Night Train to Memphis, page 17
The great stone box of the sarcophagus stood in the middle of the room. Tut’s mummy still lay there, decently hidden; it had been in ruinous condition. His golden coffins were now in the Cairo Museum. Involuntarily I looked at John, who was contemplating the sarcophagus with a look of pensive interest. Surely not even he would try… One of the damned coffins was of solid 22-karat gold, weighing almost three hundred pounds. You’d need a block and tackle just to lift the thing. But there were hundreds of other objects, all easily portable, that would be worth his time and trouble. The four small rooms of the tomb had been stuffed with objects of artistic and historic value.
They were empty now, except for the sarcophagus and the poor, battered bones of the boy himself. Eighteen years old, childless, possibly murdered… Schmidt pulled out his handkerchief and blew his nose. He’s disgustingly sentimental.
We retraced our steps—twenty-five paces, I’d counted them—along the passage and up the stairs—sixteen of them, I’d counted them too. But it hadn’t bothered me. Not with lights all along the way and Schmidt snuffling sentimentally beside me. After we had emerged into daylight the custodian swung the doors shut and locked them, to the audible annoyance of several loose tourists hanging around in the hope of getting in. The tomb must be officially closed. In this, as in other ways, our group had been favored.
Schmidt started fussing at me again when we reached the next of the tombs on our list, that of Amenhotep II. It was one of the ones the guidebook had described as “deep,” and Schmidt kept insisting I ought not attempt it. He was talking loudly, as usual, and if there was anyone in the group who hadn’t known about my phobia, they knew now.
“Don’t be silly, Schmidt,” I said. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Down, down, down we went, and if you think I wasn’t counting you are dead wrong. The stairs led down, all the corridors sloped down, and just when I thought we had reached the bottom there was another flight of stairs—leading down, in case you are wondering—and another downward-sloping passage. The square pillars in the last room were painted and inscribed. That’s about all I remember. I was too busy keeping an expression of insouciant calm on my face.
Other sources of discomfort aside, it was hot and close and very dusty down in the depths. By the time we started back up, Schmidt’s face was bright red and I didn’t like the way he was panting. Slowing my steps to match his, stopping frequently to rest, I forgot my own qualms in concern for him. I knew he’d never admit weakness and I could have kicked Feisal when he said solicitously, “Perhaps, Herr Doktor, you had better go to the rest house and have a cool drink instead of attempting the next tomb. That of Horemheb is the deepest in the Valley; the air is not good and the heat—”
Schmidt almost choked in his attempt to stop wheezing. Before he could protest I said, “I don’t care what you do, Schmidt, but I’m copping out. Where’s the rest house?”
Everybody voted for the rest house, so we returned to the entrance and got onto one of the cars of the tram. The sun was now high enough to bleach all the color from the cliffs, turning them a pale tan. Not that there was much color to begin with—only the clear blue sky overhead and the garish garb of some of the tourists.
Schmidt was on his second lemonade—he wanted beer, but I wouldn’t let him have it—when Larry, with whom I had been discussing tomb reliefs, broke off in mid-sentence. With a murmured “Excuse me,” he rose and headed for the door.
Schroeder, hat in hand, bald head shining with sweat, awaited him. I thought it was a little odd that the man hadn’t joined us, and I wasn’t the only one to wonder. Everyone stopped talking and stared. Everyone except John. After a quick glance at Schroeder he leaned back and lowered his eyes. He hadn’t spoken since we sat down.
After a few minutes Schroeder left and Larry returned, shaking his head and smiling. “He takes his duties too seriously, as I keep telling him. Some unimportant detail about tonight’s reception.”
“How long has he been with you?” I asked guilelessly.
“Let’s see…” He turned to the omnipresent Ed. “How long has it been? A couple of years?”
“ ’Bout that.” Ed returned to his beer. He was not much of a conversationalist.
If Ed could remember when Schroeder signed on, he had been with Larry even longer than two years. I reminded myself that I was no longer interested in details like that.
