Yet you look somewhat familiar…”
“We’ve never met,” John said. It was true; he had made a point of staying out of Jan’s way during the Trojan Gold fiasco. He went on, “I have recently acquired a few Egyptian pieces in which the museum might be interested.”
“You might send us photographs,” Jan said. “Assuming, of course, that their provenance is impeccable.”
“I assure you, it is.”
“We would never consider purchasing an object that had not been legally acquired.”
He smirked at Schmidt and gave John a warm smile. John smiled warmly back.
T hough we assured him it wasn’t necessary, Jan summoned a guard to escort us out of the museum. This indication of mistrust offended Schmidt, who insisted on stopping by to say hello to Nefertiti.
I had seen her many times, but I never tired of it. The photographs don’t do her justice. The tall, distinctive blue crown that hides her hair, the delicately tinted face and smiling lips, the long throat and lifted chin…Even the missing eye didn’t detract from her beauty. I could see why the Egyptians wanted her back. If Tutankhamon is the most famous of all Egyptian symbols, Nefertiti runs him a close second—and she’s much nicer to look at.
Schmidt paid her the tribute of a long sigh, and then let himself be led away.
The audience had dispersed, and our banner had disappeared—thrown into a trash can, I supposed.
“Time for lunch,” said Schmidt. “There is a restaurant—”
“You just ate four hot dogs,” I protested.
“We may as well feed him,” John said. “He’s more amenable to suggestion when he’s eating.”
The restaurant was crowded and noisy. The perfect setting, as all spies know, for a private conversation.
“So what suggestion?” Schmidt demanded. “Perlmutter gave nothing away, the sly dog, but you did well, John, to form a bond with him.”
“Thank you,” John said humbly.
“Do you really have objects of museum quality? Why was I not given a chance to see them?”
“Because our collections don’t include ancient Egyptian material,” I said.
“How did you acquire them?” Schmidt demanded.
“Quite legitimately, I assure you.”
“Aha,” said Schmidt. “From—”
“Irrelevant and immaterial,” John said. “They should serve as a means of maintaining amicable relations with Perlmutter, however. On a completely unrelated subject, isn’t it time you were in touch with Suzi?”
Schmidt choked on the bite of food he had just ingested. Then he mumbled, “Yes, you are right. I was told— asked—to report every day, whether I had news or not.”
“Maybe there’s a message from her,” I suggested.
“No, she would not message me, for fear you might intercept it. She is very careful.” Schmidt dug out his cell phone. “What shall I say to her?”
John had obviously given the matter some thought. “That we’re in Berlin.” He waved away Schmidt’s incipient protest. “If she hasn’t found out through her sources, someone is bound to see you on the evening news.”
“I had not thought of that.” Schmidt looked crestfallen.
“No harm done. Tell her we mean to stay a few more days and that you have high hopes of catching me in the act of negotiating with one of my gang.”
Schmidt chuckled. His pudgy little fingers were already punching buttons. “Gang, yes, that is good. What else shall I say?”
“Love and kisses,” I suggested.
Schmidt made a face, but complied.
I hadn’t indulged in wurst in a bun, so I made a hearty lunch. I know it sounds as if I eat all the time, but traveling with John means I never know when the next meal will be available.
“Are we actually going to Egypt, or is this another evasive technique?” I asked. “Not that I expect a truthful answer.”
John raised an eyebrow. “I cannot imagine why you should say that. The fact is we don’t seem to be getting anywhere from this end, so perhaps it’s time we started looking for him. I think he’s still in Egypt.”
“He? Oh—him. Why?”
“Consider the logistical difficulties of getting him out of the country. How would you transport a six-foot-long object through ordinary channels? One might posit such methods as a boat at a Red Sea port, or a hired aircraft landing in the desert, but why go to all that trouble when he could just be tucked away someplace handy, ready to be returned upon payment of ransom?”
“That makes very good sense,” said Schmidt.
John smiled modestly. “There is also the difficulty of getting him away from the Luxor area. As I recall, one can’t go far in any direction without encountering a security checkpoint. Vehicles usually have to wait to join a police-escorted convoy. I can think of several ways around the checkpoint problem, but we may as well start from the assumption that they won’t have gone far.” John glanced at his watch. “We’d better get back to the hotel and start packing.”
“Then I must have a suitcase,” Schmidt said, brightening at the prospect of more shopping.
We didn’t take the first taxi. I wondered when the bad guys were going to figure out people were on to this maneuver, and have the kidnapper drive the second cab.
KaDeWe, Berlin’s equivalent of Harrods, was not the right place to take Schmidt. He bought each of us a suitcase (genuine leather), and John a watch (a Rolex), and me a scarf (Hermes), and in the toy department, an exact replica of Princess Leia’s pistol.
“You’ll never get that through security,” I said.
“I will place it in my checked baggage. A present for my godchild, you see. Shall I get one for you too?”
“Well…”
“Two godchildren,” said Schmidt. “And perhaps the sword of Aragorn for each.”
The swords were four feet long. We talked him out of them.
We got back to the hotel with time to spare. I put all my new presents, including Leia’s gun, in my new suitcase and checked to make sure I hadn’t overlooked anything. John had already finished packing and left the bedroom. When I went out into the sitting room, he wasn’t there.
SIX
H e wasn’t anywhere in the suite. Schmidt, still packing things I hadn’t even seen him acquire, interrupted his off-key rendering of “Night Train to Memphis” long enough to deny seeing or hearing him.
“Stay here,” I said, through clenched teeth. “I mean it, Schmidt; don’t stir from this room until I come back.”
Had I been a nice person I would have been wringing my hands and working myself into a frenzy of concern. However, cold reason reminded me that there had been no sound of a disturbance, not even a stray gunshot. He must have left of his own accord, on his own well-shod feet, for his own reasons. Which he had not bothered to confide to me.
The lift was located in a hallway just off the lobby. I wasn’t quite furious enough to come barreling out of it shouting threats; peering cautiously round a potted palm, I saw two people standing by the outer door engaged in earnest conversation. One of them was John, smiling and urbane, not a hair on his head ruffled. The other person was shaped like Schmidt, short and rounded, but she was obviously female, and to judge from her attire, no longer young: a dark print dress that reached to mid-calf, sensible laced shoes, and a scarf that covered her hair. She carried an oversized purse and a cloth shopping bag. I couldn’t see her face, since she had her back to me.
I stayed where I was, ears pricked. Only soft murmurs were audible. When I finally caught a phrase it was uninformative:
I emerged from behind the greenery. John’s reaction to my appearance was a smile and a reminder that we
