drink – and his fez – when John, passing on his way to the door, swung his briefcase and caught me a painful blow on the leg. It was, as the poet says a salutary reminder. I growled wordlessly at my admirer and scuttled after John.

By the time I reached the car I was running, and so was the engine. John shoved me in.

‘You daft female,’ he said crossly. ‘What did you stop for? I think Foggington-Smythe may have spotted you.’

‘I can’t help it if I’m irresistible to men,’ I said, falling across his lap as Feisal made an abrupt and doubtless illegal U-turn.

John set me upright. ‘In your present costume I have no difficulty at all resisting you.’

‘Crushed again.’

‘I am beginning to understand why so many people are so annoyed with you two,’ said a voice from the front seat. ‘Where’s the Herr Direktor? Where are we going? What – ’

‘One question at a time,’ said John. ‘First, I suggest you get off the corniche. Take back streets whenever possible – ’

‘We have to go past the railroad station first,’ I interrupted.

‘No, we don’t.’

‘Yes, we do. I want to make sure Schmidt – ’

‘No, we don’t.’

‘Stop it!’ Feisal shouted hysterically.

‘Right,’ said John. ‘Who’s in charge here, anyhow?’

‘I’m not winding my way through a maze of back streets, either,’ Feisal declared. ‘The sooner we get out of Luxor the happier I’ll be.’

John sighed. ‘That was certainly one of the most futile questions I have ever asked. Vicky, there’s no use looking for Schmidt at the station. I – er – I haven’t been entirely candid with you.’

‘No!’ I exclaimed. ‘You, not entirely candid? I can’t believe it. What little teeny tiny unimportant detail did you omit? Don’t tell me, let me guess. There is no night train to Memphis, right?’

‘There is no bloody train to Memphis, stop, end of sentence!’ He caught himself in mid-shout and in the silence that followed I could hear every shaken breath. ‘I told you that,’ he went on, a few decibels lower. ‘What I neglected to mention, for a number of reasons, all excellent, is that there are several night trains to Cairo. Would you care to hear my ideas as to which one Schmidt is most likely to have chosen, or would you rather continue this unproductive exchange of insults?’

‘I hate it when you talk like that,’ I muttered. ‘Go on.’

‘Egyptian trains,’ said John, in an even more maddening drawl, and with even more infuriating precision, ‘are of several types. Wagon Lits runs two overnight expresses, with sleeping cars, between Luxor and Cairo. They start at Aswan, in fact, but that doesn’t concern us. One leaves Luxor at seven-thirty and the other at ten-thirty. Both times, I hardly need add, are approximate.’

‘You hardly need. How do you know the times?’

‘I believe I mentioned earlier that strict attention to schedules is essential for one who wishes to succeed in my profession. That rule applies particularly to transportation. Really,’ John mused, ‘one day I must write a little handbook. Rule number one: As soon as you arrive in a place, find out how to depart in a hurry.’

‘Don’t do that, John,’ I said very gently.

‘Then leave off distracting me. As I was saying: Most well-to-do tourists who travel by rail take those trains. And that, my dear, is a very good reason why Schmidt, if I read his character aright, wouldn’t have taken either. They have a further disadvantage in that they do not stop between Luxor and Giza, just outside Cairo. Once you’re on that train you can’t get off it for ten or eleven hours. If I were worried about possible pursuit, I’d prefer more flexibility.’

‘Makes sense,’ I admitted. ‘So what’s the alternative?’

‘I’m so glad you asked. The other night trains make several stops, but only one of them offers first-class travel. First class is fairly comfortable, even by your effete American standards. Second and third class are not, and even if Schmidt were prepared to endure the crowding and the heat, he wouldn’t stand a chance of passing as a student or an Egyptian.’

‘So – ’

‘So, I think he intends to take the eleven p.m. train. It stops at Sohag, Asyut, and Minya. If he wants to confuse his trail he’ll buy a ticket through to Cairo and get off at one of the above.’

‘Is that the last train?’

‘There are others, after midnight. We have to assume he meant not only “night,” but “tonight.” The note had today’s date.’

‘It’s clever, but awfully tenuous,’ I said.

We had left the city centre behind and the only light came from the headlights of approaching vehicles. John had withdrawn into the opposite corner. He didn’t respond to my comment, but I could still hear him breathing and I didn’t like what I heard.

‘Are you all right?’ I asked.

‘Perfectly.’

‘Maybe you should take another of those – ’

‘I just did.’ He hesitated for a moment and then said, ‘If I should happen to fall asleep, wake me before we reach Nag Hammadi. We may have to reconsider our strategy at that point.’

‘What strategy?’ I demanded. ‘If you have some plan in mind I wish you’d let me in on it. Are we going to try to intercept Schmidt at one of the places you mentioned, or do you intend to drive straight through to Cairo, assuming this decrepit hunk of metal can make it that far, or – ’

Feisal interrupted me with a vehement comment in Arabic.

‘What did you say?’ I leaned forward.

‘I’d rather not translate literally. There are corresponding proverbs in English, referring to domineering women.’

I heard a muffled laugh from John. ‘Now, kiddies, don’t be rude. The main north-south highway and the railroad tracks cross the river at Hammadi. If they are going to set up a roadblock, that’s the obvious place. We’ll have to reconnoitre before we try the bridge. There’s nothing we can do about it until we get there, so stop quarrelling and let me get some sleep.’

I couldn’t think of a response that wasn’t rude, childish, or irrelevant, so I didn’t say anything.

John was out before we’d gone another mile, so far under that he only muttered sleepily when I put my arms around his shoulders and drew him down so that he was lying across the seat with his head on my lap. Feisal had his foot down as far as it would go. The car shook alarmingly but the engine was surprisingly quiet.

There was a good deal of traffic. Egyptian drivers have a demoralizing habit of switching on their bright lights instead of dimming them as they approach another car. I tried not to cringe every time this happened, but I didn’t succeed. Each approaching vehicle cast a brief, garish glow into the interior of the car. It might have been a delicately sculpted skull I held in the curve of one arm, the eye sockets dark hollows, the skin clinging tightly to the bones of cheek and temple. There was no softness of underlying flesh, except for the parted lips.

‘Is he asleep?’ Feisal’s voice was barely audible.

I applied a gentle pinch to John’s arm. He didn’t respond, not even with a mutter of complaint. Not that that proved anything. Feigning sleep or unconsciousness was one of his favourite tricks. ‘They usually stop hitting you when they think you can’t feel it,’ he had once solemnly explained, during one of his lectures on crime.

‘I think so.’ I raised one hand and brushed at my cheek.

‘I’m sorry I was rude. But you are being a little hard on him, aren’t you?’

‘He hasn’t been exactly easy on me.’

‘Easy on you?’ Feisal’s voice rose. ‘He wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you. He had no intention of going through with this business. He tried to talk me out of it. If you hadn’t turned up out of the blue – ’

‘Just a minute,’ I said. ‘Let me get this straight. Are you implying . . .’

