‘Now where?’ I asked, transferring passport, wallet, and a few dozen other objects into the new bag.
‘The ETAP,’ Schmidt answered. ‘It is good that you have your passport; we will need them in order to register.’
‘Under our own names?’
‘Unless you happen to have a false passport with you, we have no other choice,’ Schmidt said with pardonable sarcasm. ‘You know the regulations for foreigners. And don’t tell me we should choose a less expensive hotel. When they begin looking for us they will look in the cheaper places, thinking that we would not be so foolish as to go to another four-star botel. It is what you call the double whammy,’ Schmidt added.
I hated to get out of that taxi. I felt as conspicuous as a stoplight. However, I was less conspicuous at an expensive hotel, with other tall blond female tourists around, than I had been in the back streets of Luxor. Schmidt had had another bright idea, so, following his suggestion, I hung back, studying a rack of brochures, while he registered. The old boy was really in top form today – and I was not. If they tracked him down he could come up with a legitimate excuse for changing hotels, and my name would not be on the register. As he passed me, following the bellboy, he said loudly, ‘The fourth floor, you say?’ I waited a few minutes before following. When I got out on the fourth floor Schmidt was waiting to lead me to his room. It was a nice room, with a balcony and twin beds. Not that I expected to occupy one.
‘Good work, Schmidt,’ I said. ‘Now we have to – ’
‘Call the room service,’ said Schmidt, suiting the action to the word. ‘When he comes you will hide in the bathroom. Now close your mouth, Vicky, it looks very ugly when it is in that shape. I know the anguish that grips you, the frantic need to rush to the rescue of the man you – ’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I don’t think you do, Schmidt.’
‘But it is important that we organize ourselves instead of running headlong into danger and inevitable defeat. How long has it been since you have eaten?’
I sat down on one of the beds. ‘I don’t remember.’
‘We will be running and shooting and using much energy,’ Schmidt said with evident relish. ‘We will need all our strength and cunning. We must procure disguises. And weapons, and money, much more money, for bribes and for – ’
‘You can’t come with me, Schmidt.’
‘But Vicky – ’
‘Come here, Schmidt.’ I patted the bed next to me. Pouting, Schmidt sat down. I put my arms around him – as far around as they would go. ‘You’re the man I love, Schmidt. You’re also about a thousand per cent smarter than anybody I know, including me. Especially me. I will have something to eat and I will assume any disguise you can supply, and I will proceed with the utmost care and caution. But one person has a better chance of sneaking into that place than two.’ Especially when one of them was the size of Schmidt. I’d have cut my tongue out before saying it, though. I went on, ‘And one of us has to play backup. If I don’t make it, you’ll have to come in for me. That,’ I added quickly, ‘is a football term, Schmidt, not a literal suggestion. I mean – ’
‘I know the football,’ Schmidt sniffed. He had given me his handkerchief, so he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. ‘You mean I must go to to the police. Why don’t we do that now?’
‘I can think of at least two good – ’ A knock on the door interrupted me. I dragged myself into the bathroom and splashed water on my face while I waited for the waiter to leave. The face needed a lot more than water, but I got the worst of the dirt off before Schmidt called me back.
‘I know the reasons too,’ he said, waving me into a chair. ‘It will be hard to convince the police they must invade the home of so distinguished a visitor as Herr Blenkiron. Have you any proof, Vicky, of what he plans?’
‘No.’ I put things in my mouth and chewed them. Swallowing wasn’t easy, but I managed it. ‘That’s one reason. The other . . .’
‘Yes, I have thought of that too.’ For once Schmidt didn’t appear to be enjoying his food.
Neither of us wanted to say it. Even supposing the cops could be persuaded to search the house, they might not find anything. It’s easier to hide a dead body than a live one. John knew exactly what they were planning. They still needed him for one part of the scheme – I was pretty sure I knew what part – but they’d work around that rather than take the risk of letting him talk to the authorities.
