Leaving the others congratulating themselves and drinking coffee, I threw myself down on Schmidt’s big soft king-size bed and fell asleep. When I woke up, sunlight brightened the room and Jan Perlmutter was standing in the open doorway.
FIFTEEN
H e hadn’t shaved. His clothes were wrinkled and his face was that of an old man. His tie was twisted and the top button of his shirt undone, as if he couldn’t get enough air.
“Where is he?” he demanded. Even his voice was unrecognizable, hoarse and broken.
“Who?”
It was the best I could come up with on short notice. I looked from the knife in Jan’s hand to the telephone on the bedside table.
“Don’t try it,” he said. “Where is Schmidt?”
I gave up the idea of trying to reach the phone. My brain was in overdrive, all remnants of sleep dispersed. There’s nothing like terror to promote quick thinking. Unfortunately I couldn’t think of anything heroic, or even useful.
“Why are you mad at Schmidt?” I asked, stalling for time.
“He hates me,” Jan said.
“No, no,” I said soothingly. “He doesn’t hate you. Nobody hates you. Why don’t you sit down and—”
“They all hate me. They have made me look like a fool. Schmidt is the worst. He has held a grudge since the Trojan Gold affair.”
I sneaked a quick look at the clock on the bedside table. Almost noon. Where was everybody? They ought to be back by now. Why had they left me alone with a homicidal lunatic?
Jan went on ranting. All he had ever wanted was to rescue the world’s treasures. And this was his reward— to be humiliated and abused and threatened.
He was the one doing the threatening, but I decided not to mention that. Nor did I point out that to the best of my knowledge he hadn’t been named as the source of the rumors about the theft of Tut. We had discussed exposing him and decided, regretfully, that proving the accusation would be time-consuming if not impossible. He would suffer enough, said Schmidt, from knowing he had been foiled and defeated.
“How did you find out?” I asked. “You clever man,” I added.
Jan blinked and stared at me as if he had forgotten I was there. “Find out…Oh.” He passed his hand over his mouth. When he replied, he sounded almost rational. “I flew to Cairo last night. The news of the press conference was on the radio and television this morning. They were speculating, some of the announcers, about the return of Tutankhamon.”
So somebody had been unable to resist spreading the news. It was only to be expected.
“I couldn’t believe it,” Jan said in an aggrieved voice. “So I telephoned at once to Luxor, to the German Institute, to Wolfgang Muhlendorfer. He informed me that most of the journalists had left the Valley and that Dr. Khifaya’s limousine had been observed leaving Luxor in haste and with many people in the vehicle. Even then I did not believe it, not until I saw the press conference itself, and heard Khifaya boasting, telling a pack of lies…And Schmidt, in the background, smiling and stroking his absurd mustache…”
His voice had soared into the high pitch of hysteria.
“Ashraf picketed the museum too,” I said, hoping to distract Jan from Schmidt. No good.
“Khifaya behaved with dignity. But Schmidt! Prancing up and down with that appalling banner, shouting rude slogans, handing out wurst to the spectators, like a circus clown…It was all on the television, and me, hiding behind a column like a frightened rabbit. He made me a laughing stock.”
“I was there too,” I said.
“
And I was a lowly woman. It was insulting but reassuring to hear Jan dismiss me so cavalierly. I didn’t think he would attack me unless I did something drastic. My body didn’t believe it. My mouth was dry and my heart was racing.
“Why isn’t he here?” Jan demanded. “The press conference ended an hour ago.”
“I expect he’s on his way.” I had to think of something quick, before Schmidt walked in. “Tell you what, Jan. Why don’t you hide in the bathroom. Then, when they get here, you can jump out and surprise everybody!”
Degrees of mania are hard to calculate. Like Hamlet, Jan was only mad north-northwest; he knew a hawk from a handsaw, or, in this case, a helpful suggestion from a really stupid idea.
“And what would you be doing?” His eyes narrowed. “But perhaps if I tied you up and gagged you…”
He’d have to put the knife down in order to do that. I had learned a few dirty tricks from John, and Jan had gotten flabby, but he was crazy and I was scared and what if he decided to knock me unconscious or use the knife in ways I didn’t want to think about before he…The alternative was worse, though. Schmidt, with that knife in his chest.
“Okay,” I said.
“You agree too readily,” Jan said. “Wait. I have a better idea. I will lock you in the bathroom and conceal myself behind the door.”
“Okay.”
I slid off the bed and stood up. I felt a little braver now that I was on my feet. I wondered if I could trick him into the bathroom and slam the door. No, that wouldn’t work, there was no lock on the outside.
Jan stood back and waved me through the bedroom door as I walked slowly toward him. Maybe I could make it to the door of the suite before he…No, that wouldn’t work either. He was so close behind me that I could feel his breath on the back of my neck. Let him shut me in the bathroom, lock the door, and start yelling? No good. He’d be on Schmidt the second the outer door opened, before anyone heard my screams or understood what they meant.
The decision was taken out of my hands. There was no warning, not even the sound of voices. The door swung open. As I had expected, Schmidt was the first to enter. Make way for Schmidt, the greatest swordsman in Europe! He stopped in the doorway, petrified and gaping. John and Feisal were behind him.
Jan shoved me aside and started for Schmidt. John tried to push Schmidt out of the way, but the solid shape of Schmidt only swayed a little. I was past thinking, I just planted my feet and grabbed hold of Jan’s arm. He swung around.
Something hard, like a fist, hit me in the side. It knocked the breath out of me for a second or two, and then I saw that Jan was on the floor, arms and legs thrashing, as Feisal tried to subdue him. John, who didn’t believe in hand-to-hand combat, put an end to it by kicking Jan in the head.
Schmidt was still on his feet, but he was very pale. I tried to ask him if he was okay, but my voice didn’t seem to be functioning. They were all staring at me. John came toward me, stepping as delicately as a cat in a puddle, his hands reaching. His face had gone as white as Schmidt’s.
“Easy,” he said. “Don’t move. Let me…”
Three words. That was all I needed, three little words. I tried to say them. Then the lights went out.
I came to in a strange room. I lay still, wondering why I felt so peculiar and trying to figure out where I was. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a window. It was dark outside. The room was dimly lit. There was a funny smell. Several funny smells, actually. Not disgusting smells, just…funny.
I turned my head. The first thing I saw was a chair next to the bed, and someone sitting in it. Someone familiar. He looked very uncomfortable, slumped over, arms dangling, head bowed.
The name came back to me. “John?” somebody said. The voice didn’t sound like mine.
John sat up with a start. “You’re awake.”
“No, I’m not. I’m not even here. I don’t know where I am.”
“Shh.” He slid from the chair, onto his knees beside the bed. “You’re going to be all right.”
“I want a drink.”
“No drink, not even water for a while. Have a bit of ice.”
He slipped a sliver into my dry mouth. It dissolved like the nectar of Paradise.
“I’m in a hospital,” I said. “More ice. You look terrible.”
“So do you. Here, open your mouth.”