He did more than imply. He told me, brutally and directly. Feisal didn’t like me very much just then. That made two of us.

‘This particular project began over three years ago. Johnny had pulled off a few jobs for Blenkiron earlier, but this one was a lot more complicated, so Blenkiron hired the group represented by the man who calls himself Max. After the tomb restoration was completed and Max had served his time, Blenkiron contacted Johnny. Johnny said no, he wanted out. They’d have let him get away with it, I think, since he couldn’t blow the whistle on them without accusing himself, if somebody hadn’t come up with the bright idea of having him rob the museum at the same time Blenkiron was loading his prizes onto a plane in Cairo. Whether he succeeded or failed, the attempt would have served as a useful distraction.’

‘Very useful,’ I muttered. ‘Whose bright idea was it?’

‘Can’t you guess? Max is a businessman, he hasn’t time for useless emotions like revenge – and that was what motivated the person who suggested the museum stunt. It sounded clever but there were a number of practical disadvantages, most particularly the difficulty of forcing a tricky devil like Johnny to go through with a job he doesn’t want to do. Max was well aware of that and would have been more than happy to see Johnny out of it. Unfortunately, his group resembles certain other illegal organizations in that it is family-oriented, and the sole surviving member of this particular family is . . . You’ve seen what she’s like. How easy do you suppose it was for Johnny, cooped up with that maniac day after day and night after night, listening to her obscene threats and knowing that if he laid a finger on her she’d retaliate on you?’

It was like hearing the other side of a long, hostile divorce case. Events that seem clear-cut and obvious from one person’s point of view take on an entirely different aspect when you hear the other guy’s version.

‘They got you onto that cruise,’ Feisal went on. ‘Some kind of faked message planted on the body of a dead operative – I never knew the details. Johnny had cut off communication with you as soon as he realized what he’d got himself into. Jen was already at risk simply because they knew who she was and where she was; if he hadn’t agreed to bring her along on the cruise as an unwitting hostage, they would have kidnapped her, or worse. He planned to get Jen away at some point during the cruise. Once she was safe, he could take care of himself. It never occurred to him that they’d bother with another hostage. I wonder if you can imagine how he felt that day at Giza when he saw you?’

I could imagine. I had seen his face.

He’d managed to get Jen out of their hands next day, improvising as only John could. And then Schmidt had turned up, and there were still two hostages. I remembered the consternation in his voice when he saw Schmidt at Amarna – and Mary’s smile. Of course she had known who Schmidt was. She had probably memorized every detail of my biography, especially the episode in which her brothers had been involved.

‘Why didn’t he tell me?’ I demanded.

‘They made sure he never had a chance to tell you. Both of you were under surveillance every minute of the day and night. As a lovesick young bride she had a perfect excuse to stick closer to him than a cocklebur, and when she wasn’t with him, Blenkiron or one of the others was with you.’

The words stung like a snakebite, doubly painful because I felt I ought to have suspected some of it, at least. And there was worse to come I knew what Feisal was going to say before he said it.

‘That wasn’t the main reason. I was present when they explained to him, in painstaking detail, precisely what they would do to you if you learned the truth, from him or in any other way.’

‘Okay, I get it,’ I said hoarsely. ‘You don’t have to – ’

‘I’m going to anyway. You realize, don’t you, that while the boat was on the river they had you completely isolated and in their power? The purported changes in schedule were nothing of the sort; they were known in advance to all of us except Johnny. They kept him off balance, made it impossible for him to make arrangements for his escape or yours. Blenkiron controlled the boat, the crew, and half the able-bodied passengers. And the doctor. The moment you became aware, or even suspicious, he’d have had you pumped full of drugs and locked in your cabin with a quarantine sign on the door. And there you would have stayed, inaccessible and helpless, until . . .’

‘They tossed me overboard,’ I muttered. ‘Or would it have been something more – more inventive?’

‘Much more inventive.’ Feisal’s voice had softened a little, but he wasn’t ready to let me off the hook yet. ‘And prolonged. They were prepared to deal with Schmidt in the same way if he became a nuisance. People are always falling ill, it wouldn’t have raised questions if both of you had succumbed to some esoteric and ultimately fatal disease. Your only chance of survival depended on your remaining unwitting, and that meant your suspicions and your hostility had to be focused on Johnny. They promised him that if he’d cooperate you would be allowed to leave the cruise at Luxor with the other passengers.’

‘He believed that?’

‘Of course he didn’t. He’s been moving heaven and earth to get you to a safe place without betraying information that would endanger you even more, and he’s had to fight you as well as Blenkiron in the process.’

Cursing under his breath, he swerved – to avoid some obstacle in the road, I assumed – and the car jolted along the shoulder for a few yards before he got it back on the paved surface. I steadied John’s head with my other hand. ‘How far are we from Hammadi?’ I asked.

‘Another thirty or forty kilometres. Are you trying to change the subject?’

‘Yes.’

‘You were full of questions a while ago. Here’s your chance to get some of the answers you’ll never get from him.’

I didn’t say anything. The events of the past week were unrolling in my memory like a foreign film I hadn’t understood the first time I saw it. The captions Feisal had supplied cast a different light on every scene.

He had put on a pretty good act in public, but I might have noticed he never used a term of endearment or touched her if he could avoid doing so. In private . . . Knowing Mary as I now did, I felt sure she had enjoyed goading him into dangerous and ultimately futile outbursts of anger. The bruises on her arms were a graphic demonstration of at least one occasion on which she had succeeded, and she had retaliated, promptly and effectively. If Schmidt’s loud concern about my phobia hadn’t alerted her, my own behaviour would have done so.

That incident had been a joint project – Larry getting me down into the tomb, Mary or one of the others bollixing the lights. John must have suspected something was going to happen, but he had been helpless to prevent it. All he could do was get to me as quickly as possible.

That wasn’t the only time he’d managed to find an excuse to be around when he feared I might be in trouble. Seeing Schroeder-Max at the rest house had aroused his suspicions; he had invited himself along on that stroll from the Valley to Deir el Bahri because he was afraid to leave me and Schmidt alone with Larry and Ed. And he had prevented Mary from accompanying us, not only because she was an additional threat to me, but because . . . Because getting away from her, by any means and for any length of time, would have been like a breath of clean air to a man trapped in a sewer.

But the memory that would haunt me longest was the one of that night he had followed me out on deck while Schmidt was dancing with Mary. By that time he must have been half-crazy with worry and frustration and disgust, and the necessity of hiding those emotions. No wonder he’d lost control of himself. But only for a few moments. Realizing we were being observed, he had deliberately provoked me into a demonstration that would prove we were still at odds, and that would get me off the deck, back into the comparative safety of my room.

There had been time, that night and on a few other occasions, for a brief private exchange. ‘Oh, by the by, Vicky, I’m not really married to that little bitch, this is a setup and you are in desperate danger, so when I give you the signal just trot off and go into hiding and stay there. And take Schmidt with you.’

