He said nothing to me but grinned and motioned toward the open door with his left hand; his right, I noted, was stuck in his jacket pocket.
Another man came out, a large heavy Arab wearing the traditional desert garb of kaffiyeh, robe and sandals.
"Mr. Carter?" he said. "Mr. Nick Carter?"
I had not used a cover name with Augie; there had seemed little point. "That's right," I said.
"You have come to meet Augie Fergus."
He wasn't asking, he was telling. I squinted, trying to see better in the darkness. "Right again," I said, watching the thin man with his hand in his pocket. "Where is he?"
The fat man smiled. "He is here, Mr. Carter. You will see him. In the meantime, let us introduce ourselves. I am Omar ben Ayoub." He watched me closely, obviously expecting some reaction. "And this is my associate, Gasim."
"If Fergus is here," I said, ignoring the introductions, "where is he?"
Ayoub, in turn, ignored my question. "You would assist Augie Fergus in cheating his colleagues, would you, Mr. Carter? You would help him leave Luxor without paying his debts."
"I don't know what the hell you're talking about," I snapped at him. "But I want to see Augie and I want to see him now."
Ayoub's smile disappeared. "All right, Mr. Carter," he said grimly. "You shall see him."
He snapped his fingers and two more Arabs appeared in the black doorway, big husky men in western suits. They were dragging something, the limp body of a man. They dragged it to within a few feet of me and dropped it unceremoniously on the dock.
"Augie Fergus," Ayoub said, satisfaction in his smooth voice.
I looked down at the corpse at my feet, my face expressionless, my stomach tight. It was Fergus, all right. He had been killed with a knife, or some other sharp instrument, and it had happened slowly. The body was badly mutilated.
"Augie found out what happens to those who do not deal scrupulously with Omar ben Ayoub. And now, Mr. Carter, you will find out." Ayoub nodded at the two big men who had dumped Fergus at my feet and suddenly they had knives in their hands, the long wicked-looking kind the Bedouins of the desert carry. I thought of Hugo, the pencil-thin stiletto strapped to my right forearm. But Hugo couldn't do me much good at the moment. Besides the two muscle boys, Ayoub's skinny buddy, Gasim, had that lump in his jacket pocket pointed at me.
The two knife men moved in. One of them was a bit heavier than the other and slower moving, but he came in first. I figured they weren't out to kill me with the first cut. They wanted me to die slowly, like Augie.
Number One came in, swinging the knife at my belly. I jerked back a step and the knife razored through my jacket. I had no time to go for Wilhelmina. The big man swiped at me, again putting his weight behind it. I stepped to one side and punched a short jab into his neck as he went by.
He grunted and whirled back toward me angrily. The second knife man had hovered just a few feet away. Now, with a sudden burst of speed, he came in on my left. He swung his knife low, toward my rib cage. I turned toward him and caught the knife arm, turned the wrist downward and in, at the same time dropping to one knee and throwing the man over my shoulder. He went flying, hitting the dock hard at his buddy's feet, narrowly missing knocking him down.
The first bull dodged, then charged, holding his knife straight out in front of him. I heard Ayoub shout: "Get him; Get him!" in Arabic, and then the bull was on me, the knife stabbing toward my abdomen. I brought the edge of my hand down hard on the outstretched knife-arm as I twisted away from the thrust and heard bone snap. The bull screamed and the knife clattered to the dock. As the man plummeted past me, I chopped at his thick neck and felt vertebrae crunch under the impact. He slammed face down on the dock.
"Kill him! Kill him!" Ayoub was screaming now. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Gasim had pulled the gun out of his jacket and was aiming it at me.
The slug missed my head by inches and almost hit the second knife man as he came in. I grabbed his knife arm, twisted, and we went down together.
We hit the dock next to the corpse of Augie Fergus. We rolled onto and over the body, wrestling for the knife, Gasim dancing around us awkwardly, trying to get a shot off, but afraid to fire because he might hit the wrong man.
"Shoot! Shoot!" Ayoub shrieked at him.
I had to do something fast. The Jenifer was on top of me now. I squeezed my knee up, rammed it into his groin. He bellowed, fell to one side. I smashed a fist into his face as he fell. Gasim had stopped dancing now and was aiming carefully at my head.
I flexed my right forearm in a way I had practiced hundreds of times and Hugo slipped into my hand. The knife man was getting up and I hurled Hugo at him. The stiletto turned over once and buried itself in the Arab's throat. As Hugo left my hand I did a quick roll; Gasim's shot splintered wood where my head had been.
I rolled a second time as Gasim fired again. I came up, reaching for the Luger in my jacket.
My first shot missed Gasim's head by inches, but the second slammed into his chest, spinning him into the wall of the warehouse behind him. His gun went flying.
I turned and saw that Ayoub had decided to make a run for it. I didn't want to shoot; I wanted to find out what he knew about Augie Fergus, so I sprinted after him, dived for him headlong.
We went down, hitting the dock together. Unluckily we landed near an iron bar some workman had left on the dock. Ayoub grabbed at it desperately, swung it at me. He meant to crush my skull but the blow glanced off my neck and shoulder. It was enough, though, to knock Wilhelmina out of my grasp and send rockets of pain shooting up my arm.
Ayoub was back on his feet, still holding the iron bar. Wilhelmina had landed somewhere near the edge of the dock. I stumbled over there, spotted the Luger and bent to retrieve it.
But Ayoub, moving surprisingly fast for a fat man, charged me with the bar. He was going to end it once and for all — I could see it in his eyes. I couldn't bring Wilhelmina up in time, Ayoub was moving too fast. As he swung the bar, I stepped aside and let him move on past me. The next minute he was in mid-air over the black water and then he splashed into the Nile.
He came up sputtering. The current was taking him and he thrashed around wildly. Obviously he couldn't swim. His head went under but he came up again, choking. The kaffiyehed head went under once more. Only a few bubbles rose to the surface this time, then the river was tranquil again.
I walked back up the dock to reclaim Hugo. Both of the muscle boys were dead, but Gasim wasn't — I heard him groan. I slipped Hugo back into his sheath and, holding Wilhelmina loosely at my side, advanced cautiously to where Gasim lay near the wall of the warehouse.
When I saw the man's condition, I holstered the Luger and squatted beside him. He stared up at me with glazed eyes.
"What was Augie Fergus to you and Ayoub?" I asked. "If you don't want me to leave you to die, you'd better talk." He was dead already but didn't know it.
He groaned, moving his head from side to side in pain. "Fergus," he gasped, "smuggled… ancient treasures… out of country for us. He was overheard… say… intended leave without paying Ayoub… last consignment. Some… American was to fly him… Khartoum… private plane. Ayoub thought you… that man."
He coughed and appeared about ready to give up. I propped his head up. "And what about the information Fergus had for the British government?" I asked. "Was Ayoub in on that?"
Gasim's glazed eyes searched for mine. "British government?"
I saw no point in being coy about things now. "Yes, the telegram Augie sent the Prime Minister. The information he had about the assassination of Henry Wellsey. Was Ayoub to profit from that?"
"I know nothing… of this," Gasim gasped. "Neither… did Ayoub."
Suddenly he stiffened in my hands, then went limp. He was dead.