We had been warned that if we lost the key the safe would have to be drilled open, at our expense, since there was only one. In my case that wasn’t true. At least one other person had a key to mine. I was supposed to leave messages in it and he – she – it? – would communicate with me in the same way.
Nobody would be entering my room that night The door was equipped with enough hardware to stop a tank. People were nervous about travelling in Egypt, and this was only one of many additional security precautions our management had provided. My mysterious ally wouldn’t open the safe until after I had left the room the following morning. I could leave the tape anytime before then.
There was nothing on that tape that could be of use to Burckhardt and his pals. John hadn’t admitted anything, except that he and I had known one another before.
But that conversation might be enough to identify him to other people who knew him only by one of his innumerable aliases. My acquaintance with Sir John Smythe, et cetera, ad infinitum was a matter of record in the police departments of at least three countries, and I didn’t doubt that Interpol was one of the organizations involved in this investigation.
I sat with my elbows on my knees and my chin propped on my hands and tried to think clearly. That mysterious message of Burckhardt’s had been rather vague. Maybe his informant had been mistaken. Even hot-shot secret agents are mistaken sometimes. Suppose that for once John was on the level. He had a job – a nice, honest job – and a nice little wife. Maybe he had turned over a new leaf. Maybe he was trying to go straight. He must realize that he’d have to find a new profession before arthritis and/or the cops caught up with him, and surely he wouldn’t involve his mother and his bride in one of his forays into crime.
A voice from the not-so-distant past jeered, ‘And if you believe that, you are as innocent as a new-laid egg.’
So maybe I was. I’d rather be innocent (translation: stupid) than vindictive.
He had told me once that he loved me. Only once – and I had badgered him into saying it, at a time when he was too battered and bruised to fight back. I owed him for those bruises, and for a couple of other times when he had risked his precious hide to get me out of a nasty situation. Perhaps he had meant it at the time. Perhaps he had only said it to shut me up.
If I betrayed him now I would stand accused, if only by my own conscience, of revenging myself on a man who had wounded my pride and my vanity. My initial protest to Burckhardt was still valid. Even if I identified John as the thief and swindler half the police of Europe were looking for, they couldn’t arrest him on my word alone. From what I had heard about the Egyptian security forces, they weren’t always too scrupulous about legal formalities, but John was a British subject, protected by the noble code that proclaims a man innocent until proven guilty. I believed in that code, even if it did seem at times to give crooks an unfair advantage.
There was no hurry. The tour wouldn’t return to Cairo for three weeks. If John did mean to have a shot at the museum I’d have to turn him in, there was no question about that. But I could afford to wait a little longer.
I decided to go to bed. A book I had brought along, on the medieval mosques of Cairo, had my eyelids at half-mast before I had read two pages. At that rate, I’d never become an expert on Islamic art in time to lecture on the subject. Cheer up, Vicky, I told myself; you may not have to. Once they put the handcuffs on your ex-lover, you can pull out. With a clear conscience.
III
The horrors of rising at dawn, an activity I try to avoid, were mitigated by the handsome, dark-skinned youth who tapped at my door less than a minute after the chimes had wakened me. I was in no condition to appreciate him, but I certainly appreciated the tray he carried. After two cups of coffee and a cool shower I was ready to face the day.
I made it to the dining room ten minutes before the tour was to leave. Breakfast was buffet-style; there was still plenty of food on the table, but only a few people lingered in the room. One of them was the German urologist, still hunched over his book.
My professional colleagues were gathered in one corner. I deduced that they were waiting for me; as I contemplated the lavish spread, trying to decide what to eat, Feisal rose and joined me.
‘An embarras de richesse, is it not?’ he said, giving me a dazzling smile. ‘I don’t recommend the eggs Benedict; they are a trifle overdone.’
‘I’m late, I know,’ I said. ‘All I want is a roll and – ’
‘No, no, take your time. Sit down and relax, I will select something for you.’
I joined my ‘colleagues’ and we shook hands all around. Foggington-Smythe graciously informed me that I could call him Perry, and returned to his breakfast. Alice Gordon gave me a friendly grin.
‘It’s difficult to get used to this schedule,’ she said. ‘One is tempted to linger in the saloon, but dawn comes all too soon. How nice you look! Very professional.’
I had tried to control myself with Burckhardt’s money, but I hadn’t been able to resist the safari outfit. The pants were modestly loose – we had been warned not to offend Egyptian sensibilities by wearing scanty or skin-tight garments – and the jacket had more pockcts than a shoe bag. It made me feel like Amelia P. Emerson, but when I saw Alice’s calf-length cotton skirt and casual shirt I realized I had made a fool of myself. Professional archaeolosts didn’t dress like that. Not these days, anyhow.
‘I resisted the pith helmet,’ I said with a sheepish smile.
Alice let out a booming laugh. ‘You shouldn’t have. Why not enjoy yourself?’
Feisal returned with a loaded plate. I buttered a croissant and began eating. Perry (I wondered if I would ever be able to call him that) pushed his plate away. Having concluded the primary business of the morning, he was ready to give me his attention.
‘I look forward to your lectures, Dr Bliss,’ he said solemnly. ‘I confess I have not read any of your publications – ’
‘It isn’t actually my field,’ I said. I had known this would happen, and it would have been a waste of time trying to fool these people. ‘I – uh – I cheated a little bit.’
Perry frowned. ‘In what way?’
‘Don’t be such a stick, Perry,’ Alice said easily. ‘I don’t know what strings you pulled to be selected for this cruise, but I wasn’t exactly forthright either. My specialty is New Kingdom literature. There are at least a dozen people who know more about Ptolemaic temples than I do. But I’d have cheerfully murdered all of them to get a chance of living like a millionaire for once in my life. Ths is a far cry from the Hyde Park Holiday Inn.’
Feisal laughed. He really was gorgeous – even white teeth; glinting dark eyes – and he had a sense of humour. ‘A pity one can’t claim bribes as legitimate business expenses, isn’t it?’
‘I always do,’ I said.
Perry looked blank. ‘Really,’ he began.
‘Time we were off,’ Feisal said. ‘Forward!’
He bustled us out. The antisocial reader remained.
Alice fell in step with me. ‘I’m sure you were warned about lecturing on site. You can answer questions, but only licensed Egyptian guides are allowed to lecture.’
‘There’s very little danger of my breaking that rule,’ I assured her.
She laughed and gave me a friendly pat on the arm. ‘Some of these people don’t know the difference between the nineteenth dynasty and the nineteenth century; if they back you into a comer, just refer them to me or Perry or Feisal.’
The passengers had assembled in the lobby. I joined the fringes of the group – which, I was sorry to see, included the Tregarths. Avoiding them, I found myself standing next to Suzi Umphenour. She hailed me like an old friend, and I studied her in consternation. She had ignored the guidelines about dress, and was attired in a jumpsuit that clung lovingly to her posterior and bared her arms, shoulders, and cleavage.