Of course I’d have obeyed, without question or argument. As would Schmidt.

Right.

Feisal slowed and pulled off the road. He turned, his arm over the back of the seat.

‘What’s wrong?’ I asked.

‘Nothing’s wrong. I hope. We’ll be approaching the bridge shortly, and I don’t want to wake him yet. I don’t suppose he’s had a decent night’s sleep since – ’

‘Stop it, Feisal.’

‘There’s just one little point I want to emphasize. When he agreed to Blenkiron’s proposal, his own survival wasn’t part of the deal. It wasn’t even mentioned. He was bargaining for your life, not his, and he was willing to let you go on thinking the worst of him if that would help to ensure your safety. I don’t entirely blame you for doubting him, but if I understand the hints I’ve heard from various people he’s put his neck in a noose for you before. Didn’t it oocur to you, even once, to give him the benefit of the doubt?’

Feisal’s tactics had been as effective as a battering ram. The walls were down, and I was flat on my face in the rubble. I had a feeling that if I ever managed to hold my head up again I’d see something that would make that devastating experience worthwhile, but all I could think of at the moment was how much I hated Feisal. When you are crawling on your belly like a snake you like to have another snake along for company.

‘So what have you done for your old schoolmate lately?’ I demanded. ‘You’d still be cooperating with Blenkiron if Jean-Louis’s murder hadn’t cast some doubts on your own survival. The poor devil didn’t tell me a damn thing; they killed him solely as a precaution, the way you’d get rid of a wasps’ nest on your porch.’

‘Johnny was quick to point that out,’ Feisal said wryly. ‘And I admit it wasn’t until then that I agreed to get you to a safe place. There was no way he could do it himself, they were watching him like a pack of vultures, and he was getting desperate. I don’t claim to be any nobler than the next man, Vicky. Johnny did talk me into supplying you with a weapon some days ago. Hamid was one of us, I had no difficulty in getting at his keys. However – ’

‘However,’ said a remote voice, ‘you are going to be in great difficulty if you don’t get moving again. What did you stop for?’

Feisal slammed the car into gear and pulled onto the road. ‘I thought you needed – ’

‘I could do with something to drink. And an end to idle gossip about things that are none of your damned business.’

‘How much did you hear?’ I demanded, grateful for the darkness that hid my face.

‘Quite a lot,’ John said.

‘Are you lying?’

‘I always do, don’t I?’

I was in no condition to pursue the subject. ‘If you’ll remove yourself from my lap I’ll get you a drink.’

‘Country matters, lady?’ I might have known he couldn’t resist that reference. A truck thundered towards us, the bright light and contrasting shadow giving his upturned face and tumbled hair the look of a cheerful scarecrow, but I was too familiar with the cadences of his voice to miss the signs. He sat up, yawning. I heard the rustle of cloth and a faint click. Time for two of those little yellow pills? How many more could he take before he started climbing the walls?

I bent over and rummaged in the basket Granny had packed. She must have emptied her larder. There was enough food for a dozen people – bread, boiled eggs, fruit, a six-pack of soda. I opened one of the cans and handed it to John.

‘I don’t know what this is – ’ I began.

‘Neither do I. It tastes like battery acid. Never mind, it’s liquid. Where are we?’

‘A quarter of an hour from Nag Hammadi,’ Feisal answered. ‘I hope it was only a morbid fancy that made you mention roadblocks? If we don’t cross here – ’

‘There are other bridges farther north. And, if memory serves, a road of sorts on the east bank?’

‘Yes, to both. You didn’t answer my question. What makes you think they might be waiting for us at Hammadi?’

‘Foggington-Smythe followed Vicky out of the hotel. He was watching when we left.’

‘Why didn’t you say so earlier?’ Feisal demanded.

‘Why should I? Either he saw us or he didn’t. If he did, and if a lot of other equally unpleasant surmises are correct, they could be waiting for us at Nag Hammadi.’

‘But how – ’ I began.

‘Oh, Christ, do I have to spell everything out for you? Use your head. Your guess is as good as mine as to what Blenkiron will and can do, but his resources are extensive. Always anticipate the worst, remember?’

He had edged away from me and was sitting bolt upright, staring straight ahead. Ten minutes, I thought. Give him that much, at least.

Feisal began, ‘What are we – ’

I leaned forward. ‘How well do you know the roads?’

There was a perceptible pause before Feisal answered. ‘That depends on what roads you mean. The main north-south highway crosses the river at Hammadi and runs along the west bank from there to Cairo. There’s a secondary road on the east bank, but parts of it haven’t been completed.’

‘Where are the bridges?’ I asked.

I was trying to buy John a little more time, but as Feisal expanded on the geographical features I found myself wondering how Schmidt meant to employ same. Damn it, I knew the old boy better than John did, I ought to be able to follow his thinking.

‘So the next bridge after Hammadi is at Sohag? The train Schmidt took – might have taken – stops there, doesn’t it?’

‘That’s right. It’s about fifty miles from Nag Hammadi.’

‘And the next crossing is at Asyut.’

‘Right again.’

‘Asyut is the second train stop. After that there’s only one before Cairo.’

‘Minya,’ Feisal agreed.

‘That’s where Schmidt stayed the night before he joined the cruise,’ I said thoughtfully.

John cleared his throat. ‘Are you suggesting he might have left some of his luggage there? My theories may have been a trifle exiguous, but that is really – ’

‘No, listen.’ The more I thought about it, the more likely it seemed. ‘Schmidt stocked up on spy stuff before he ever left Munich. He even had contact lenses made in various colours! He suspected this cruise was more than a simple vacation. Who would know better than Schmidt that I wouldn’t try to pass myself off as an expert on a subject I know nothing about without good and sufficient reason? I’ll bet he’s been plotting and planning ever since he arrived in Egypt. He’d have done that just for the fun of it. He spotted Max immediately, and that confirmed – ’

‘Bloody hell,’ John said. ‘You mean the little elf’s been on to us all along? Why didn’t you tell me this?’

‘There hasn’t been time,’ I began.

‘Schmidt is bad enough,’ John went on bitterly. ‘The two of you together . . . Feisal, stop the bloody car. No, not in the middle of the bloody road, pull over as soon as you can find a suitable place. Now then, Vicky, perhaps you can bring yourself to tell me precisely what Schmidt said to you and what you said to Schmidt before you sallied forth to rescue me. You did have sense enough to make contingency plans, didn’t you, in case you were held up or Schmidt had to vacate his room?’

The medicine had cleared his head but it certainly hadn’t improved his disposition. I realized, with only faint surprise, that we were back on the old footing. Nothing had really changed except my perception of him. He was the same person he’d always been – neither saint nor sinner, hero nor villain, but a bewildering and exasperating mixture of all of them. Human, in other words. Like me. We were more alike than I had wanted to admit – sarcastic, prickly, defensive, afraid of feeling emotion, much less expressing it. My other self; my dark angel, my dear, deadly companion, my . . .

