“Why not tonight? We have no time to waste.”
It was a good point, and John didn’t really have a good answer. “It may take a while to get in touch with some of my sources.”
“Sources,” Ashraf repeated thoughtfully.
The ambiguous, suggestive word hung in the air like a hooked fish. John was smart enough not to elaborate, but I noticed he was beginning to perspire.
“Tonight, then,” he said, rising. “I’ll ring you.”
O ur departure rather resembled the mad dash of freed prisoners. When we emerged from the building there was the limo waiting at the curb, next to a sign that said “No parking under any circumstances.”
Feisal swore and turned as if he were ready to run. John grabbed his arm.
“Your nerves are in frightful shape, Feisal. It’s all right. And if it isn’t all right, there is not a damned thing we can do about it.”
There was only one man in the limo—the driver. Seeing us, he jumped out and opened the back door.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Back to the hotel, I suppose.” Despite his advice to Feisal, John sounded a trifle rattled. “Do you think we can get our rooms back?”
“Yes, yes.” Schmidt whipped out his cell. “I will arrange it. Get in, Vicky.”
The vehicle forced its way into the stream of traffic. After a few fraught moments I said, “I want a drink.”
“I have vodka and Scotch in my suitcase,” Schmidt said.
“And beer.”
“
“He was the one pulling the strings. We are doing precisely what he wanted us to do.”
Feisal gestured at the driver.
“No problem,” John said. “I have a gun pointed at the back of his head.”
The driver didn’t even twitch. Having made his point, John went on, “He kept us off balance every step of the way, and he knew it. I do wish you three could learn to control your gasps and twitches; you might as well have fallen on your knees and confessed.”
“I thought he was going to accuse you,” I said.
“He knew I would deny it, and there was no way he could prove anything. This way he has both bases covered. If I am guilty I may be willing to negotiate, cutting out my confederates and saving him money. If I am innocent, I will cooperate in order to preserve my good name and my freedom. He’s good,” John said grudgingly. “Very good. Did you see how he pounced on my reference to outside sources?”
“That wasn’t up to your usual standard,” I said. “But it didn’t constitute an admission of anything.”
“So we will accept his offer?” Schmidt asked.
“Honestly, you people amaze me,” John said in exasperation. “That wasn’t an offer, that was a threat. He’s got us—Feisal and me, at any rate—over the proverbial barrel. Anybody who knows the details of that extraordinary business, to quote our grandiloquent friend, knows we were in it up to our necks. The only reason we got off scot- free was because we turned our coats and almost got ourselves killed saving the paintings—and because the government didn’t want a scandal. If we can’t retrieve Tut without the theft becoming public knowledge, he’ll make sure we pay for Tetisheri too. So don’t start spending your share of the reward. I doubt we’ll see so much as a piastre. The best we can hope for is that Feisal will keep his job and I will remain a free man.”
“Tsk, tsk,” said Schmidt. “I am surprised at you, John. It is not like you to be so pessimistic. The Herr Director General is also over a barrel. He cannot collect that large sum in so short a time unless he informs his superiors in the government of the situation. That is the last thing he wants to do. He would be the scapegoat, be assured of that. He might take others down with him, but he would be the first to fall.”
“You have a point,” John admitted, looking marginally more cheerful.
The car stopped in front of the hotel and an attendant started unloading our suitcases. Our rooms were ready—
“I have a point too,” I said, dropping into a chair. I’d been brooding about it ever since that interview with Ashraf. I would have brought it up before if anybody had let me get a word in.
“Proceed,” said Schmidt, investigating the minibar.
“Didn’t it strike you that there was no either/or in that message? Deliver the money, or…What? You get another chunk of Tut?”
“Don’t say that,” Feisal muttered, flinching.
“Why not?” All of a sudden I was hopping mad. “All this fuss and furor over a damned mummy! He’s a dead man, Feisal, a very, very dead man.”
“A dead king,” Feisal said softly.
“Dead man, dead king, what’s the difference? If that hand had been lopped off a living person, king or commoner, I’d say we spare no effort to get him out alive and in as few pieces as possible. Hell, I’d do the same for a dog or a cat.”
“She is very tender-hearted, our Vicky,” said Schmidt, offering me a beer.
I pushed his hand away. “Shut up, Schmidt, I haven’t finished. Frankly, I don’t give a damn about Tut or any other mummy. I’m not willing to risk my neck or any of your necks, for him—for it.”
The other three exchanged glances. I had no difficulty interpreting them: You know how women are, let her get it out of her system.
“Your moral position is unassailable,” said Schmidt. “But look at it this way, Vicky. No one has been killed or violently attacked. The case has been remarkably free of bloodshed.”
“So far.”
“Does this mean you’re pulling out?” John asked.
“In your dreams,” I said, as I grabbed the beer from Schmidt and took a swig.
I was surprised to see how little time had elapsed; the interview with Khifaya had seemed to last for hours. After we had refreshed ourselves with various beverages, we got to work catching up with our correspondence, verbal and written. It didn’t take me long to get through my messages, since Schmidt, my most faithful (read “persistent”) communicant, was with me. Feisal fired off a few forceful directions in Arabic, presumably to various subordinates, and turned to John, who was brooding over his mobile.
“Anything of interest?” he asked nervously.
“Not with regard to the present situation. However, if I get out of this I may yet have a business to run. Perlmutter wants a look at the Amarna head.”
“Did you give him your number?” I asked.
“No, this call was from Alan. Perlmutter contacted him—the business number, rather. He says he’s already forwarded a photo.”
“You’ve done the lad an injustice,” I said. “He seems to be doing his job. Why don’t you call him back and administer a few pats on the back?”
“He talks too much. I’ll text him.” John’s fingers glided over the keys.
“What Amarna head?” Feisal said.
“That’s no concern of yours or Ashraf’s. I didn’t steal it and I have the papers to prove it.”
“I was just asking,” Feisal said in a hurt voice.
“Hmph,” said John.
“Anything from Jen?” I asked.
“She wants to know where I am and why I haven’t been in touch. I’d better ring her, otherwise she might go haring off to London.” He met my eye, grimaced, and said, “Later. What have you got, Schmidt?”
“Like your esteemed mother, Suzi asks where I am. I have waited to consult you before replying.”
“Tell her you’ve gone to New York or Buenos Aires,” Feisal suggested.
“No, no,” John said. “She’s bound to find out the truth sooner or later and we don’t want your credibility
