we go, may I make a phone call home?"
"By home, I take it that you mean Cairo?"
"Sorry. Yes, to Cairo. Duraid's farnily7-'
"Please! No need to explain. There is the phone. Help yourself I'll be
waiting downstairs in the kitchen when you are finished. We both need a
cup of tea before we get going."
She came down into the kitchen half an hour later looking guilty, and
told him directly, "I am afraid that I am going to be a nuisance again.
I have a confession to make."
"Spit it out, he invited.
"I have to go back home - to Cairo," she said, and he looked at her
startled. "Just for a few days," she qualified hurriedly. "I was
speaking to Duraid's brother. There are some of Duraid's affairs that I
have to see to."
I don't like you going back there on your own," he shook his head,
'after your last experiences."
"If our theory is correct, and Nahoot Guddabi was the danger, then he is
in Ethiopia now. I should be quite safe."
"Still, I don't like it. You are the key to Taita's game."
"Thank you kindly, Sir" she said with mock outrage. "Is that the only
reason you don't want me bumped off?"
if forced into a corner, I may admit that I have also wn rather partial
to having you around."
I'll be back before you know I've even gone. Besides which, you will
have plenty to keep you busy while I am away."
"I don't suppose that I can stop you," he grumbled.
When do you plan to leave?"
There's a flight at eight this evening."
(A bit sudden. I mean, we have only just arrived." He made one last
feeble protest, then capitulated. "I will run you out to the airport."
"No, Nicky. Heathrow is out of your way. I can catch the train."
"I insist."
On a Monday evening the traffic was reasonably light and, once they had
cleared the main built-up area, they made good time. The journey was
further lightened by their animated discussion as he related the
contents of the phone calls he had made in her absence.
"Through Maryam Kidane, I hope to be in contact with Mek Nimmur again
pretty soon. Mek is the kingpin of the whole plan Without him we cant
even make the first move on Taita's bao board."
He dropped her off at the departures entrance at Heathrow. "Phone me
tomorrow morning from Cairo to let me know you are all right, and when
you are coming back.
I'll be at the flat."
"Reversed charges," she warned him as she offered him her cheek to kiss.
Then she slid across the seat and slammed the door behind her.
He watched her waiflike figure in the rear-view mirror as he pulled
away, and he was filled with melancholy and a sense of loss. Then quite
suddenly he was aware of a new sensation of disquiet. His early-warning
bells were jangling. Something unpleasant was afoot. Something ing nasty
was about to happen when she reached Egypt.
Another dangerous beast had escaped from " its cage and was prowling the
darkness waiting its opportunity to pounce, but it was still too early
for him to discern its colour or shape.
"Please don't let anything happen to her," he spoke aloud, but he did
not know to whom his plea was addressed. He thought of turning back and
making her stay with him, but he had no rights in the matter, and he
knew she would not obey him. Short of physical force, there was no way
he could impose his will upon her. He had to let her go.
"But I don't like it one little bit," he reaffirmed.
His private secretary, and the other men who worked for him, knew
exactly what he expected of them. Everything was as he required it.
Gotthold von Schiller looked around the interior of the Quonset hut with
approval. Heim had done well in the time that he had been given to
prepare the base for his boss's arrival.
His own private quarters occupied half the long portable building. They
were spartan, but sterilely clean and neat. His clothes hung in the
cupboard and his cosmetics and medicines were set out in the bathroom
cabinet. His private kitchen was fully equipped and stocked with
provisions. His own Chinese chef had flown out in the Falcon with him,
bringing everything with him that he needed to provide the meals that
his master demanded.
Von Schiller was a vegetarian, a non-smoker and a teetotaller. Twenty
years ago he had been a famous trencherman who loved the hearty food of
the Black Forest, the wines of the Rhine valley and the rich dark
tobaccos of Cuba. In those days he had been obese, with rolls of chin
sagging over his collar. Now, despite his age, he was as lean and fit
and vital as a racing greyhound.
In the autumn of his life, the pleasures were of the mind and the
emotions, more than of the physical senses.
He placed a higher value on inanimate objects than on living creatures,
either human or animal. A piece of stone carved by masons who had been
dead for thousands of years could excite him more than the soft warm
body of the most lovely young woman. He loved order and control.
Power over men and events sustained him more than did the taste of food.
Power and the possession of beautiful and unique objects were his
passions, now that his body was running down and his animal appetites
were losing their zest.
Every item of all that vast and priceless, collection of ancient
treasures that he had already assembled had been discovered by other
men. This was his chance, his last chance to make his own discovery, to
break the seals on the door of a Pharaoh's tomb and be the first man in
four thousand years to gaze upon the contents. Perhaps that Was his real
hope for immortality, and there was no price in gold and human life he
was not fully prepared to pay for it.
Already men had died in this passion of his, and he cared not that there
would be other sacrifices. No price was too high.
He checked his image in the full-length mirror that hung on the wall
opposite his bed. He smoothed the thick, coarse, dark hair. Of course it
was dyed, but that was one of his few remaining conceits. Then he
crossed the uncarpeted wooden floor of his own quarters, and opened the
door into the long conference room which would be his headquarters over
the days to come.
The persons seated there rose to their feet immedi.
lately, their attitudes servile and their expressions obsequious. Von
Schiller strode to the head of the long table and stepped up on to the
block of wood covered with carpeting that his private secretary had
placed there for him. This block went everywhere with him. It was nine
inches high. From this elevation von Schiller looked down upon the men
and one woman who waited for him. He looked them over unhurriedly,
letting them stand a while.
>From the vantage point of his block, he was taller than any of them.
First he looked at Helm. The Texan had worked for him for over a decade.
Completely reliable he was strong both physically and mentally and would
follow orders without question or qualms. Von Schiller had come to rely
on him. He could send him anywhere in the world, from Zaire to
Queensland, from the Arctic Circle to the steaming equatorial forests,
and Helm would get the job done with the minimum of fuss and with very