‘Take all the time you like,’ John said, sneering audibly. ‘We’re in no hurry.’

‘Damn it, how the hell could we plan ahead?’ I demanded. ‘I didn’t know how long it would take me to get into the house, or where in the house you were. It might have taken me all night to locate you.’

‘All night?’

Feisal had turned off onto a narrow dirt road bordering one of the irrigation canals. I could see a dark glimmer of water below. On the other side of the road tall stalks of some kind of vegetation, sugarcane or reeds, blocked my view.

I didn’t need John to tell me I must have been out of my mind to think I could ramble around the house for hours on end without being caught. I had been out of my mind. Since I couldn’t think of anything sensible to say, I kept quiet.

‘All right,’ John said. He sounded as if he were choking. ‘Perhaps this is not an appropriate moment to pursue that subject. We’ve got to come to a decision about where we’re going next. God knows I’m reluctant to follow Schmidt along the chaotic pathways of his imagination, but I hate to think of the havoc he can wreak wandering through Egypt alone and uncontrolled.’

‘He’s done better than we have so far,’ I said indignantly. ‘That message he left was danmed ingenious.’

‘He’s done better than you have, you mean,’ was the unkind reply. ‘And on the basis of the ingenuity he has displayed thus far I’m willing to consider the possibility that he tried to give us additional information.’

‘Johnny,’ Feisal interrupted. ‘No one admires the precision of your syntax more than I, but could you possibly cut it short?’

‘I’m thinking of those travel brochures,’ John said. ‘He wouldn’t dare underline or circle a name, but the one on the top of the pile had been opened and refolded. The sites mentioned were all in Middle Egypt. Beni Hassan, Amarna – ’

‘Nefertiti!’ I exclaimed. ‘She was on the top of the pile too. The bag he bought at the bazaar, with her picture on it –

‘Amarna,’ John muttered. ‘I don’t see how . . . He couldn’t possibly . . .’

‘Johnny,’ Feisal began.

‘Yes, right. We need more information before we reach a final decision as to our route. I don’t suppose this miracle of automotive engineering possesses a radio? No, that would be too much to ask. Stop at the first café – or, even better, petrol station.’

When we stopped, not far from the access road to the bridge, I withdrew into the darkest corner and covered my head with a scarf while Feisal got out for a man-toman chat with the attendant and the other guys who were hanging around the pumps.

He wasn’t gone long. When he came back I could tell by his expression he had heard something he didn’t like.

John waited until Feisal had turned off onto a side road. ‘Well?’

‘My career in crime is burgeoning,’ Feisal said sourly. ‘It seems I am now a kidnapper as well as a notorious terrorist.’

‘Who’d you kidnap?’ I asked curiously.

‘You, of course.’ Feisal made another sharp turn. ‘There’s a taftish – checkpoint – ahead, on this side of the bridge. It’s a safe bet they’ll be watching for us.’ He spun the wheel again and the car squeezed itself into a narrow lane between walls that scraped the fenders. ‘We should pick up the east-bank road a couple of miles farther on.’ He let out a thin scream and slammed on the brakes. The rider of the donkey glanced over his shoulder and made a rude gesture. I assume it was a rude gesture.

‘Bad luck, old chum,’ John said insincerely. ‘I had hoped they wouldn’t get on to you so soon, but I suppose it was inevitable, when we all turned up missing at the same time.’

‘So Foggington-Smythe is in Larry’s pay,’ I said.

‘Not necessarily. He might have mentioned in all innocence that he had seen someone resembling you at the hotel.’

‘But I’m in disguise,’ I protested.

‘He was studying your rear view,’ John said disagreeably. ‘I told you those jeans were too tight. Dare I inquire how Foggington-Smythe became so familiar with the contours of your – Christ! Feisal, watch out for that – ’

A splintering crunch announced the destruction of a small shed.

‘Don’t distract me,’ Feisal said between his teeth.

The last few hundred yards of the detour ran along the top of a bank above an irrigation ditch. I think three of the wheels were on the path most of the time. We missed the guy on the bicycle, though.

Once we were back on the highway John cleared his throat. ‘Would you like me to drive for a while?’ he asked tactfully.

I had been about to offer myself. Night driving in Egypt was something no sane tourist would tackle, but I figured I could do better than Feisal was doing at that moment. I think his eyes were closed.

Feisal hit the brakes. ‘Is there anything to drink?’ I handed him a can of soda. He slid over into the passenger seat and John took his place behind the wheel.

‘So what else is new?’ he inquired, returning to the road. ‘They didn’t get the license number, but they do have a description of the car. They aren’t certain whether my motive for making off with Vicky was lust or politics or – ’

‘Kidnapping an American tourist for any reason is enough to stir things up,’ John said thoughtfully. ‘Did you abduct me too?’

‘They know or assume we’re all together, if that’s what you mean. Odd, now that you mention it; they were somewhat vague as to your precise role. It’s been on all the news broadcasts. The government is appalled, shocked, and distraught. They will pursue the hunt with the utmost diligence and punish the perpetrator – ’ He swallowed. ‘Appropriately.’

‘Oh, very good,’ John said. ‘By accusing you of abduction they’ve enlisted the assistance of every honest police officer and worthy citizen, and they’ve left open the possibility that I may be a crypto-terrorist too.’

‘That’s crazy,’ I exclaimed. ‘I can tell them – ’

‘You may not have the chance,’ John said.

We went on awhile in gloomy silence. A snatch of song drifted back to me from the front seat. ‘There’s a girl from Minnesota, She’s long and she’s tall . . .’

I leaned forward. ‘She was from Birmingham, I believe.’

‘Wrong. Tennessee. One for me.’

‘I got the song right,’ I protested. ‘Anyhow, she wasn’t a girl, she was a train.’

‘Half a point, then. Why don’t you get some sleep? You must be tired. Heroic rescues take a lot out of a girl.’

‘The hell with that. I’m not going to sleep while you two big, strong intelligent men make all the decisions. Where are we going?’

Feisal chuckled. ‘She does have a strange charm all her own, doesn’t she? I’m beginning to understand why you – ’

‘She grows on you,’ John agreed. ‘As for where we’re going, that depends to some extent on what we encounter along the way, but I think we’ll head for Minya. That must have been what Schmidt meant by his delightfully mysterious clues; it’s the nearest stop to Amarna. The train he’s taken doesn’t arrive until seven in the morning and it may be late. If we can make it in time we’ll look out for him at the station. If we miss him we’ll check the hotels.’

‘How are you planning to get across the river?’ Feisal inquired.

‘I intend to avoid the bridges. They are the most logical places for roadblocks. We’ll stay on the east bank until we reach Amarna and then take the ferry across. There are a number of advantages to that agenda; they will expect us to take the main road, and it’s always a good idea to do what the enemy doesn’t expect.’

