Erica was afraid Raoul was right behind her when she reached Ahmed’s door. It was unlocked, and she burst through, leaving the door ajar. She had to convince Ahmed as quickly as possible of the conspiracy so that adequate police protection could be arranged.
Running directly into the living room, she was overjoyed to see Ahmed still up, conversing with a friend. “I’m being followed,” shouted Erica.
Ahmed leaped to his feet, dumbfounded when he recognized Erica.
“Quickly,” she continued, “we must have help.”
Ahmed recovered enough to dash past her and out the open doorway. Erica turned to Ahmed’s companion to ask him to summon the police. Her mouth started to open, but then her eyes widened with astonishment and fear.
Closing the door behind him, Ahmed returned and swept Erica into his arms. “It’s all clear, Erica,” he said. “It’s all clear and you are safe. Let me look at you. I don’t believe it; it is a miracle.”
But Erica didn’t respond, just strained to see over Ahmed’s shoulder. Her blood ran cold. She was looking at Muhammad Abdulal! Now both she and Ahmed would be killed. She could tell that Muhammad was equally astonished to see her, but he collected himself and unleashed a torrent of angry Arabic.
At first Ahmed ignored Muhammad’s raving. He asked Erica who had been following her, but before she could respond, Muhammad said something that triggered in Ahmed the same suppressed violence Erica had seen when he smashed the teacup. His eyes darkened and he whirled to face Muhammad. He spoke in Arabic, and at first his voice was low and threatening, but it gradually rose in pitch until he was shouting.
Erica looked back and forth between the two men, expecting Muhammad to pull out a weapon. To her relief she noticed that instead he was cowering. Apparently he took orders from Ahmed, because he sat down when Ahmed pointed to a chair. Then with relief came fear. When Ahmed turned back to Erica, she looked into his powerfully deep eyes. What was happening?
Ahmed spoke softly. “Erica, it is truly a miracle that you have returned…”
Erica’s mind was beginning to scream that something was wrong. What was Ahmed saying? What did he mean, return?
“It must be Allah’s wish that you and I should be together,” he continued, “and I am willing to accept his decision. I have been talking with Muhammad for many hours about you. I was going to come to you, to talk with you, to plead with you.”
Erica’s heart pounded; her whole sense of reality was disintegrating. “You knew about my being sealed in the tomb?”
“Yes. It was a difficult decision for me, but you had to be stopped. I ordered that you would not be hurt. I was going to come to the tomb to convince you to join us. I love you, Erica. One other time I had to give up the woman I loved. My uncle made sure I had no choice. But not this time. I want you to become part of the family-my family and Muhammad’s family.”
Closing her eyes for a moment, Erica tried to deal with all her conflicting thoughts. She could not believe what was happening and what she was hearing. Marriage? Family? Her voice was uncertain. “You are related to Muhammad?”
“Yes,” said Ahmed. He led her slowly to the couch and sat her down. “Muhammad and I are cousins. Our grandmother is Aida Raman. She is my mother’s mother.” Ahmed carefully described the complicated genealogy of their family, starting with Sarwat and Aida Raman.
When he finished speaking, Erica threw a frightened glance at Muhammad.
“Erica…” said Ahmed to regain her attention “You have been able to do something no one else has been able to do for fifty years. No one outside of the family has seen the Raman papyrus, and anyone with even the slightest idea of its existence has been dealt with. Thanks to the media, the deaths have been ascribed to some mysterious curse. It’s been most convenient.”
“And all the secrecy is to guard the tomb?” asked Erica.
Ahmed and Muhammad exchanged glances. “What tomb are you referring to?” asked Ahmed.
“The real Seti tomb under Tutankhamen’s,” said Erica.
Muhammad jumped up and treated Ahmed to another stream of harsh Arabic. Ahmed listened this time and did not shut him up. When Muhammad was finished, Ahmed turned back to Erica. His voice was still calm. “You are indeed a marvel, Erica. Now you know why the stakes are so high. Yes, we are guarding an unplundered tomb of one of the great Egyptian pharaohs. With your training you know what that means. Unbelievable wealth. So you can understand that you have put us in an embarrassing position. But if you marry me, then it is part yours and you can help clear this most spectacular archaeological find.”
Erica tried again to think of a way to escape. First she’d had to get away from Yvon, now Ahmed. And Raoul was probably going back to Yvon. There would be a horrible confrontation. The world was crazy. To stall for time she asked, “Why hasn’t the tomb been cleared already?”
“The tomb is filled with such riches that removing any required careful planning. My grandfather Raman knew it would take a generation to set up the machinery to market the treasures from such a tomb and to place the family in positions where they could control moving the priceless objects from Egypt. During the latter part of his life, we only took from the tomb enough to educate the next generation. It has only been within the last year that I have become director of the Department of Antiquities and Muhammad chief guard of the Necropolis of Luxor.”
“So it’s like the Rasul family in the nineteenth century,” said Erica.
“There is a superficial resemblance,” said Ahmed. “We are working on a very sophisticated level. The archaeological interests are being carefully considered. In fact, Erica, you could be instrumental in that aspect.”
“Was Lord Carnarvon one of the people that had to be ‘dealt with’?” asked Erica.
“I’m not certain,” said Ahmed. “It was a long time ago, but I think so.” Muhammad nodded. “Erica,” continued Ahmed, “how did you learn what you did? I mean, what made-?”
Suddenly the lights in the house went out. The moon had set and the darkness was absolute, like a tomb. Erica did not move. She heard someone pick up the phone, then slam it down. She guessed Yvon and Raoul had cut the wires.
She heard Ahmed and Muhammad speak swiftly in Arabic. Then her eyes began to accustom themselves to the darkness so she could see vague forms. A figure loomed toward her, and she shrank back. It was Ahmed, and he grasped her wrist and pulled her to her feet. She could see only his eyes and his teeth.
“I ask you again, who was following you?” His voice was an urgent half-whisper.
She tried to speak, but she stumbled over her words; she was terrified. She was caught between two horrid forces. Ahmed yanked on her wrist impatiently. Finally Erica managed to say, “Yvon de Margeau.”
Ahmed did not let go of Erica’s wrist while he conversed with Muhammad. Erica caught the gleam from the barrel of a pistol in Muhammad’s hand. She had the helpless feeling that events were again beyond her control.
Without warning Ahmed pulled Erica across the living room and down the long darkened hallway toward the rear of the house. She struggled to free her hand, unable to see and fearing she was going to trip and fall. But Ahmed’s grip was like steel. Muhammad ran behind.
They exited from the house into the courtyard, where there was slightly more light. They skirted the stable, reaching the back gate. Ahmed and Muhammad spoke quickly; then Ahmed opened the wooden door. The alley beyond was deserted and darker than the courtyard because of a double row of date palms. Muhammad carefully leaned out with his gun poised, his eyes searching the shadows. Satisfied, he stepped back, making room for Ahmed. Without releasing her wrist, Ahmed urged Erica forward, pushing her through the doorway into the alley. He followed close behind.