‘Another thing concerns me,’ Schmidt said, tactfully changing the subject. ‘Is there a possibility, do you think, that not all the police are honest?’
‘It’s a dead certainty, I think, that some of them are not. There are a few people in any security service in any country who can be bought.’ I put my fork down and stared dismally at my boss. ‘That’s another little problem, Schmidt. I doubt that even John knows who is in Blenkiron’s pay and who is unwitting. If we pick the wrong person . . .’
‘Eat, eat,’ Schmidt urged. ‘Do not lose heart. We will not pick the wrong person because we will go straight to the tops – my old acquaintance, Dr Ramadan, the director of the Cairo Museum, and my dear friend the Interior Minister, and the pleasant individual I met at a conference – ’
‘I’ll leave it to you, Schmidt,’ I said. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t think, I couldn’t sit still a second longer. At that moment I was in complete sympathy with the people who want to censor films because of excessive, explicit violence. Obviously I’d seen too many of them; Technicolor images kept flashing across the screen of my mind. ‘Help me figure out how I’m going to get back in that place.’
The main gate was out. They’d be guarding it closely, especially since I had wrecked the electronic controls. Once inside there was a chance I could mingle with the packers long enough to enter the house. If the packers were still there and if I could climb that damned wall and if my turban didn’t fall off . . .
‘Forget it,’ I said impatiently, grabbing the strip of white cloth from Schmidt after it had collapsed around my ears for the third time. ‘I can’t put it on till after we leave the hotel anyhow. I’ll cheat and use safety pins.’
He’d had to make a quick shopping trip. There are dozens of shops and souvenir stands along the corniche; the only problem he’d had was finding a galabiya without sequins, embroidery, or bright braid. The one he’d brought back was plain grey. After I wadded it up and rubbed it in the flower box on the balcony and frayed the hem, it looked reasonably authentic. The white cloth was a cotton scarf designed for female tourists. My handsome tanned complexion came out of a bottle.
‘What else have you got in there?’ I asked, curiosity overcoming my raging impatience as Schmidt replaced the bottle in his briefcase.
‘Contact lenses,’ said Schmidt. ‘Black ones and brown ones. Scissors. They are useful for many things. Dye for the hair – ’
I declined the hair colouring. It would take too long to dry, and if it was the same stuff Schmidt had used on his moustache it would probably run.
‘Traveller’s cheques,’ Schmidt continued. ‘And money. Take it, you may need it. I will cash more traveller’s cheques this afternoon. And take this also.’
I put the cash into my pocket. The other offering was a knife.
‘Where’d you get that?’ I demanded. He must have brought the other things all the way from Munich, but he could never have gotten the knife through customs. It had a worn wooden hilt and a blade eight inches long. The edges shone.
‘From the taxi driver,’ Schmidt said calmly. ‘He did not have a gun, but he – ’
‘Thanks.’ I was in no mood to be fussy. I was only sorry the taxi driver hadn’t packed an Uzi.
I didn’t get to use my pretty new bag after all. I filled my pockets with as many useful items as they would hold and fastened them securely with safety pins. Schmidt was talking – something about Cairo – but I cut him off. ‘Let’s go.’
I assumed my disguise in the taxi. Watching in the rearview mirror, the driver was so interested he almost ran over a bicycle and two Swedish tourists. Schmidt told him some story – something indecent, probably, because the driver howled with laughter and Schmidt blushed when I asked him what he had said.
He dropped me off and I waved bye-bye to him as the taxi headed back along the corniche. The arrangements had taken longer than I would have liked. The sun was sinking towards the cliffs of the west bank and the river reflected the glow of gathering sunset. It might have been more sensible to wait until after dark before I made the attempt. In fact, there was no question about it; it would have been more sensible.
Carrying my shopping bag, I shuffled along the broken sidewalk in my backless leather slippers. For once I was grateful I had feet as big as a man’s. The women’s slippers were gaudy affairs with turned-up toes and gilt
