Ark realized what your president was actually describing.'
'But the Egyptians must have some inkling of it. Otherwise why the surveillance?'
'From my published work they would know I am studying something that could be a potential weapon. I also am studying something that, if properly harnessed, could literally move mountains.'
Lang settled back on his stool and refilled his teacup. 'Or tons of rock to build a pyramid.'
'Just so.'
'But how?'
Bin Hamish was checking the backs of his hands again. 'That I do not yet know. What I do know so far is what you have seen. The only material not affected like the slug of metal is pure gold.'
'What happens to gold?'
'Gold, Mr. Reilly, does not burn. It melts. Your papers tell of Moses burning the golden calf. The only way he could have done that is by using a force similar to the one the Ark projects. It turns gold into the white powder. Manna, if you will.'
'Let me get this straight.' Lang was trying to reduce the process to one he could understand. 'The white powder, manna, fuels the Ark, and the Ark turns gold into the white powder. Why?'
Bin Hamish moved his head slowly from side to side. 'That is, so far, unknown to me. That is a law of the universe that is yet to be rediscovered.'
Lang slid from the stool, standing. 'Dr. bin Hamish, I appreciate your time. What can I do…?'
Bin Hamish crossed the room and somehow opened the panel. 'It is unnecessary for you to do anything. As you can see from this house, I have no need of money. An inheritance and investments outside Egypt have seen to that. Having a chance to talk with you is recompense enough. I rarely have visitors.' He nodded in the direction of the street and his minders. 'You can understand why few if any of my former colleagues come to call.'
Lang left by the same rear door through which he had entered. When he reached the street, the same two men were still in the same Mercedes.
FORTY
Four Seasons Hotel at Nile Plaza
1089 Comiche el-Nil
Cairo
Twenty Minutes Later
Lang had gone from the airport straight to meet bin Hamish, detouring only to entrust his single bag to the hotel's concierge before heading across the river. Now he had returned to a flurry of excuses and promises as to when he might occupy his room. His expectations were not enhanced by the marble-pillared lobby's growing line of disheveled arriving guests who were also looking forward to a shower, a shave, and perhaps a nap to bring their frayed psyches more in line with local time.
Although Lang had spent little time in the Arab world, he understood far better than most of his tired, jetlagged, and irritated fellow travelers how things worked. Deeply apologetic, the desk clerk pleaded an abnormal number of late checkouts and the lack of trained help.
He leaned toward Lang conspiratorially. 'It is difficult to get these people to work,' he confided with a patronizing smile that said he was sure someone of Lang's sophistication would understand the abhorrence with which local women regarded labor. 'But we do have the presidential suite available right now. Only a few hundred pounds more than yours.'
Lang wasn't falling for the old upgrade trick, one common throughout the Middle East. Instead he crossed the ornate lobby to press against the concierge desk so that those behind him could not see the ten-Egyptian-pound note he spread out on the varnished wood.
Smiling, he said, 'I would like my room as soon as possible.'
'Of course,' the man said with an oily grin as he reached for the bill.
Lang stepped back, returning the money to his pocket. 'It will be yours when you deliver the room key. I'll be in the bar.'
Lang was uncertain whether the hotel's bar was supposed to be contemporary with an Egyptian flair or was just overdone. A round window of dark blue was reflected in twin crystal obelisks. He sat in one of the gold- lacquered chairs that vaguely resembled something he might have seen at Versailles.
A waiter who looked like he might have just left a meeting of the local Shriners, complete with fez, appeared as though from Aladdin's lamp. Already full of caffeine so early in the day, Lang ordered a large orange juice, leaned back, and went over the meeting he had just left.
Add to a Moses who was not Hebrew but a king and Israelites who were not Jews but Egyptians a weapon of ancient origin that, quite likely, had toppled a modern empire. Was it this device that the unknown 'they' sought? More likely they were trying to suppress it. If someone were trying to prevent its proliferation, presumably that would be a power that already had it.
As far as Lang knew, that included only the United States.
But weapons systems tended to be like popular songs: Once performed, everyone whistled or hummed along. If America had the Ark… what? Ray? Laser? Whatever. Star Wars. If the United States had it, it was certain to have been tested; and, if tested, its existence was at least known to the other major players.
But which ones?
'Mr. Reilly?'
The smarmy concierge was looking down at him, suitcase in hand. 'Your room is ready.'
The view of the river one block west and the island he had just left were impressive, but Lang pulled the curtains against the glare, took a long shower, and stretched out on the king-size bed. He tried to take up the thought process that had been interrupted in the bar but was soon asleep.
He had no idea how long he had slept. The sun was now making the room brighter despite the curtains. For an instant he hung between the reality of this world and the gauzy consciousness of dreams. He had been… somewhere, and there had been a sound… a noise. But what?
A very real knock came from the door to his suite.
'A minute!' Lang called, struggling into his pants and shoes. 'Who's there?'
'Room service.'
Lang stopped halfway to the door. He hadn't ordered anything, nor was he going to. Another common scam in this part of the world was to post room service items at one price while charging nearly-double that for delivering them.
Lang pressed an eye to the peephole. Outside his door was the concierge. Now what?
The instant he unlocked the door it flew open. Two burly men stepped into the room from the hall and slammed the door shut while the concierge, his mission complete, slunk away.
Both men wore dark suits despite the heat; both faces were hidden behind sunglasses.
Tweedledum and Tweedledee.
They could have been the men outside bin Hamish's house. The two took their time inspecting the room and Lang's suitcase while Lang cursed himself for not making arrangements for the weapon he could not have carried past airport security.
'If you gentlemen are from the tourist bureau, I'm perfectly satisfied with the room.'
Neither intruder gave a sign of having heard.
Instead they completed probing the lining of Lang's single bag before the shorter of the two turned and asked in accented English, 'What did you discuss with the Jew bin Hamish?'
He made no effort to conceal the butt of a pistol in the holster under his left arm.
Lang pursed his lips and squinted, a man desperately trying to recall something. 'We spoke of many things: of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings.'
The blow came so fast Lang barely had time to roll with it, an openhanded slap that made Lang see double. Apparently these goons weren't fond of Lewis Carroll.
The man was immobile, as though he hadn't moved at all. 'Once again, Mr. Reilly…'
