His upper body was still bruised multiple shades of purple and deep breaths bothered him, but he was healing well and the physician who had visited the boat in Luxor a week ago said that he’d make a full recovery. Thankfully, neither he nor Selome had any lasting effects from their exposure to mercury, and Mercer’s fears about cryptococcus had been unfounded.
He and Selome had been on the barge for three weeks, cruising up the river from the bustle of Cairo. The boat belonged to a former client of Mercer’s who’d made a fortune after contracting his geologic services and was more than willing to allow the use of his vessel. From the shore she looked unremarkable, sixty-eight feet long and nearly twenty wide, with a flat bottom and squared bow and stern. Her pilot house was a square block haphazardly placed too far forward to be aesthetically pleasing. It was only when one stepped onto her decks that she revealed her true beauty and luxury appointments.
The upper deck was mahogany, sanded so smooth that it shimmered in the desert sun. The small swimming pool and the Jaccuzi looked like miniature oases. Amid the palm planters, a wet bar beckoned. Apart from the crew, Mercer and Selome had the barge to themselves. Below decks were six cabins, including the master’s suite with a bed big enough for a polo match and a gold and marble bath. The dining room and main salon were equally lavish, and while the decor wasn’t Mercer’s style, he appreciated its beauty.
He wiped perspiration from his eyes and opened them slowly, enjoying the sight that lay before him. Selome Nagast was stretched out on a wicker chaise longue, her dusky skin like oiled stone in both firmness and gloss. Her hair was bunched atop her head, but still cascaded around her shoulders, the henna dye glinting like a pillow of rubies. The only other color on her body was a wisp of a bikini bottom that vanished in cords around her narrow hips and flashed just a tiny triangle between her legs. Her breasts, perfect in any position, were spread by her relaxed pose, riding high and peaked so delicately that Mercer felt his lower body shift as he studied them.
Moving only a hand, for he did not want to disturb her sleep, he plucked a gimlet from the table behind him. He estimated, sipping the biting lime and vodka mixture, that this was his third and it wasn’t yet noon. Mercer knew some people searched for excitement to escape the doldrums of their lives while on vacation. He wanted just the opposite.
On the river side of the anchored luxury barge, called Aga Khan, a steady procession of tourist cruise ships paraded in both directions, loaded with Americans, Japanese, and Europeans. Opposite sat the temple of Kom Ombo, a sandstone complex dedicated to Horus and Sobek, the crocodile god. The temple looked similar to the Acropolis in Athens with sturdy columns in the shape of lotus plants and crowned with massive rock lintels. Mercer and Selome had spent the day before walking through the ruins, admiring the Ptolemaic hieroglyphics and the mummified remains of sacred crocodiles. The temple had once been a pilgrimage destination for the lame and injured, and many of the pictographs depicted medical procedures and prayers.
Today was their last day alone together. Here at Kom Ombo, they were being joined by Dick Henna and his wife, Fay. Later, in Aswan, the two couples would leave the boat for another week of sightseeing, including a privately chartered plane trip to the massive Ramses II temple at Abu Simbel.
No sooner had Mercer thought about the impending end to their solitude than there came a disturbance at the gang-plank. At first he thought it was another curio merchant trying to sell souvenirs, but then he heard Dick Henna’s voice and Fay’s excited exclamation as she got her first look at the true nature of her ride south.
“Selome, wake up,” Mercer called, and her eyes fluttered open. He tossed her the bikini top. “Company’s arrived.”
She gave a little moue of annoyance and slipped the bikini over her chest, settling her breasts in the twin cups just as Henna and Fay came out to the sundeck.
Mercer was on his feet in an instant, shaking Dick’s hand and kissing Fay’s cheek. “Welcome to Mercer’s Barge of Sin. Your whim is our command.”
“I said it before and I’ll say it again, I got into the wrong line of work.” Henna drank in the barge’s opulence until his gaze fell on Selome. He gaped.
“Selome Nagast, this is Dick and Fay Henna.” While Dick was shaking her hand, Fay shot Mercer an approving wink that made him smile. “How was your trip?”
“Great,” Dick replied. “First-class from Dulles to Cairo, private jet from there to Aswan and a limo here. Who could complain?”
Mercer had paid for it all as thanks to Dick for his help and Fay for her patience.
“And Harry?”
“He’ll be here the day after tomorrow. He’s in Israel now, helping Mossad identify the people who held him captive. I can’t believe he has that much energy. His constitution is like iron.”
“While his heart’s gold and his liver is lead,” Mercer laughed. “Why don’t you two get settled? We can talk over lunch.”
An hour later, they sat at one of the outside tables, Henna and Fay dressed in shorts and loose shirts. Mercer had thrown on a T-shirt and Selome had covered up with a colorful wrap. As they ate, two lateen-rigged feluccas dashed by the barge, the traditional craft still a regular sight on the river after countless hundreds of generations.
After the stewards cleared the table and refreshed everyone’s drinks, Mercer finished his nearly textbook history of the temple behind them and turned the conversation more serious. “We might as well get the working part of your trip out of the way so we can enjoy the rest of the week in peace.”
“I agree,” Fay chimed quickly.
“Fair enough.” Henna looked lovingly at his wife of thirty-five years. “Okay, we’ll do the bad stuff first and work our way to the good news.
“Three of the miners trapped when you escaped the mine pit have died from mercury poisoning, and four others aren’t expected to make it. Most, however, responded well to treatment and will make a full recovery.”
Mercer said nothing. He didn’t think of the thirty he had saved, only the ones he’d lost, and Selome put a hand over his.
Henna continued. “Only four Eritreans were killed during the Marine assault, and autopsies proved they were all killed by the Sudanese. Out of the Marine detachment, we lost eight men with another twelve wounded. Only three Sudanese survived the battle and are being held in Asmara awaiting trial. The minister of justice assures me their execution will be swift. In a deal between Interpol and the Eritrean authorities, they also get to keep Joppi Hofmyer and the other South African mine engineer, but Giancarlo Gianelli went to Europe. The board of directors for Gianelli SpA have been forthcoming about his other illegal activities in an attempt to stave off bad publicity. Even with good behavior, he’ll be in prison long after the next ice age.”
“Has he shown any remorse?”
“None.”
“I should have killed him when I had the chance,” Mercer grunted. He knew even a life sentence was too lenient for what Gianelli had done.
“Now for the good news. I’ll save the best stuff for last. As I’m sure you heard, Defense Minister Levine died mysteriously a couple of weeks ago. The official cover story is heart attack, but the truth is, Prime Minister Litvinoff shot Levine himself. Litvinoff called for a postponement of the elections, but it looks like when they are held, he will retain the prime ministership with a Labor Party majority in the Knesset. The other conspirators we know about will be tried in secret. Israel’s government is keeping this whole affair quiet, but our President knows exactly what transpired and he’s going to use that for leverage during the next round of peace negotiations if they balk at old promises again.”