"The black card? That's . . . dude, I don't know what to say."
Klaus could not listen to any more. He turned for the door. "Lohengrin, wait," he heard John say, but he was weary of waiting, tired of talk. Just now, he wanted quiet.
He found it in the maze that was the New Temple, wandering through moonlit gardens and down long marble corridors. Red lamps glowed along the walls, mimicking the light of torches. Temple guards and acolytes watched him pass in silence, and once he turned a corner and came upon Anubis, attended by half a dozen lithe young priestesses. The light was too dim for Klaus to say whether it was Red Anubis or Black Anubis, but from the way the jackal-headed god stared at him it was plain he was not wanted, so he made an awkward bow and backed away.
Finally he found himself in a cavernous hall beneath a towering sphinx. She had a lion's body and a woman's face, which reminded him of Sekhmet, but she had the wings of an eagle, too, and ram's horns coiling from her temples. She was some god, he was certain, though Klaus did not know her name. He wondered if his own god would hear, if he said a prayer to this one. His family was Lutheran, though he had never been especially devout. Church was for Christmas and for Easter. "Father," he said, in a soft voice, "hear me now. We are lost."
A pair of slender arms encircled him, and two soft hands covered his eyes. "And found," a voice whispered by his ear.
Klaus knew that touch, that spicy-sweet scent, that voice. "Lili?" he gasped, incredulous. "Can it be you?"
"Underneath the lantern by the barrack gate, darling I remember the way you used to wait," she sang. "My Lili of the lamplight, my own Lili Marlene." The lyrics he had taught her. Her voice echoed in the hall, low, smoky, intoxicating.
Klaus ripped her hands away, whirled, and took her in his arms. When he kissed her, her own mouth answered him, no less hungry. The dark red lipstick that she wore looked black in the gloom of the hall, but her eyes shone silver pale. Klaus kissed her on each eyelid and then again upon the mouth, picked her up bodily, whirled her in the air. Breathless with laughter, she demanded that he put her down, and Klaus obeyed. "You are here," he said. "You are truly here, in Egypt. But . . . but how?"
A half-smile brushed her lips, full of mischief. "Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies."
"No. Truly. Lili, what could you be doing here?"
Her face turned serious. "I could ask the same of you."
That confused him. "I came for John."
"And I came for you."
That made him happy. "I have dreamed of you. But how could you know where I was?"
"The whole world knows where you are, my gallant knight. Every time your friend Hive uploads a new installment of his blog, a million people read about your latest exploits."
"A million?" Klaus had no idea. "So many?"
"This week. By next week it will be ten million, if Hive is still alive. No one likes to find bugs crawling through their dirty laundry, least of all a caliph."
"The Caliph will be pleased, then. Jonathan is going home."
"Is he? Clever lad. He'll live to blog again. You should go with him, Klaus. And take your friend John Fortune."
"John will not leave. The Living Gods are his people."
"Sekhmet's people, you mean." She took his hand. "Klaus, you are being used. The Living Gods are no more gods than the characters at Disney World. We've known for half a century that the wild card has a psychological component, so it is hardly surprising that here in the shadow of the pyramids some of those afflicted should mimic the forms of Isis, Osiris, and the rest, but to suggest that they are those gods . . . Kemel, the man who started this cult, belongs up there with Joseph Smith and L. Ron Hubbard. Take a closer look at your new friends, love. They are very good at accepting offerings, you'll find, but not quite so apt when it comes to answering prayers."
This was a side of Lili that Klaus had not seen in America. There it had been all wine and kisses and laughter, and secrets whispered in the dark. Now she was confusing him. He was good at fighting with a sword, but not so good with words. "They are jokers, ja, I know, but the Muslims mean to kill them all"
"Abdul-Alim means to kill them all, yes. He is desperate to prove himself a strong man and end the whispers that say he is a weakling and a fool. Do not paint all Muslims with the bloody brush. The situation is more complex than that. The Nur was the most charismatic leader Islam has produced since Baybars, yet it took him twenty years to unite all of Arabia and restore the caliphate. Abdul the Idiot will destroy it all in twenty months. When he falls, the rule will pass to Siraj of Transjordan, who is a moderate, a secularist, and a pragmatist. Prince Siraj is a good man. Under him, the Arabs will have peace and prosperity, the west will get its oil, and the Living Gods and their poor deluded worshippers will be left to live in peace."
"Those that are not dead," said Klaus.
"Those that are not dead," she agreed. "First Abdul-Alim must fall, however. And your presence here has only served to prop him up. Nothing unites a quarrelsome people faster than a threat from outside. Do you know what they are calling you on Al Jazeera? The Crusader."
"The crusaders were brave men," Klaus said stoutly.
"I do not have time to argue Bohemond of Antioch with you, my sweet. Just take my word, 'crusader' is not a term of endearment in this part of the world. All you are doing is giving Abdul the visible enemy that he needs to stay in power. And now that Bahir has failed him, he means to send the Righteous Djinn against you."
Klaus crossed his arms against his chest. "I defeated Bahir. I can defeat this djinn as well. I do not fear any foe."
"Fear this one. Eighteen months ago, the Israeli ace Sharon Cream went missing. The strongest woman in the world, they say, yet when the Mossad found her body, it was gray and shriveled, like a fly after the spider has sucked the juice out of it. Her flesh turned to dust when they opened her for an autopsy.
"The Djinn's first public appearance came a few weeks later. He lifted up an armored car and threw it forty feet. That was enough to earn him a place in the Caliph's guard, but not enough to excite much interest in the west. Strongmen are a dinar a dozen, and the Nur had other aces in his service.
"He also had General Sayyid, the crippled giant, his right hand and closest friend. Even in his youth Sayyid had struggled to support his own weight, and twenty years ago an American ace shattered both his legs to pieces. He never walked again. No one was surprised when Sayyid finally passed away. The Nur gave him a lavish state funeral in Damascus, but his casket was kept sealed and he never lay in state. Among the mourners was the Righteous Djinn, grown to gigantic size. He stood thirty feet tall . . . and he had the strength to support that weight.
"Since then, several of the Port Said aces have vanished under mysterious circumstances, the heroes who turned back the Israeli armies during the wars of 1948. Old now, and sickly, but still . . . Kopf is one who is missing. In 1948 an entire Israeli army broke and ran from him, seized by a terror no one could explain. And now we hear reports that two of the Caliph's brothers died of fear after a visit from the Djinn.
"You are seeing the pattern here, I hope. Your power is formidable, but you would do well to stay away from the Righteous Djinn, unless you mean to armor him in ghost steel."
Klaus stared at her. "How could you know all this?"
"I had my own encounter with the Righteous Djinn. After that . . . let us say I took an interest in him. Never go to battle blind, mein ritter. It pays to do your homework." She slipped her arms through his and laid her head against his chest. "Come away with me, Klaus. I know a lovely castle on the Rhine. A roaring fire, a canopy bed, and me. What more could you desire?"
"Nothing," said Klaus. "When this is done."
"Now. This moment. Kiss me, and I'll take you there."