“Romantic?” I said aloud.
“Shh.” Schmidt came to a halt and pointed. “There. Is that not—”
Pale light sifted down between the giant columns and glimmered off a head of fair hair.
“Not John,” I said.
“How can you be sure?”
“If it were John you wouldn’t see him at all. Probably some visiting archaeologist.”
We went on along the main axis, stopping to look down the intersecting aisles as we crossed them. The futility of our search became increasingly apparent to me; the few people we spotted were so diminished by distance and darkness, I couldn’t even tell whether they were men or women.
I caught hold of Schmidt’s sleeve. “This is only one part of the temple, isn’t it?”
“Yes, yes, there are long sections beyond. Several more pylons, a temple of the Eighteenth—”
“Why wouldn’t Ashraf be meeting his contact there? This is an impossible place to search.”
“But it is perfect for a private rendezvous. One cannot be cornered,” said Schmidt triumphantly, “because there are no corners! And concealment can be attained in a split second.”
And one could go on playing hide-and-seek indefinitely. Every column looked like every other column and each was big enough to hide several people.
I didn’t have the heart to call a halt, though. Schmidt was having a wonderful time, tiptoeing and squinting at nothing in particular, and I was getting over my fit of nerves.
Then Schmidt let out a stifled shriek and disappeared.
I wasn’t looking at him when it happened. He had fallen behind Feisal and me—not far behind, only a few yards. Having concluded that nothing nasty was going to happen, I had relaxed my guard and was going through the motions, peering dutifully from one side to the other. I spun around. No Schmidt. Gone, just like that.
I ran back, yelling his name, and made a quick right turn into the next intersecting aisle. There was enough light for me to see some distance along the line of huge columns. At the far end, a long way off, was a human figure. It couldn’t be Schmidt, he couldn’t have got that far. Oh, God, I thought, please, no—not Schmidt…
A hand covered my mouth and a muscular arm pinned my arms to my sides. I kicked back, heard a grunt, and then a swear word. “Stop that,” Feisal muttered. “He’s okay, I found him.”
I went limp with relief. Feisal let me go. “Keep quiet,” he said softly. “This way.”
I hadn’t gone quite far enough. Schmidt was in the next aisle down. He was talking to someone. They were both hidden from view by one of the damned columns, and their voices were so low I couldn’t make out what they were saying until we stood on the other side of the column.
The other person was speaking. It’s hard to identify voices when they whisper; the speaker might have been male or female. The first words I heard were “…want to help. I’m on your side, you know.”
“Do you really mean it?” came next, in Schmidt’s version of a whisper.
For several long seconds there was no sound except for some heavy breathing. Feisal squeezed my arm. I looked up at him. He grinned and raised his finger to his lips.
I was sorely tempted to burst upon the pair with rude comments, but discretion dictated otherwise. No, I would wait to hear what Schmidt had to say. If he fell under the spell of Suzi again, we would have to deprogram him. The other person had to be Suzi; Schmidt hadn’t had time to make another conquest. She must have followed us from the hotel…Unless Schmidt had told her where we were going. Honestly, I thought, you can’t trust anybody.
Feisal put his mouth against my ear. “I’m going to follow her. Get hold of Schmidt and go back to the entrance.”
“He told us not to—”
He faded into the shadow and became invisible.
I had had enough. Reaching into my pocket, I took out Schmidt’s flashlight and switched it on. A faint sound behind me made me whirl in that direction; in the beam of light I thought I saw something duck back behind a column. Another sound from the opposite direction. Shadows raced from the light as I turned back to see Schmidt step into view. He raised his hand to shield his eyes.
“What—” he began.
I grabbed him by the collar with my free hand and shook him. “What do you mean, what? I’m the one who should say ‘What?’ How dare you scare me that way?”
“It was Suzi,” Schmidt said calmly. “She caught hold of me and pulled me behind that column. She is very strong for a woman. I was too surprised at first to resist, and then she persuaded me that I must listen to what she had to say. Where is Feisal? I told him not to leave you alone.”
“You left me alone.”
“It was not my fault, but I don’t blame you if you are angry.” Schmidt tried to appear penitent. He didn’t really succeed; the very curve of his mustache was smug. “I found out much of interest, and got back into her good graces. She begged my pardon and said she believed me; that she is on our side now.”
“Did you believe her?”
“Of course I did not. But it seemed to me wise to act as if I did. Vicky, she says John is here at Karnak. She saw him not five minutes ago. Turn off the flashlight and I will take you—”
“Damned if I will. I’ve had enough dark.”
“He will see us approaching.”
“No, he won’t because we aren’t going…Hmmm. Where was he when she saw him?”
Schmidt pointed down one of the endless aisles. “Going in that direction. What will you bet me that he is following Ashraf?”
“Ashraf is being followed by John who is being followed by Suzi who is being followed by Feisal and us? This is ludicrous, Schmidt. I’m going back to the entrance and you are coming with me.”
“Feisal is following Suzi?”
“Just come quietly, okay?”
There was only one way of making certain he did, and that was to start back myself. I knew my Schmidt wouldn’t leave me alone.
We had only gone a little way when a long, high-pitched cry echoed down the aisles. The sound was as shocking as an explosion in the pervasive silence, and it went on and on, broken by brief pauses which wrenched at the hearing almost as painfully as the cries themselves.
The flashlight beam wobbled violently as I pivoted, trying to locate the source. Schmidt tugged at my arm. “This way!”
“Schmidt, we can’t—”
But I knew we had to. Feisal was out there somewhere.
As we swerved around columns we ran into a man coming the other way—another way, anyhow, there weren’t any discernible directions in that maze. I directed my light at him in time to keep Schmidt from knocking him flat. He was even chubbier than Schmidt; they bounced off each other and rocked to a stop.
“Wolfgang!” Schmidt exclaimed.
“Schmidt! Is it you? Was ist gefallen? Wer hat geschriehen?”
“Ich weiss nicht. Kommen Sie mit.”
“Your flashlight, Schmidt,” I said breathlessly.
“Ach, ja, ich habe vergessen.”
He had, understandably, neglected to introduce Wolfgang; I deduced that he was a member of one of the archaeological groups working in the Luxor area. The screams had stopped, but after we’d gone a little way I began to hear voices. We weren’t the only ones who had responded. Some must have been closer to the scene than we, since already a small group of people had gathered around a figure seated on the ground, hands clutching his head. Everybody was talking at once, offering advice in a variety of languages.