He stood casual and loose, his hands clasped behind his back, head tilted slightly to one side, as he studied a beautiful, young, raven-haired Egyptian woman in a tightfitting gold sequin dress. She was sweeping across the lobby in a blaze of glitter, hooked arm in arm with an elderly man easily three times her age. She jabbered every step across the carpet. Her ample bottom swung back and forth like a melon on a pendulum.
There was nothing in Pitt's expression to suggest lust. He stared at the performance with a detached sort of curiosity. Eva walked up behind him and placed her hand on his elbow. 'You like her?' she asked, smiling.
Pitt turned and looked down at her through the greenest eyes she had ever seen. His lips raised in a slight crooked grin that Eva found devastating. 'She does make a statement.'
'Is she your type?'
'No, I prefer quiet, intelligent women.'
His voice was deep with a mellow quality, she thought. She smelled a faint aroma of men's cologne, not the pungent variety brewed by French perfume companies for fashion designers' private labels, but a more masculine scent. 'I hope I can take that as a compliment.'
'You may.'
She flushed, and her eyes unconsciously lowered. 'I have an early-morning flight tomorrow, so I should get to bed early.' God, this is awful, she thought. I'm acting like a girl meeting her date for a freshman prom.
'A great pity. I'd planned to stay out all night and show you every den of iniquity and sin pot in Cairo. All the exotic spots unfrequented by tourists.'
'Are you serious?'
Pitt laughed. 'Not really. Actually, I thought it wise if we dine in your hotel and stay off the streets. Your friends might have it in their heads to try again.'
She looked around the crowded lobby. 'The hotel is packed. We'll be lucky to get a table.'
'I have reservations,' Pitt said, taking her by the hand and leading her into the elevator that rose to the posh restaurant on the top floor of the hotel.
Like most women, Eva liked a take-charge man. She also liked the way he kept his light but firm grip on her hand on the ride up to the restaurant.
The maitre d' showed them to a table beside a window with a spectacular view of Cairo and the Nile. A universe of lights sparkled in the evening haze. The bridges over the river were jammed with honking autos that fanned out on the streets and mingled with the horse-drawn delivery wagons and tourist carriages.
'Unless you prefer a cocktail,' said Pitt, 'I suggest that we stay with wine.'
Eva nodded and flashed a satisfied smile. 'Fine by me. Why don't you order the courses as well?'
'I love an adventurous soul,' he smiled. He studied the wine list briefly. 'We'll try a bottle of Grenaclis Village.'
'Very good,' the waiter said. 'One of our best local dry white wines.'
Pitt then ordered an appetizer dip of ground sesame seeds with eggplant, a yogurt dish called leban zabadi, and a tray of pickled vegetables with a basket of whole-wheat pita bread.
After the wine came and was poured, Pitt raised his glass. 'Here's to a safe and successful field expedition. May you find all the answers.'
'And to your river survey,' she said as they clinked glasses. Then a curious expression came into her eyes. 'Just what is it you're looking for?'
'Ancient shipwrecks. One in particular. A funeral barge.'
'Sounds fascinating. Anybody I know?'
'A pharaoh of Old Kingdom called Menkura or Mycerinus, if you prefer the Greek spelling. He reigned during the Fourth Dynasty and built the smallest of the three pyramids at Giza.'
'Wasn't he entombed in his pyramid?'
'In 1830 a British army colonel found a body in a sarcophagus inside the burial chamber, but analysis of the remains proved it came from either the Greek or Roman periods.'
The appetizers were brought and they looked down at them with happy anticipation. They dipped fried slices of eggplant into the sesame seed dip and relished the pickled vegetables. While the waiter stood by, Pitt ordered the main course.
'Why do you think Menkura is in the river?' asked .Eva.
` Hieroglyphic inscriptions on a stone that was recently discovered at an old quarry near Cairo show that his funeral barge caught fire and sank in the river between the ancient capital of Memphis and his pyramid tomb at Giza. The stone indicates his true sarcophagus, complete with his mummy and a vast amount of gold, was never recovered.'
The yogurt arrived, thick and creamy. Eva stared at it hesitantly.
'Try it,' goaded Pitt. 'Not only will leban zabadi spoil your taste for American yogurt, but it straightens out the intestines.'
'Curdles, you mean.' She played dainty and jabbed her tongue at a minute scoop in her spoon. Impressed, she began putting it away in earnest. 'So what happens if you find the barge? Do you get to keep the gold?'
'Hardly,' Pitt replied. 'Once our detection instruments have a promising target, we mark the site and turn the position over to archaeologists from the Egyptian Organization of Antiquities. After they obtain the necessary funding, their people will excavate, or in this case, dredge for artifacts.'
'Isn't the wreck just sitting on the bottom of the river?' Eva asked.
Pitt shook his head. 'The silt of forty-five centuries has covered and buried all remains.'
'How deep do you think it lies?'
'Can't say with any accuracy. Egyptian historical and geological records indicate that the main channel on the section of river we're searching has moved about 100 meters east since 2400 B.C. If she's on dry land near a bank she could be anywhere from 3 to 10 meters beneath sand and mud.'
'I'm glad I listened to you, this yogurt is good.'
The waiter appeared deftly carrying a large silver tray with oval serving dishes. A spicy ground lamb cooked on skewers and crayfish grilled over charcoal were served along with a stewed kind of spinach green and a richly seasoned pilaf of beef, rice, raisins, and nuts. After consulting with the waiter who was so attentive he was downright patronizing, Pitt ordered a few pungent sauces for their entrees.
'So what sort of strange maladies are you going to investigate in the desert?' Pitt asked, as the steaming delights were dished onto their plates.
'Reports from Mali and Nigeria are too sketchy to make snap judgments. There have been rumors of the usual symptoms of toxic poisoning. Birth defects, convulsions or fits, coma and death. And also reports of psychiatric disorders and bizarre behavior. This Iamb is really tasty-.'
'Try one of the sauces. The fermented berry complements the Iamb.'
'What's the green one?'
'I'm not sure. It has a sweet and hot taste. Dip the crayfish in it.'
'Delicious,' Eva said. 'Everything tastes wonderful. Except for the spinach-like greens. The flavor is awfully strong.'
'They call it moulukeyeh. You have to acquire a taste for it. But back to toxin poisoning. . . What sort of bizarre behavior?'
'People tearing their hair out, beating their heads against walls, sticking their hands in fire. Running around naked like animals on their hands and knees and eating their dead as if they suddenly turned into cannibals. This rice dish is good. What do they call it?'
'Khalta.'
'I wish I could get the recipe from the chef.'
'I think it can be arranged,' Pitt said. 'Did I hear you correctly? Those who are contaminated eat flesh?'
'Their reactions depend a great deal upon their culture,' said Eva, digging into the khalta. 'People in the third world countries, for example, are more used to slaughtered animals than people in Europe and the United States. Oh sure, we pass a road kill now and then, but they see skinned animals hanging in the markets or watch their fathers butcher the tribal goats or sheep. Children are taught early to catch and kill rabbits, squirrels, or birds, then skin and gut them for the grill. The primitive cruelty and the sight of blood and intestines are everyday events to those who live in poverty. They have to kill to survive. Then when tiny trace amounts of deadly toxins are