‘Skip the lectures on crime, will you?’ Feisal said sourly ‘There’s only one little problem with your agenda, Johnny. We can’t get to Amarna from here.’

‘The road – ’ John began.

‘Ends a few kilometres north of Asyut. They haven’t finished it.’

‘There’s a track, surely.’

‘There are a number of paths, yes. For donkeys and camels. If we follow the river, there’s one point where the cliffs come right down to the water’s edge. The car would never make it through.’

‘Hmmm. Then we’ll have to think of another way, won’t we?’

‘It doesn’t sound to me as if there is another way,’ I remarked. ‘We’ll have to cross at Asyut and risk the roadblocks.’

‘Feisal is being modest,’ John said gently. ‘I’m sure he can suggest an alternative. He has friends everywhere. Knowledgeable friends. Right, old chum?’

‘Damn it, Johnny, I haven’t had anything to do with that crowd for years. It was one of those youthful enthusiasms – ’

‘I quite understand,’ John said, in the same quiet, very unpleasant voice. ‘No bright, idealistic lad or lassie can resist the lure of revolution. All the same . . .’

The silence from the front seat was practically deafening. It seemed to satisfy John, though.

I don’t know how long I slept, but I was stiff and cold when I woke. The car had stopped and the view out of the window next to me was so beautiful I forgot, for a few moments, that this wasn’t exactly the time to enjoy the scenery.

The moon had risen. Now at the full, it hung over the cliffs like a silver balloon. In the cold, bright light the rocky ramparts looked like glaciers and the desert floor like new-fallen snow. I had never seen so many stars.

My window was closed, but the one on the passenger side in front was partly open. I could hear their voices clearly.

‘You won’t need that,’ Feisal said.

‘I hope not. Just so you and your friend understand that I’ll use it if I must.’

I shifted position so I could see. Feisal leaned against the front fender, his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched against the chill of the night air. John faced him, a few feet away. The moonlight was so bright I could see every detail.

‘I don’t doubt it in the least,’ Feisal said. He sounded more amused than apprehensive. ‘Amazing. I never thought I’d see the day . . . Now keep calm, Johnny. I wasn’t objecting to the aim, only to the means. It’s been five years since I went that route, and I don’t know whether I can persuade, bully, or bribe Amr into lending us the jeep. We haven’t much money left. Threatening him would be a serious error, however. Put the gun away, okay?’

‘Give him this.’ John unstrapped his wristwatch.

Feisal took the watch. ‘All right, let’s make the attempt.’ They got back into the car. John turned and looked back at me. ‘Awake?’

‘Yes. Where are we?’

‘A few miles north of Asyut. Any further questions?’

‘How – ’

‘Save them. And don’t join in any discussion that may ensue. This is a conservative area. They don’t approve of uppity women.’

The huddle of low, flat-roofed buildings a few miles farther on might, if one were charitably inclined, be described as a village. No lights showed at the windows of the houses. There was a café there is always a café, but even it was dark.

To give myself credit, which I am always inclined to do, I felt sure I knew the answers to most of the questions I might have asked. The individual in the house on whose door Feisal was knocking had to be a member of the organization to which he had once belonged – whatever that might be. Even experts in Middle East politics had some trouble keeping track of the various revolutionary groups and how their aims and methods differed. I wasn’t familiar with the ramifications, but I knew that many students had been attracted to the radical movements because they promised an end to government corruption and inefficiency.

That’s what they all promise. And sooner or later, in the Middle East or Ireland or the States, the noble aims are distorted; violence inspires answering violence, and often the ones who suffer most are the poor devils both sides claim to be defending. The repressive measures of the State Security forces had won a lot of waverers over to the revolutionary cause, and I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that everyone in the village was a secret sympathizer. We were in Middle Egypt now; the city of Asyut, across the river, had been and probably still was one of the centres of rebellion – or terrorism, depending on which side you supported.

The door finally opened and Feisal went inside. John had gotten out of the car and was leaning against the door, hands in his jacket pockets. I’d never known him to carry a weapon before. I wondered if he really would use the gun or if the guy inside the house would shoot first.

Feisal was only gone for ten minutes. When he returned he was accompanied by his – friend? He didn’t look very friendly. He had wound his woollen scarf around his head and throat, but I could see his face clearly in the bright moonlight.

‘It’s all right,’ Feisal said, eyes fixed on John’s right-hand pocket. ‘He’s agreed. He’s not happy about it, but he has agreed.’

‘Good.’ John took his hand out of his pocket and opened the car door. ‘Come on, Vicky.’

The sight of me didn’t make the other guy any happier. He let out a spate of low-voiced Arabic and began waving his arms. I gave him an ingratiating smile. ‘What’s he mad about?’ I asked.

‘Everything,’ Feisal said. ‘I don’t blame him. The situation has deteriorated, if that is possible. They’re setting up checkpoints on this side of the river now. And along the Red Sea highway.’

‘That’s encouraging,’ John said coolly. ‘They don’t know which route we’ve taken.’

‘They’ll soon find out if we don’t get moving. This way.’

We followed our unwilling host to the back of the house, where the jeep – or, to be more accurate, the rusting skeleton of a jeep – was parked. The doors were tied on with rope. I climbed over the side, noting, as I sat down, that there were a few springs left. One, at least.

Feisal dumped the luggage in on top of me and turned to John. ‘How much money have we?’

‘A couple of hundred pounds. Why?’

‘We’re going to need more supplies. Water, blankets, petrol. No, don’t argue, just listen. The moon will be down before long and I daren’t risk driving this route in the dark. We’ll have to hole up somewhere for the rest of the night, and probably all day tomorrow. I presume you don’t want to arrive in broad daylight?’

John began, ‘It’s only thirty or forty miles – ’

‘As the vulture flies. You’ve never done this. I have. You don’t know this country. I do.’

The moonlight drained all the colour from John’s face. It looked like bleached bone. I said impulsively, ‘You’ve got to get some rest before we go much farther, John.’

He turned on me. ‘I told you to keep quiet.’

‘Keep quiet yourself. Feisal, how long – ’

Feisal waved his hands wildly. ‘Don’t ask. Don’t ask any more questions, either of you. Leave this to me.’

Our reluctant ally was becoming more reluctant by the minute, but – in exchange for all the money we possessed – he grudgingly produced a few jerricans of gas, a couple of blankets – taken off a donkey, to judge by the smell – several bottles of water, and a six-pack of what turned out to be fizzy lemon-flavoured soda. Our departure was not marked by formal farewells. I started to say thank you, but the man just shook his head and trudged off.

After a few abortive coughs the engine started. The racket was appalling. It must have roused every sleeper who wasn’t already awake, but not a light showed in any of the windows.

