So he was in Cairo on a warm April day. Unfortunately, Leila Gaad was not in Cairo. Rand had visited the University to ask about her, and been told by a smiling Greek professor, “Leila has gone to the End of the Rainbow.”
“The end of the rainbow?” Rand asked, his mind conjuring up visions of pots of gold.
“The new resort hotel down on Foul Bay. There’s a worldwide meeting of archeologists in progress, and two of our people are taking part.”
It seemed too much to hope for, but Rand asked the question anyway. “Would the person accompanying Leila be Herbert Fanger, by any chance?”
The Greek’s smile widened. “You know Professor Fanger, too?”
“Only by reputation.”
“Yes, they are down there together, representing Cairo University. With the meeting in our country we could hardly ignore it.”
“Are the Russians represented, too?”
“The Russians, the Americans, the British, the French, and the Chinese. It’s a truly international event.”
Rand took out his notebook. “I just think I might drop in on that meeting. Could you tell me how to get to the End of the Rainbow?”
Foul Bay was an inlet of the Red Sea, perched on its western shore in the southeastern corner of Egypt. (For Rand the ancient land would always be Egypt. He could never bring himself to call it the United Arab Republic.) It was located just north of the Sudanese border in an arid, rocky region that all but straddled the Tropic of Cancer. Rand thought it was probably the last place on earth that anyone would ever build a resort hotel.
But that was before his hired car turned off the main road and he saw the lush irrigated oasis, before he caught a glimpse of the sprawling group of white buildings overlooking the bay. He passed under a multihued sign announcing The End of the Rainbow, and was immediately on a rainbow-colored pavement that led directly to the largest of the buildings.
The first person he encountered after parking the car was an armed security guard. Rand wondered at the need for a guard in such a remote area, but he followed the man into the administrative area. A small Englishman wearing a knit summer suit rose from behind a large white desk to greet him. “What have we here?”
Rand presented his credentials. “It’s important that I speak to Miss Leila Gaad. I understand she is a guest at this resort.”
The man bowed slightly. “I am Felix Bollinger, manager of the End of the Rainbow. We’re always pleased to have visitors, even from British Intelligence.”
“I haven’t seen all of it, but it’s quite a place. Who owns it?”
“A London-based corporation. We’re still under construction, really. This conference of archeologists is something of a test run for us.”
“You did all this irrigation work, too?”
The small man nodded. “That was the most expensive part — that and cleaning up the bay. Now I’m petitioning the government to change the name from Foul Bay to Rainbow Bay. Foul Bay is hardly a designation to attract tourists.”
“I wish you luck.” Rand was looking out at the water, which still seemed a bit scummy to him.
“But you wanted to see Miss Gaad. According to the schedule of events, this is a free hour. I suspect you’ll find her down at the pool with the others.” He pointed to a door. “Out that way.”
“Thank you.”
“Ask her to show you around. You’ve never seen any place quite like the End of the Rainbow.”
“I’ve decided that already.”
Rand went out the door indicated and strolled down another rainbow-colored path to the pool area. A half-dozen people were splashing in the water, and it took him only a moment to pick out the bikini-clad figure of Leila Gaad. She was small and dark-haired, but with a swimmer’s perfect body that glistened as she pulled herself from the pool.
“Hello again,” he said, offering her a towel. “Remember me?”
She looked up at him, squinting against the sunlight. “It’s Mr. Rand, isn’t it?”
“You’re still so formal.”
Her face seemed even more youthful than he remembered, with high cheekbones and deep dark eyes that always seemed to be mocking him. “I’m afraid to ask what brings you here,” she said.
“As usual, business.” He glanced at the others in the pool. Four men, mostly middle-aged, and one woman who might have been Leila’s age or a little older — perhaps 30. One man was obviously Oriental. The others, in bathing trunks, revealed no national traits that Rand could recognize. “Where could we talk?” he asked.
“Down by the bay?” She slipped a terrycloth jacket over her shoulders.
“Bollinger said you might show me around the place. How about that?”
“Fine.” She led him back up the walk toward the main building where they encountered another man who looked younger than the others.
“Not leaving me already, are you?” he asked Leila.
“Just showing an old friend around. Mr. Rand, from London — this is Harvey Northgate, from Columbia University in the United States. He’s here for the conference.”
They shook hands and the American said, “Take good care of her, Rand. There are only two women in the place.” He continued down the walk to the pool.
“Seems friendly enough,” Rand observed.
“They’re all friendly. It’s the most fun I’ve ever had at one of these conferences.” Glancing sideways at him, she asked, “But how did you manage to get back into the country? Did they drop you by parachute?”
“Hardly. You’re back, aren’t you?”
“But not without the University pulling strings. Then of course the Russians left and that eased things considerably.” She had led him to a center court with white buildings on all sides. “Each building has nine large suites of rooms, and you can see there are nine buildings in the cluster, plus the administrative complex. Those eight are still being finished, though. Only the one we’re occupying has been completed.”
“That’s only eighty-one units in all,” Rand observed.
“Enough, at the rates they plan to charge! The rumor is that Bollinger’s company wants to show a profit and then sell the whole thing to Hilton.” They turned off the main path and she pointed to the colored stripes. “See? The colors of the rainbow show you where you’re going. Follow the blue to the pool, the yellow to the lounge.”
The completed building, like the others, was two stories high. There were four suites on the first floor and five on the floor above. “How are you able to afford all this?” Rand asked.
“There’s a special rate for the conference because they’re not fully open yet. And the University’s paying for Professor Fanger and me.” She led him down the hall of the building. “Each of these nine suites has a different color scheme — the seven colors of the spectrum, plus black and white. Here’s mine — the orange suite. The walls, drapes, bedspreads, shower curtain — even the ashtrays and telephone — are all orange.” She opened a ceramic orange cigarette box. “See, even orange cigarettes! Professor Fanger has yellow ones, and he doesn’t even smoke.”
“Who’s in the black suite?”
“The American, Harvey Northgate. He was upset when he heard it, but the rooms are really quite nice. All the black is trimmed with white. I like all the suites, except maybe the purple. I told Bollinger he should make that one pink instead.”
“You say Professor Fanger is in yellow?”
“Yes. It’s so bright and cheerful!”
“I came out from London to check on the possibility that he might be a former Russian agent we’ve been hunting for years. We arrested a man in Liverpool last week and he listed Fanger as one of his former contacts.”