John jumped up and headed for the door. “I’m going out. Try not to do anything stupid.”
“I thought you told us not to wander around alone,” I shouted after him.
The slam of the outer door was my only answer.
“He said you were not to go about alone,” said Schmidt.
He was the only one left, so of course I picked on him. “Is that what he told you? ‘Poor dumb Vicky, she doesn’t have the sense of a chicken; do try to prevent her from getting in trouble.’”
Schmidt said, “Tsk, tsk,” and sipped his beer.
I took a few deep breaths. “Okay, I apologize. But what I said was true. We aren’t getting anywhere. The mastermind isn’t doing his job.”
“Then perhaps,” said Schmidt hopefully, “I should be the mastermind.”
“You’ve got my vote, Schmidt.”
“Good. The light is fading; let us go inside and make a plan.”
We retired to the sitting room and turned on all the lights. Schmidt opened two more beers and indicated the notebook and pen, which just happened to be strategically placed on the coffee table. I took them. Schmidt began to lecture.
The good ol’ boy does have a logical mind. We started with the assumption that Tut was still somewhere in the Luxor area, since the alternative—that he wasn’t—meant that he could be anyplace in the world. One of the avenues we hadn’t explored was an effort to track the van, but as Schmidt pointed out, that was probably a dead end. Ali had told Feisal the vehicle wasn’t the enormous van that had come the first time, but something about the size of a large bus. It probably was a large bus or truck, disguised by panels painted with appropriately mysterious symbols. All the thieves needed was a quiet spot off the road, where the panels could be removed and destroyed. The vehicle, now undistinguished and unnoticeable, would then proceed to…
There are a thousand hiding places in the cliffs of the West Bank—caves, abandoned tombs, clefts in the rock. Schmidt insisted the thieves wouldn’t put their precious cargo in a place which involved so many risks, from rockfalls to discovery by wandering fellahin. Not to mention the conspicuousness of a large bus heading back into the hills on tracks designed for goats.
“A residence” was the new mastermind’s conclusion. “Not a hotel, for obvious reasons, but an environment that can be controlled to some extent, away from extreme heat and dusty air and wandering animals.”
“It makes sense,” I admitted, impressed by his argument. “Are you sure you didn’t do it, Schmidt?”
Schmidt chuckled. “It is all surmise,” he said modestly. “But at least it provides us with a starting point.”
“Right. Every private house in Luxor and environs.”
Darkness hovered at the window. Across the river, lights began to twinkle. I had been dutifully taking notes, but I’d also been listening. When a knock sounded at the door I jumped up and ran to open it.
The well-crafted diatribe I had composed died in my throat. The newcomer wasn’t John. It was Feisal.
“Oh,” I said.
“Good to see you too,” said Feisal. He looked around. “Where’s Johnny?”
Schmidt giggled. He is only too well acquainted with American pop culture, past and present. “Never mind,” I said, as Feisal gave him a blank stare. “John went out a while ago. He hasn’t come back.”
“Where did he go?”
“He didn’t say.”
“You had a fight,” said Feisal, enlightened. “I’ve been expecting it.”
“He is, no doubt, exploring new avenues of investigation,” said Schmidt, dividing a look of reproach between me and Feisal. “We have been doing the same. Would you like to hear our deductions?”
Feisal went to the minibar and got out a bottle of some fizzy nonalcoholic lemon drink. I had tried it; it was quite revolting. “Go ahead,” he said.
When Schmidt finished, Feisal shook his head. “Fine, as far as it goes. But do you know how many private houses and villas and flats there are in the area? We can’t just bang on people’s doors and demand entry.”
“So we will have to narrow the possibilities by logical deduction,” said Schmidt. “Have you any suggestions, Feisal?”
Feisal drained the bottle. “Not offhand.”
“What about you?” I asked. “Anything new at the office?”
“Only a dozen messages from various subdirectors, reporting suspicious activities and/or illegal encroachment onto protected sites and/or…”
He went on for a while. I had stopped listening, straining my ears for the sound of footsteps or the turn of a key in the lock. Nothing. Surely he’d have got over his fit of the sulks by now.
Schmidt nudged me and I realized he was waiting for an answer to a question I hadn’t heard. Observing my vacuous look, he repeated it.
“Are you ready for dinner? Feisal has recommended a restaurant.”
“Shouldn’t we wait for John?” I asked.
“He’ll turn up when he’s good and ready,” Feisal said. “I’m getting hungry.”
At my suggestion, Feisal left a message for John telling him where we’d gone, and I allowed myself to be escorted out of the hotel. Fending off importunate drivers of taxis and carriages, we walked along the corniche past the Luxor Temple. The giant columns glimmered pale gold against the darkness.
“Ah, it is open tonight,” Schmidt said. “Shall we go in?”
I was about to say no when I saw someone heading toward the entrance. He was surrounded by other would-be visitors of all sizes, shapes, and modes of dress, but the light glowed off a head of fair hair. The sight of him, engaged in a casual bit of sightseeing after he’d left me to worry, brought my mounting anger to a boil.
“There he is!” I exclaimed. Pulling my arm from Feisal’s grasp, I ran after John. Feisal yelled at me to stop, and one of the ticket-takers tried to intercept me. I did a quick end around run past the latter, but by the time I reached the great pylon, John was nowhere in sight. Panting and swearing, I was about to enter the temple proper when Feisal caught up with me.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, taking firm hold of me.
“Didn’t you see him?”
“Who?”
Schmidt came puffing up. “Vicky, you must not run off that way.”
“It was John,” I said. “He went into the temple.”
“You must have been mistaken,” Feisal said.
“No! I saw…”
What had I seen, really? What I wanted to see, what I hoped to see?
“So long as we are here, we will enter and look round,” Schmidt said, in the soothing voice he would have used to a whiny toddler.
It was pointless, hopeless, and a waste of time. I knew that even before we passed between the giant statues of some Ramses or other and entered the great open court. The place was vast, with dozens of huge columns and doorways and statues and side chapels, all ideal hiding places for a man who wanted to avoid attention, and with perhaps a hundred people wandering in and out and back and forth. Several of the men had fair hair.
“Sehr interessant,” said Schmidt, stroking his mustache. “Sehr schön. The most beautiful temple in Egypt, some have—”
“You don’t have to be tactful, Schmidt,” I snarled. “So I was wrong. Let’s go.”
The restaurant had a courtyard which looked peaceful and pleasant in the glow of lanterns. A small fountain played in the center, and sitting at one of the tables was John.
Rising and holding a chair for me, he said, “Finally! I’ve been here some time.”
“Where were you?” I inquired very politely.