I popped the top of a can and poured half a cup of lemonade down my front when Feisal threw the jeep into gear. We went bouncing off across the plain; there may have been a track of sorts, but you couldn’t prove it by me. I clenched my teeth to keep from biting my tongue and refrained from comment. I knew why Feisal was proceeding at such an uncomfortable speed. We had to get well away from the village and into hiding before morning, and the moon was setting. I had an unpleasant feeling I also knew why Feisal didn’t want to drive in the dark, and that suspicion was confirmed when I saw we were heading straight for the cliffs that rose sheer ahead. They call them wadis – canyons, cut by water, in the ramparts of the high desert. Flash floods and natural erosion have littered the uneven ground with rubble varying from pebbles to Chevy-sized boulders. The one into which Feisal drove, without slackening speed, was fairly wide at first, and there was a track of sorts through the centre. The boulders weren’t much bigger than toasters. We hit every one of them. I bit my tongue.

Before long the moonlight faded as the canyon narrowed and the cliffs closed in on either side. Feisal switched on the headlights. They didn’t help much. One had burned out and the other was about to go. Feisal went on a little farther and then stopped, with a jolt that jarred my back teeth together. He turned off the lights and the ignition.

‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘The terrain gets rougher from here on. I don’t want to break an axle.’

‘Rougher?’ I croaked.

Our voices echoed eerily in the silence. It was so dark I couldn’t even see their outlines, but I heard the springs creak when John shifted his weight.

‘How much farther?’ he asked, in a voice flat with fatigue.

‘Irrelevant.’ Feisal sounded equally exhausted. ‘We can’t go on tonight. Let’s get some rest. Hand out a couple of those blankets, Vicky. You can curl up in the backseat.’

‘Curl up is right,’ I said. ‘I’d rather sleep on a rock.’

Which was precisely what I did. Feisal cleared away some of the bigger boulders, leaving a space just wide enough for the three of us to lie down, huddling together for warmth. I expected John would make some rude comment about bundling but he didn’t speak at all. He was trying to keep his teeth from chattering, I think. We were all shivering; the air was cold and the blankets were too thin to be much use. Without discussing the subject aloud, Feisal and I put John between us. He fell asleep immediately. Not even the hard ground and the stench of donkey and the cold could keep my eyes open, but as I drifted off I was thinking longingly of Suzi’s great big furry white coat.

Against all the odds I slept for over six hours. It was the heat that woke me, the heat and a sensation of vague discomfort. When I pried my sticky eyes open I realized I had shifted position during the night; John’s head was on my shoulder and my left arm, which was around him, had gone numb. He looked like one of the better-preserved mummies, skin stretched tight over cheekbones and forehead, eyelids shrivelled and sunken, lips cracked.

I heard a gurgling sound and looked up through my loosened hair to see Feisal standing over me. His appearance wasn’t much of an improvement over John’s – or, I suspected, my own. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he offered me the bottle of water. I swallowed, or tried to – my throat was as dry as the sandy dust – and shook my head.

John slept for another half hour. When he opened his eyes I croaked out a cheery ‘Good morning.’ Removing himself from my limp embrace, he sat up and lowered his head onto his hands.

‘Did I ever mention,’ he said, ‘that one of your least lovable characteristics is that you are so bloody cheerful early in the morning?’

‘You’re usually pretty bloody cheerful yourself.’

He lifted his head. ‘On the occasions to which you refer I had excellent reasons to be – ’

‘Stop it,’ Feisal ordered. ‘Come and have breakfast, such as it is.’

Water and dry bread, oranges and hard-boiled eggs was what it was. There was no way of heating water even if we had had coffee or tea with us, which we didn’t. Chewing on the hard bread, I studied our surroundings: stony desert underfoot, steep rocky walls around. There wasn’t so much as a blade of grass, much less a tree, dead or alive. The pale limestone of the cliff opposite dazzled in the sunlight.

‘At least it’s not raining,’ I said.

John gave me a look in which amusement and exasperation were mingled. Feisal was not amused.

‘Pray it doesn’t. We don’t have much rain here, but when it comes it comes hard and the water is all funnelled through these wadis. A flash flood would be the end of us.’

‘Say something positive,’ I suggested.

‘I’m trying my damnedest,’ Feisal said morosely. ‘All right, let’s take stock of where we stand.’ Clearing a patch of sand with a sweep of his hand, he took a pen from his pocket and used the blunt end to sketch a rough map. ‘Here’s the river, here’s the wadi we’re in. And this is the one we’re heading for. It passes the Hatnub Quarries and comes out eventually into the Amarna plain near the southern tombs.’

I studied the sketch doubtfully. ‘The two wadis don’t connect.’

‘Not according to the standard maps, no. But it’s barely possible to get a vehicle through,’ Feisal said, rubbing his prickly chin. ‘At least it was five years ago. I can’t be more specific about the route because it’s too hard to describe. If anything happens to me – ’

‘It will happen to all of us,’ John said evenly. ‘At this point you’re the least expendable member of the party. More precious than diamonds, more precious – ’

‘Than gold,’ I said. ‘One point for me.’

John grinned, or tried to. Feisal rolled his eyes.

‘You two are a pair, I’ll say that. Can’t you keep your minds on essentials?’

Laughter is one of the two things that make life worthwhile. Another of John’s sententious sayings, delivered one morning after he had demonstrated the importance of the other one. He was right on both counts. There are times when you have to laugh to keep from screaming, and if I’m in a tight spot I’d rather be with someone who makes bad jokes instead of big dramatic scenes.

‘If anything happens,’ Feisal repeated, ‘keep heading west.’

John’s hand obliterated the sketch. ‘Forget that. Will we make it today?’

‘We’ll have to,’ Feisal said curtly. ‘With luck, sometime this afternoon. That’s the next question. We don’t want to come bursting onto the scene while the site is crowded with tourists and guides and guards, do we?’

‘No,’ John agreed. ‘Let’s set our ETA at nine p.m., when people will be inside eating and watching telly.’

‘We’ve missed Schmidt,’ I said.

My voice was steady, I think, but John said, with unexpected gentleness, ‘Don’t worry about him, Vicky. I have a feeling we’ve both underestimated the old boy rather badly, and even if they catch up with him they won’t harm him so long as we’re on the loose.’

‘I hope you’re right.’

‘I’m always right,’ John said firmly. ‘Anyhow, we can hardly be said to have missed him when we don’t know for certain where he is or what he’s up to. Pray that he’s gone on to Cairo. If he can convince someone in authority to search that boat we’ll be in the clear.’

‘The boat won’t he there yet, will it?’ I asked, mopping my sweating face with my sleeve.

‘I shouldn’t think so. But you can be sure Blenkiron has moved up his schedule. He’ll load and be under way as soon as he possibly can, and the Queen of the Nile is capable of a pretty fair turn of speed. If she travels night and day and Blenkiron uses his influence to get her through the locks without delay, she could reach Cairo in a few days. We – or Schmidt – must get there before the boat does.’

