“You only challenge people to duels when you’re drunk, Schmidt.”
“That is not true,” said Schmidt, who honestly believed his statement. “Sit down, Vicky, sit down. We will have beer and talk.”
“There is no beer,” Feisal mumbled. “The hotel doesn’t—”
“There will be beer,” said Schmidt.
And sure enough, there was.
Busy guzzling, Schmidt allowed John and me to fill Feisal in on what we had discovered. Feisal failed to react to our encounters with the criminal underworld except to mutter “Serves you right”; but when I told him about Suzi he let out a few resounding Arabic oaths. I assumed they were swear words, not only from the tone, but from the fact that Schmidt, who can swear in a dozen languages, shrank back and stared sadly into his empty glass.
“Don’t be mad at Schmidt,” I said.
“I have repented,” said Schmidt hollowly.
“What’s more,” said John, “Schmidt is now our spy in the enemy camp. A double agent, no less.”
“Hmmm.” Feisal nodded grudgingly. “But that’s bad news. I remember her. Did you ever figure out exactly who she’s working for?”
“I’m betting on Interpol,” I said. “Some special branch dealing with art fraud. Feisal, she can’t prove anything. Not yet.”
“Somebody is spreading the word,” John summarized. “Selectively and secretly. If we knew why—”
“I take it you haven’t a clue,” Feisal said, sipping water.
Schmidt said nothing, so loudly we all turned to look at him.
“Well?” John demanded.
“What? Oh.” Schmidt tapped his forehead. “An idea or two is bubbling in my head. But it is too early to speak of them. We need more information. I would like to examine the scene of the crime and question the witnesses.”
“You mean the tomb?” Feisal’s eyes widened. “Do you think that’s a wise move? Surely we don’t want to draw attention to it.”
“I agree with Schmidt,” John said. “So far we’ve been on the defensive, waiting to see what other people are going to do. I can’t see that it’s getting us anywhere.” He smiled angelically. “I also have an idea or two bubbling round in my head.”
Feisal looked sick.
Schmidt got on the phone with his unfortunate courier, whom he had apparently rousted out of bed, and instructed him to get us all on a flight to Luxor the next morning. The courier’s protests were shouted down by Schmidt. “Yes, yes, I know it will be difficult, but you can do it. Employ whatever means are necessary.”
I hope that meant bribery instead of threats and intimidation. Schmidt’s new, self-appointed role as mastermind had gone to his head.
Feisal got heavily to his feet. “I’ll ring you in the morning. Good night, all.”
He opened another bottle of Stella. He offered me one; I shook my head. “It’s after two A.M., Schmidt. I’m going to bed. Don’t call me, I’ll call you.”
I was aroused, only too soon, by the phone. “Breakfast is here,” said Schmidt. “Hurry. Our flight is at ten.”
“What time is it?” I croaked.
He had already hung up. I fumbled for my watch. Half past seven.
I was beginning to hate traveling with Schmidt.
We hadn’t heard from Feisal, and Schmidt waxed critical. “He does not answer his mobile. He is not in the hotel. Where is he? Why did you not ask where he was going last night?”
I had had enough coffee to be fully awake, but not enough to put me in a pleasant mood. “You didn’t ask him either. It’s none of our business where he went. Maybe he spent the night with his girlfriend.”
“What girlfriend? Who?”
“I didn’t ask,” I snarled. “That’s none of our business either.”
“Calm yourself, Schmidt,” John said. “If he misses the plane he’ll follow as soon as he can.”
We were almost ready to leave when Feisal finally called. Schmidt ordered him to meet us at the airport and shooed us out the door.
The car he had ordered was waiting. While Schmidt settled the hotel bill, I said to John, “I vote you take over as mastermind. Schmidt is getting worse and worse. What was the point of our staying at a hotel near the museum if we didn’t go to the museum?”
John shrugged.
It took over an hour to get to the airport. There was no sign of Feisal outside the terminal. Only local EgyptAir flights use the domestic terminal, but the place was bustling; porters snatching at luggage, in the hope of picking up a little baksheesh; travelers of all nationalities in all sorts of clothing: conservative Muslim ladies tented in black, students in jeans bent under the weight of bulging backpacks, a couple of dignitaries in flowing white robes and head-cloths, a little old lady with her nose in a guidebook, uniformed security guards…
“Mr. John Tregarth?”
There were two of them. They wore ordinary business suits, not uniforms, but John took an involuntary step back. The two moved closer.
“Yes,” John said warily.
“You will please to come with us.”
S chmidt and I were included in the invitation. The two men were perfectly courteous, they just ignored our questions and smiled politely when we protested. Schmidt’s blood was up. He clenched his fists and began muttering about truth, freedom, and justice.
“Never mind, Schmidt,” John said.
“You will not resist?” Schmidt demanded fiercely.
“Refuse a courteous invitation?” John inquired, eyebrow lifting.
“But if they are enemies, like the man in Rome—”
“I think not. There are only two of them and they don’t appear to be armed. If this were an attempted kidnapping they wouldn’t have selected a place where there are so many people about, including a number of policemen. The air of confidence displayed by these affable gentlemen implies that they are acting in an official capacity.”
“Oh, damn,” I said. “Are we being arrested?”
“Taken in for questioning,” John corrected.
Our escorts raised no objection when John collected a few porters to bring our luggage. Still smiling those bland smiles, they led the way to a long black limo. When one of them opened the door I saw Feisal inside. He was just sitting there, hunched over and looking like a scolded puppy. There was no one else in the car except the driver.
Schmidt, John, and I joined Feisal in the tonneau. One of the men got in front with the driver. The other took the seat facing us.
“I presume you know no more about this than we,” John said.
Feisal shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I couldn’t warn you.”
“We have no reason to fear,” Schmidt said loudly. “We have done nothing wrong.”
Feisal’s expression brought home to me, more clearly than the articles I had read or the stories I had heard, that we were not in a country where a man was presumed innocent until proven guilty.
But we were foreign nationals, I told myself, citizens of countries considered to be allies of Egypt. Foreigners might be arrested and accused of espionage in other parts of the Middle East. Surely not here. Not when the U.S. kept pouring in all that lovely money.
Where that might leave Feisal I didn’t like to think.
Schmidt asked a few questions of our guard, getting only shrugs and smiles in return. Finally John said softly, “Don’t waste your breath, Schmidt. I don’t think they understand much English.”
“Then we can speak freely,” Schmidt exclaimed. “Make plans.”
“This would seem to be an occasion for improvisation,” John said. He added pointedly, “And for
