Other times, it would be: This man will begin by begging me for a special deal. He will cry about his own poverty. I will berate him for his weakness and then pretend to give him a very special price of a hundred and fifty gineih. He will say that his own children will go hungry. As a magnanimous gesture, I will give it to him for a hundred-and-twenty-five gineih. It still only cost me fifty.
Ahmed was amazed how often his father’s predictions turned out to be accurate. He learned much about the world of men and business while secreted away in aman.
He never guessed that, someday, he would use the chamber to hide a store of something called promethium, a substance that could be used to make a weapon more powerful than anything his father could have dreamed of.
Nor did Ahmed guess that there were would be times he would ask members of his own security force to hide in there. Just in case. And only because Ahmed was not as gifted as his father at anticipating what visitors to the office might say and do.
And because those visitors tended to be more dangerous than the ones Ahmed’s father had entertained.
Ahmed was looking at that painting, thinking of the lessons of “The Three Apples,” remembering those long hours he had whiled away inside as a boy, when his phone rang.
“Yes?” he said in Arabic.
Ahmed’s side of the conversation went as follows:
“Yes, I’m ready. I am always ready. You know that….
“Any time you like. Would you like it to be tomorrow? I can make it tomorrow….
“Yes, of course I will have the money. Have I ever failed you?…
“And we are agreed on the price?…
“No, no, no. That is not acceptable. Not at all. These complications you speak of, these are not my problem….
“Well, so kill them if you have to kill them. What do you expect me to do, weep at their funeral? They mean nothing to me….
“Well, then I will suggest to you the desert is a wonderful place to dispose of a body. You are aware of the saying we have about that, yes?”
Ahmed then laughed and said, “No, no. It is this: sand only surrenders that which it wants to. You take care of your problems. I’ll take care of mine. I will see you in the morning, Allah be praised.”
CHAPTER 19
WEST OF LUXOR, Egypt
atie Comely’s cheeks were flushed, and for once it wasn’t only because of the heat.
“I just don’t understand where your objections are coming from,” she was saying to Professor Raynes. “These people are the answer to our dreams. Did you see the size of that guy? He could fit three Egyptians in his pocket. More importantly, did you see the size of his gun? And the woman looks like she can handle herself, too. Certainly a lot better than a bunch of so-called guards that run away the second someone gives them a cross look.”
Katie and the professor had retired to his tent. The heat of the day was upon them. Outside, the mercury was climbing toward fifty degrees Celsius, more than 120 degrees Fahrenheit. Inside Raynes’s tent, a solar-powered air-conditioning unit pumped in cool air that provided a hedge against the oppressiveness of the desert. Much of the cold leaked down through the wooden floor that Raynes had installed to lift his tent off the sand. The result was that the tent was merely lukewarm, as opposed to sweltering.
Still, it was a lot more posh than most of the archaeological digs Katie had been on. Raynes had all the latest equipment, plus generators to run it all. It helped give the camp at least a veneer of civilization amid the brutality of their surroundings.
“All I’m saying is, I’m not sure I trust these people, Katie,” Professor Raynes said.
“How could you say that? They’re from i-apple. They’re here to protect us.”
“Yes, yes, I know we think they’re from i-apple. But normally people from the International Art Protection League don’t just show up out of nowhere, on camels, without warning. They call ahead. They come in trucks. These people, they could be anyone.”
Katie put her hands on her hips. “Why would they say they’re from i-apple if they’re not from i-apple? That just seems like a random thing to go claiming. If you’re that worried, call up your contact in Bern.”
“I will, I will,” the professor said.
“It’s just, we’re so close. I’ve got Bouchard ready to move. He’s coming out tonight.”
She had taken to naming her mummy Bouchard, after Pierre-François Bouchard, the French army officer who found the Rosetta Stone — the discovery that was considered to have launched the entire field of Egyptology. Until Katie was able to get the mummy back to the lab, she would get no closer to knowing his real name. Which of the many previously unfound ancient kings of Egypt was he?
“I know how much he means to you,” the professor said, softening his tone.
“Anyone who says they want to help? As far as I’m concerned, I don’t care if they are charlatans in some way we don’t yet realize. If they protect us, I’ll buy whatever snake oil they want to sell us or—”
“Katie, are you sure that’s wise?”
“I just…I lost Khufu and if I lose this too…I mean, this is my whole—” she began, then stopped because she realized she was about to cry.
“Katie, Katie,” the professor cooed.
He stood, walked around behind her, and began rubbing her shoulders. It was the first time he had ever touched her in a way that couldn’t be considered professional. She had a mind to fight it, to shrug it off, and to chastise him for it. She knew about his crush. It was wrong on many levels.
But then she reminded herself she needed all the help she could get. There were worse things than accepting an unsolicited back rub. If that’s what kept him on her side, she would allow it.
TWO TENTS OVER, there were no back rubs going on.
“Oh, Mr. Talbot, you’re so big and strong,” Clara Strike said in a mocking rendition of Katie Comely’s soprano voice. “You look like you could lift anything. As a matter of fact, why don’t you come over here and lift up my skirt?”
“Oh, stop.”
“And when you’re done, what do you say we dig around in whatever you find there? I bet we could really do some wonderful excavating.”
“What are you suggesting?” Storm asked.
“What am I suggesting?” Strike said, returning to her normal tone. “I’m not suggesting anything. I’m saying she wants to play a game of hide the hieroglyph with you, and from the way you’re looking at her, the feeling is more than a little mutual.”
“Come on now,” Storm said. “You’re just being silly.”
“Silly, am I? Sorry; so it was just a coincidence that we went into the desert a newly and happily married couple — Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan, on their honeymoon, riding the most romantic camels in all of Egypt, deeply in love — and the next thing I know I’m actually an old maid, schlepping over sand dunes with some guy named Tommy Talbot.”
“Terry Talbot. I told you I didn’t like the name Sullivan.”
“So you divorced me, just like that? The institution of marriage is that meaningless to you?”
“I didn’t div —
“I just don’t know what I’m going to say to all our friends who came to the wedding. And all the money my parents spent. Can you return a wedding dress that’s only been worn once?”
“Can I remind you we were not actually married?”
“Not anymore, apparently,” Strike sniffed, holding her chin up high.
“I was improvising, okay? I also told her we were international defenders of art, whatever the hell that means. I can’t be held accountable that the young woman happens to be impressed with my physique.”