He reached casually into his pocket and took out the Tutankhamon pectoral. Glowing with soft shades of gold and turquoise and coral, it covered his entire palm. The giant blue beetle that dominated the design held a sun disk of carnelian in its raised pincers.

Feisal caught his breath. ‘From Blenkiron’s collection? Good thinking, Johnny. That should be enough – ’

John shook his dishevelled head. ‘It should be enough to capture the attention of the museum authorities, certainly; that’s why I – er – borrowed it. But once Blenkiron is out of the country with his collection, it will be my word against his as to where this came from. Eventually they may discover that the other objects are forgeries as well, but things move slowly in this part of the world and bureaucrats in any part of the world are reluctant to take action. And while they are discussing and debating and arguing and speculating, we will be wasting away in a dungeon cell. If we’re lucky.’

‘I like you better when you’re being frivolous,’ I said.

‘I don’t.’ Feisal hoisted himself to his feet. ‘We’d better get started.’

Even after seeing the terrain I wouldn’t have believed it would take six hours to cover less than thirty miles. I suppose it could have been worse. Nobody got bitten by a scorpion or a cobra and the jeep held together, except for one of the doors, which Feisal wired back on. We only had two flat tyres. Smaller canyons opened up along the way and sometimes it was impossible to tell the main wadi from a dead end. We went for almost a mile into one of the latter before Feisal realized his error. He had to back out. As the sun rose higher it beat straight down into the canyon and the temperature kept climbing. We were all sticky wet and itching with sweat when we reached the end of the first wadi and found the steep slope ahead completely blocked by fallen boulders.

‘Is there a way around?’ I asked.

Both of them turned to glare at me. Feisal had taken off his shirt; perspiration ran down his face and puddled in the hollows over his collarbones. It was a pity I was too hot and tired to enjoy the view, because he did have a great body. John had chosen not to display his.

‘No, my dear,’ said Feisal, baring all his beautiful white teeth in a snarl. ‘This is it. The only way. There must have been a minor quake or a flash flood since I was last here.’

He got out and began fumbling among the miscellany of rusted tools in the backseat. I didn’t ask any more questions. The options were obvious even to me: either we abandoned the jeep and proceeded on foot, or we tried to clear away enough of the debris so we could go on.

It would have been a formidable job even if we had had proper tools and if the weather had been comfortable. With only a tyre iron as a lever, and a temperature in the high nineties, and our supply of water running low . . . I remember thinking sympathetically of Sisyphus, the guy in the Greek legend who had been condemned to spend eternity pushing a big rock up a hill. As soon as he got it to the top, it rolled back down again.

When we stopped for a rest, Feisal mopped his forehead with what had once been a white handkerchief and was now a filthy rag. The sun had moved farther west and there was some shade. We passed the water bottle around and sat there wheezing. Even John was too far gone to make jokes. His shirt was soaking wet and not all the liquid was sweat. The bullet wound must have opened up again. As if he felt my eyes on him he raised his head and gave me a hard stare, daring me to speak. I didn’t.

‘A little more should do it,’ Feisal said, after a while.

‘Do you really think so?’ I asked

‘I really do.’ He took my hand and turned it, inspecting first the scraped palm and then the broken nails and bleeding fingers.

‘Those are not the hands of a lady,’ I said. ‘Guess I won’t be invited to the Junior Cotillion.’

‘You’re number one on my list,’ Feisal said softly. He raised my filthy, bloody hand to his lips.

John stood up. ‘I hate to interrupt this tender scene, but could we please get on with it?’

When Feisal called a halt there were still a lot of rocks on that slope. We all climbed into the jeep and Feisal backed off, to get a good running start, and then gunned the engine. I closed my eyes, and kept them closed while the jeep bounced up and over the ridge and then began to descend.

The descent wasn’t as steep as the ascent, but it was just as bumpy. When we reached relatively level ground Feisal picked up speed and I opened my eyes.

He was watching me in the cracked rearview mirror ‘The worst is over,’ he yelled. ‘Not long now.’

‘Don’t look at me,’ I yelled back. ‘Keep your eyes on the – you should excuse the word – road.’

Experience is broadening, all right; never again would I complain about any road surface, anywhere. Compared to what we’d been through, this stretch was a piece of cake. I now had leisure to realize how hot it was. The air was bone-dry; I could feel my skin stretching and cracking. After approximately an hour Feisal pulled up and turned off the engine.

‘Almost there. People come this way occasionally, so we’d better lie low until dark.’

Stretched out on the hard ground, we finished the water. I was bone-tired but not sleepy; I waited till John had dropped off, or passed out, whichever came first, before I spoke. ‘He can’t go on much longer.’

‘I know. But there’s nothing we can do for him now. Get some rest, Vicky. You worked like a hero today.’

‘What’s going to happen when we reach Amarna?’

‘He’s got something in mind, but don’t ask me what. He told me where to go and what to say, but he did not condescend to explain further.’ Feisal stretched out with a long, heartfelt sigh. ‘At least we can be sure no one has followed us. Only an idiot would attempt this route. Don’t worry, love, we’ll bribe or bully someone into helping us.’

‘We haven’t any money.’

Feisal’s long fuzzy lashes were drooping. He opened his eyes a little wider and grinned at me. ‘We’ll sell something. You, perhaps. A woman who can work that hard should fetch a good price.’

I let him sleep. I tried to, but I couldn’t, so I lay still counting John’s breaths and watching the sky darken and the stars brighten against the night.

Finally Feisal stirred. ‘Did we finish the water?’

‘There’s some fizzy lemonade. I’ve been hoarding it.’

‘Well done. All right, let’s do it. Johnny?’

‘I told you not to call me that,’ said a grumpy voice from the darkness.

‘I assumed you’d prefer it to “blue eyes.” Someday perhaps one of you will explain those esoteric comments to me.’

‘A cold day in hell, perhaps,’ John said.

When we emerged from the widening mouth of the wadi the moon was shining down on the plain of Amarna. Lights twinkled among the dark bank of trees along the river.

Nobody felt like cheering. Not yet.

‘Head north,’ John said. ‘I suggest you follow the cliffs as long as possible. Less chance of our being observed.’

‘If people don’t know we’re here, they’re deaf,’ I remarked.

‘Back to your old form, I see,’ John said. ‘Perhaps you’d prefer to walk. It’s only six or seven miles.’

I said no more.

Feisal proceeded at a slower speed, and if I hadn’t had other things on my mind I might have enjoyed the scenery. The cliffs enclosing the plain were icy-pale in that eerie light, checkered with shadow where crevices and canyons broke their ramparts. One deeper, darker opening might have been the entrance to the royal wadi which we had visited earlier. After we crossed the road that led from the landing to the tombs, Feisal stopped and shut off the ignition.

‘That’s the village, over there.’ He indicated a few lights along the river.

John didn’t move. ‘We’ll wait here.’

‘What are you up to now?’ Feisal asked.

