“Strolling. I stopped at one of the shops round the corner.” He handed me a small parcel. I unwrapped it, and found a pair of silver earrings shaped like cats’ heads.
It was meant as a peace offering, but I wasn’t ready to forgive and forget. “I thought I saw you going into Luxor Temple,” I said.
After an infinitesimal pause, John raised an eyebrow. “So that’s what took you so long. I presume Schmidt had to inspect every corner of the place.”
“I was not inspecting, I was enjoying an aesthetic experience,” said Schmidt.
Feisal ordered for us and Schmidt decided to have another Stella. I said, “Schmidt and I have worked out a plan of operation.”
“Have you indeed?” This time both eyebrows went up. “May I hear it?”
Schmidt was happy to oblige. “It only remains,” he finished, “to narrow down the possibilities.”
As I might have expected, John proceeded to demolish our arguments. “What makes you suppose they would worry about a controlled environment? He’s been in that tomb for more than three thousand years, and for more than eighty of those years he’s been exposed to every form of pollutant imaginable. A few more weeks in a hole in a cliff won’t hurt him.”
“That would mean he’s still on the West Bank,” I said, unwilling to abandon our nice, neat theory. “How could they transport him back into the cliffs without being seen?”
“On a cart or wagon,” John said. “At night. I doubt they care whether he is banged up a bit. They’ve already lopped off a hand.”
Feisal grimaced. “Don’t say things like that.”
“Well, what do you think?” John asked. “Is there any point in following Schmidt’s suggestion?”
“I think it would be a bloody waste of time,” Feisal admitted. “Time we don’t have. If we had a lead—any faint, feeble lead…”
He looked at John, who shook his head. “What about Ali?” he asked.
“I’m sending some men out to look for him tomorrow. It’s common knowledge that he’s disappeared, and the theory is that he met with an accident back in the cliffs. Even experienced locals do occasionally.”
A waiter began distributing plates and bowls around the table. I recognized rice and a stewed vegetable dish consisting primarily of tomatoes. Feisal gestured to me to serve myself, which I did, discovering eggplant, lamb in several incarnations, and lentils. For a while there was no sound except that of Schmidt masticating.
“It looks as if I’ll have to make a quick trip to Denderah tomorrow or next day,” Feisal went on. “Someone broke into the storehouse there and made off with a granite sarcophagus basin. They’ve got a suspect, but haven’t tracked him down.”
“Where could he have hidden such a thing?” I asked. “It must weigh a ton.”
“Thereabouts,” Feisal agreed. “Farouk is an old hand at this, though. He and his pals stole a statue of Hathor from the temple a couple of months ago, in broad daylight, with hundreds of witnesses watching. It’s never been found.”
“Maybe we should ask him where he’d have put Tut,” I said.
Nobody found this amusing, not even me.
The Curse of the Omnipresent Cell Phone had reached Egypt; throughout the meal they had been beeping and bopping all around us. When one burst into song nearer at hand I looked at Schmidt. “That has to be yours,” I said. “Who else would have Johnny Cash?”
“Don’t answer it,” John ordered. “Let her leave a message.”
“You can’t be sure it’s Suzi,” I said.
“If it is, I’d rather Schmidt didn’t talk to her before he gives it due consideration.”
“And before I have finished my dinner,” Schmidt said, scooping the last of the eggplant onto his plate.
“I’d better check my messages,” Feisal said, taking out his cell phone. “I told Ali’s brother to let me know at once if they heard from him.”
I couldn’t blame him for clinging to that hope, increasingly unlikely though it seemed. He had several messages, none of which wrung a comment from him until the last. He let out a strangled squawk of horror.
“Oh, no,” I said. “Don’t tell me Ali is—”
“Not Ali,” Feisal muttered. “But it’s bad. Very bad. What am I going to do?”
We waited, holding our collective breaths. Feisal’s face was haggard. “Saida. She’s coming. Tomorrow. She wants to see…him.”
NINE
F eisal’s first impulse was to cut and run for it. “She can’t get in the tomb if I’m not here.”
“Wanna bet?” I inquired.
Feisal thought it over. “Bloody hell,” he said.
“Perhaps,” said Schmidt, “we should enlist her aid. She is very intelligent.”
“Tell her the truth, you mean?” said Feisal, horrified.
“Out of the question,” John said. “Control your lascivious impulses, Schmidt. It’s not her intelligence that interests you. You’ll have to ring Ashraf, Feisal. He’s the only one who can head her off.”
“Yes, right.” Feisal pushed his chair back and rose. “Let’s find a more private spot.”
We let Schmidt pay the check and hurried back to the hotel. A turbaned attendant was turning down the beds and putting little foil-wrapped pieces of chocolate on the pillows.
“The service here is very good,” Schmidt said, unwrapping his chocolate.
“Too good,” John said, roaming restlessly around the sitting room. “Get rid of him, Feisal. Politely.”
“Find anything?” I inquired, after John had looked behind the sofa cushions and under the table.
“No. That’s the trouble with all this assiduous service, one can’t tell whether the place has been searched. Watch what you say to Ashraf, Feisal. Schmidt, you had better report to Suzi.”
“I want to hear what Feisal says first,” said Schmidt, settling himself on the sofa.
Feisal got through to Ashraf right away. I found this surprising until it occurred to me that Ashraf must be as edgy as we were, and as anxious to stay in touch.
“Put it on speaker,” Schmidt said, all ears.
“Sorry, my equipment is somewhat primitive,” Feisal snapped. “Ashraf? Feisal here. We have a slight problem…No, nothing like that…No, there’s been no news of him. But Saida wants to visit a particular site in the Valley tomorrow, and…Yes, that site. Can you…Good. No, I’m going to Denderah tomorrow, there has been…Oh. If you say so. What? Oh. Are you sure you…Oh. You’re sure. Right.”
“Let me guess,” I said brightly. “He’ll put Saida off. And you are not going to Denderah.”
“Very clever,” said Feisal, baring his teeth. “Go on.”
“Ashraf is coming to Luxor.” I was guessing now, but Feisal’s expression of deepening gloom confirmed my hunch. “When?”
“Maybe tomorrow. Next day at the latest. He’ll let me know.”
“Hmph,” said John. “He’ll expect progress, won’t he?”
“Indubitably.”
“Then we must make some progress,” said Schmidt, taking out his cell. “What shall I say to Suzi?”
“As little as possible,” John said.
I must say, the little rascal was good. After the initial fond greetings, his first question was a coy, “Guess where I am?”
Suzi didn’t go in for guessing. She knew. Schmidt’s mustache twitched; he chewed on his lower lip as he listened to a fairly lengthy speech. “But, Liebchen,” he began, “I could not find the opportunity…” Another longish interruption. Wrong tack, Suzi, I thought, watching Schmidt stiffen and scowl. “You are wrong to reproach me,” he said loudly. “They know no more than you. I would swear to it. We are on the trail of the real perpetrators. If you truly care for me…” Listening, he put on a smirk I had learned to know well; Suzi had decided to be conciliatory. Too late, had she but known. Then Schmidt let out a bellow. “No! No, you must not do that! You do not trust me! Ach, Gott!”