He found the location he was looking for, a store labeled with a sign in Arabic and English. The English portion identified it as Jumoke’s. The store was built into the ground floor of a two-story building. Elaborately patterned carpets hung from poles outside the shop and also served as an awning. It was one of the larger venues in the souk.
Gabriel stopped by the entrance and pretended to be interested in one of the carpets. He casually glanced back the way he’d come, but there was no sign of Sammi. That was a good thing. After a moment, a short Egyptian man approached him from the back of the store.
“Good afternoon, sir. You have a fine eye—that is our most beautiful carpet.”
“It’s very nice,” Gabriel said.
“You want it? I make you a good deal.” The man’s eyes glittered.
“I’m afraid not,” Gabriel said. “I’m just looking.”
Gabriel felt a hand land on his shoulder from behind. “Do not turn around, Mister Hunt.” The hand moved, frisking him. First one side, then the other. He felt his Colt being lifted out of its holster. The Egyptian in front of him had an apologetic expression on his face.
“I was this close to buying it, too,” Gabriel said.
The Egyptian shrugged. “You still can. We ship.”
But by then the frisking had ceased and Gabriel had other things to focus on. A man walked around from behind him, one hand extended. He was very tall, a few inches past Gabriel’s own six feet. He wore a lightweight white suit and a fez. His skin was olive-colored, his eyes dark brown and piercing. Beneath his lower lip he sported a thick goatee. Gabriel figured him to be in his fifties.
“My name is Amun,” the man said. “Thank you for being so punctual, Mister Hunt. You are right on time.” The man’s English was accented, but mildly; it sounded smooth and cultured, as though many hours of practice had gone into polishing it. He might have been an actor or a politician.
“You’re with the Alliance of the Pharaohs?” Gabriel asked.
“I am.” He gestured over Gabriel’s shoulder and Gabriel turned his head to look. Behind him stood a much larger man, not so much in height as in bulk. He was dressed in a suit as well, but no fez.
“This is Kemnebi,” Amun said. “He is my assistant.”
“What does he type,” Gabriel said, “ninety words a minute?”
Amun chuckled. His offered hand having gone unshaken this long, he let it fall to his side. “Why don’t the three of us go inside this shop and have a talk?”
“I’m not going anywhere until I know that Lucy is all right,” Gabriel said.
“You have my word, Mister Hunt.”
“And you have my sister,” Gabriel said. “Your word means very little to me.”
“You wish to talk to her?” Amun said.
“Yes.”
“Come inside. We will get her on the phone. It is more private, don’t you think?”
“You can get her on the phone right now.”
Amun smiled slightly. “Out here?”
“Out here.”
“Very well.” Amun removed a cell phone from his pocket and keyed in a number. He spoke Arabic to someone on the other end. After a pause, he handed the phone to Gabriel.
“. . . hello?” It was a woman’s voice. She sounded as if she’d just been awakened from a deep sleep. It could have been Lucy. Or not.
“Lucy?” he said cautiously. “It’s Gabriel.”
“Gabriel? Gabriel! Where are you?” She still sounded half-asleep—but it was her.
“Are you all right?” he said. “Have they hurt you?”
“I’m okay. I’m just . . . sleepy. The bastards gave me—” But her voice was cut off.
“Lucy? Lucy!”
Amun held out his hand for the phone. Gabriel angrily slapped it into the man’s palm. The Egyptian held it to his ear, spoke a few more words in Arabic, and then hung up.
“As you can hear, your sister is alive and well. My word is good, Mister Hunt.”
“She’s alive,” Gabriel conceded. “She didn’t sound well. What have you pumped her full of?”
“Nothing worse than people her age pump themselves full of every day. It’s probably a good deal safer, in fact, and less unpleasant when it wears off.” The man shook his head. “Please understand, we had to calm her down, or she would have hurt herself trying to get away. She might have hurt others as well. Believe me, it is better this way.”
“I ought to wring your neck right here.”
“You could try to do that, Mister Hunt. But Kemnebi would prevent it, and if he failed, you have my word that your sister would be dead within five minutes.” Amun smiled gently. “Please. I do understand how you feel; if it were my sister I would feel the same. But it is not necessary. We are civilized men. We will go inside, we shall talk and have some tea together, and you will see that what we want from you is not so terrible. You will agree to what we ask and your sister will be released unharmed, I promise.” He held out his hand again and gestured toward the entryway. “Please,” he repeated, and Kemnebi weighed in by placing a heavy palm against the back of Gabriel’s neck.
Gabriel stared at Amun for a moment and then turned and walked inside.
Sammi lowered her binoculars and cursed to herself in French. Suddenly Lucy’s kidnapping made sense.
She was standing behind a display of inexpensive jewelry in a shop across from Jumoke’s. The shopkeeper, a woman, approached Sammi and asked if she needed assistance.
“No, thank you. Sorry.” Sammi left her cover and moved out into the busy lane. She looked for another place where she could stand unnoticed and chose a doorway half hidden in shadow. Keeping one eye on the entrance to Jumoke’s, she took out her cell phone and began hastily to type out a message on its miniature keyboard. She had to warn Gabriel, had to explain to him who that man was—
But she didn’t get the chance to finish. Before she’d gotten three words into her message, the door she was propped against suddenly opened inward. Sammi stumbled and put out one hand to catch herself—but as she did, a burlap sack was thrown over her head from behind.
“Hey!” she shouted, her voice muffled. She tried to swing an elbow behind her, but her arm was seized in an iron grip. She raised one leg and brought her boot-clad heel down swiftly and heard a grunt of pain. The hold on her arms tightened. She struggled to break free, but there was no way. A moment later, she felt herself lifted off the ground and thrown over someone’s shoulder.
The quality of the light filtering through the burlap changed as she was carried inside. She felt the strap of the binoculars snap as it was yanked painfully against her neck. Her cell phone had vanished in the tussle as well. She felt two pairs of hands roughly frisking her, then her own hands were tied behind her back with some sort of narrow cord. She squirmed and fought and shouted till one of the men gave her a chop, hard, through the bag. Her head rang from the blow and she tasted blood—she’d bitten into her cheek. She was lifted again, then carried for a span, and then dumped onto a cold metal surface. She heard what sounded like the doors of a van being slammed shut and locked. The van bounced slightly as someone climbed into the driver’s seat, then again when the other man joined him in the passenger’s. Sammi resumed shouting and kicked against the side of the van, but if anyone heard there was no sign. The driver started the ignition and drove away.