‘Taking reasonable precautions, that’s all. Three people are more conspicuous than one, especially when two of them are obviously foreigners. Someone must have heard us. You can have a look around and withdraw if there’s trouble. The house you want is on the northeast corner of the village. There’s a brickyard on one side and – ’

‘I know, you told me.’ Feisal hoisted himself out of the car and stretched. ‘I’ll signal if it’s safe to proceed and wait for you on the edge of the cultivation. Six flashes and then two at ten-minute intervals.’

He started off. John watched him for a few minutes and then climbed over the side of the jeep. ‘Get out.’

‘What for?’

‘I would love to live long enough to see you respond to a sensible suggestion without asking why. A little exercise will be good for you.’

I got up, stretching. ‘Oh, God. If this is what it feels like to be eighty, I’m not sure I want to live that long.’

‘I’m sure.’ John steadied me as I climbed arthritically over the side of the jeep.

We settled down next to a rock outcropping a few hundred yards away. ‘This isn’t very comfortable,’ I grumbled, squirming around in the hope of finding some surface that wasn’t littered with sharp pebbles.

‘It’s flat and it’s in shadow. Oh, for Christ’s sake. Here.’ He took off Feisal’s jacket and spread it on the ground.

‘Aren’t you cold?’

‘No.’

‘Have you got a temperature?’

He moved away from my outstretched hand and sat down a few feet away, his back against a rock. ‘It will certainly begin to rise if you don’t stop asking meaningless questions.’

‘How about a few meaningful questions?’ I handed him one of the cans of soda.

‘Such as?’

‘Were you really planning to rob the Cairo Museum?’

‘Good God, no. I’ve already robbed the damned place twice, why should I do it again? A man’s reach should exceed his grasp, don’t you think?’

‘Stealing an entire tomb is certainly a challenge.’

‘Your sympathetic understanding touches me more than I can say.’ He opened the can and drank deeply before going on. ‘It isn’t the entire tomb, you know. Only a few selected walls.’

‘I still find it difficult to believe. How he hoped to get away with it – ”

‘Oh, he’ll get away with it,’ John said calmly. ‘Unless we can stop him. It’s a pity, in a way. This might have been the high point of my distinguisbed career. You can see why the idea appealed to me.’

‘When did it start appealing?’

John settled himself more comfortably. ‘My first arrangement with Blenkiron concerned the princess’s diadem. You ought to have noticed the anomaly of that item during your encounter with my friends in Rome. All the other jewellery we – er – replaced was Renaissance or later in date, and it was all in private collections. The diadem was in the Cairo Museum, and only a fanatical collector would want an item that could never be displayed. You might have postulated a man like Blenkiron – obscenely wealthy and totally unscrupulous-when you saw that.’

‘Don’t hassle me, John. I’m trying very hard to be nice.’

‘Are you? Sorry, I hadn’t noticed. As I was saying, the beauty of my arrangement with Blenkiron was that I only had to liberate the objects from the museum. They stayed in the country, so there were no nerve-racking encounters with customs. The only exception was the Tetisheri statuette. He was so besotted with it he insisted on carrying it around with him. However, smuggling antiquities into Egypt isn’t as difficult as smuggling them out.’

‘So the one in the British Museum is a fake.’

John chuckled. ‘Ironically enough, Blenkiron’s is probably a fake as well. It wasn’t only the analysis of the paint that cast doubts on the one I removed from the B.M.; there’s something a bit off about the hieroglyphs. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn that the first one was manufactured by the great-grandfather of the little old forger in Gurnah who made the second one for me. Manufacturing forgeries is an old tradition there.’

‘How did you find him?’

‘It’s a long story,’ John said. ‘Reaching back into the mists of the past, and replete with details Schmidt would undoubtedly find extremely romantic’

‘Then don’t tell it now. The British Museum must have been a real test of your skills. Their security measures are pretty good.’

‘I shan’t respond to your subtle hints, darling, so don’t bother asking how I did it. Trade secrets, you know. However, I will say that the theatrical plots concocted by writers and producers of thrillers are completely unworkable, especially the ones that depend on esoteric equipment. The more complicated a gadget, the more likely it is to break down just when you need it.’

He paused for refreshment before going on. ‘The idea of stealing Tetisheri’s tomb came to Blenkiron soon after the Getty people began working on the other queen’s tomb – that of Nefertari. It was really rather a clever idea. Restoring the reliefs was precisely the sort of philanthropic endeavour people had come to expect of him, and it gave him a perfect opportunity to have them copied. There was even a suggestion that a replica of the tomb might be made, in order to satisfy tourists without endangering the original. If at any point his activities had been discovered he could claim that’s what he was doing, as a boyish surprise for his good friends in the EAO. It was a monumental job, of course, but as Feisal pointed out, Blenkiron’s rich enough to buy all the expertise he needs.’

‘And the experts,’ I murmured. ‘Poor Jean-Louis.’

‘That was one of the most difficult aspects, actually,’ John said. ‘You’d be surprised how many honest scholars there are. They had to he approached very, very carefully. But there aren’t many positions in archaeology open, and there are a lot of poor, overeducated devils like Mazarin and Feisal seeking employment. Mazarin wasn’t the one I would have chosen. Instead of admitting his own venality he had to convince himself he was guided by noble motives. Such men are dangerous. Their consciences are never at ease, and they are apt to crack under pressure. I told Blenkiron that. He ignored my advice, and now you know why. He was prepared from the first to remove inconvenient witnesses.’

‘Is that why you tried to pull out?’

‘It was certainly a consideration. However, Max was an even stronger deterrent. If you recall, he was already vexed with me when we ran into one another in Sweden. I had advised Blenkiron not to hire him for this job and Max knew it. He took my refusal to work with him personally, I’m sorry to say. He’s such a sensitive chap.’

‘How did he learn your real name?’

I had caught him off guard. The empty can crumpled in his hands. ‘That’s not – ’

‘You’ve been controlling the direction of this conversation. Now it’s my turn. How did they find you? Max didn’t know who you were before. He kept calling you Smythe.’

John didn’t answer. I knew he must be feeling rotten or he’d have been able to come up with a facile lie. Not that I’d have believed it. I knew the answer.

‘It was through me, wasn’t it? Max knew you weren’t dead. He knew my identity. She knew it, from him. When she set out to track you down she started with me. They must have been watching me for months, hoping – expecting – you’d turn up. All they had to do then was follow you home.’

John tossed the crumpled can aside. ‘What difference does it make?’

‘None at all,’ I said morosely. ‘It’s just the last goddamn straw that broke . . . Look! Isn’t that a light?’

John caught my arm as I started to stand up. ‘It’s a light, certainly. One of several. Hold on.’

‘You think it’s not Feisal?’

‘There hasn’t been time for him to reach El Till, much less have a look around. They’re coming this way. Oh, dear, oh, dear,’ John said. ‘I always expect the worst, but I loathe having it happen.’