Schmidt polished off another lemonade and two candy bars, and announced he was ready to resume the tour. I was trying to think of a way of talking him out of it when Larry said, “It’s too nice a day to spend underground. How about taking the path to Deir el Bahri, Vicky? It’s in the bay south of here, over that range of hills, and the view of the temple from above is wonderful. The bus could pick us up there, couldn’t it, Feisal?”
Feisal nodded and Schmidt exclaimed, “Good, good. An excellent idea! I will come too.”
“But Herr Direktor,” Feisal protested, “it is a long, hard walk. Forty-five minutes…” He eyed Schmidt’s rotund shape dubiously and added, “Or longer.”
What was more, Schmidt hadn’t been invited. I didn’t waste my breath mentioning this. The walk might be the lesser of two evils. It couldn’t be more taxing for Schmidt than the hot dusty airlessness of the tombs.
“We’ll take it easy,” Larry said, with a reassuring nod at me.
“An enticing prospect,” said John. “I’ll join you, if I may.”
“Yes, a walk would be lovely,” Mary said eagerly.
“No.” He turned to her. “It would be too strenuous for you, in your condition.”
Mary’s jaw dropped and a charming blush spread over her face. I don’t know what my face looked like, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t charming.
“Anyone else?” Larry asked, after a moment of embarrassed silence. “All right, then, we’ll see you all later.”
Ed hadn’t said a word, but I was not surprised to find him making up one of our party. He tried to give Schmidt a hand during the first and most difficult part of the hike, the steep climb up from the Valley, but was huffily rebuffed. Once we had reached the top, Schmidt mopped his perspiring brow and gasped triumphantly, “Ha! Such a fuss you make over a little walk. If you had climbed the Zugspitze and the Matterhorn…” His breath gave out, so he left it there, and we all looked impressed except John, who was grinning like an idiot.
We admired the view for longer than it deserved, to give Schmidt time to recover, and Larry pointed out the locations of other tombs. Pale in the sunlight, the great pyramid-shaped peak called the Lady of the West rose over the valley it guarded.
The next part of the walk led across the rocky summit of the plateau. The path was rough but level, and Schmidt charged valiantly ahead. John kept pace with him. I started to quicken my step. Larry took my arm. “I want to talk to you, Vicky. That’s why I suggested this.”
I glanced over my shoulder. Ed was some distance behind, hands in his pockets.
“What about?” I asked.
Larry lowered his voice. “About a mutual friend. His name is Burckhardt.”
I stumbled over a stone no bigger than a Ping-Pong ball. Larry’s hand steadied me. “Sorry. You didn’t know?”
“I don’t know a damn thing,” I sputtered. “That son of a polecat Burck——”
“Let’s not mention the name again, okay? Don’t get the wrong idea, Vicky.” His face wrinkled in an attractive, deprecating smile. “I haven’t been leading a double life, like some superhero in the comics. I was informed of the situation by the Egyptian government. They know how intensively I have worked for better relations between Egypt and the West, and how deeply I care about the wonderful antiquities of this country. The announcement I will make this evening… Well, you’ll hear that in due course. The idea that someone could use this trip as a cover for activities designed to destroy everything I’ve worked for…”
“I understand.”
“I know you do. And I can’t tell you how much I—all of us—appreciate what you’re doing. It was for your own protection that I was told not to contact you earlier. Now things have changed.”
“That’s why Mr. Schroeder came,” I said. “To tell you—”
“That the refrigerating unit didn’t break down, Vicky. It was a deliberate act of sabotage. It can’t be repaired, it will have to be replaced. God knows how long that will take. The tour will have to be canceled. Hamid will make the announcement when we return at noon. You see what that means, don’t you?”
My eyes were fixed on Schmidt, who was gesturing animatedly. A sound like the howl of a coyote drifted to my ears. I caught a few of the words; they had to do with heaven, mama, and train whistles.
“I’m not sure I do,” I said slowly. “What alternatives will the passengers be offered—aside from a refund of the fare?”
“That, of course. But I expect most of them will choose to remain in Luxor for a few days, since this is the high point of the tour. Fortunately—or unfortunately, from the viewpoint of the tourism industry—there are plenty of hotel rooms empty. After that…”
He looked expectantly at me. “Some may decide to return to Cairo,” I muttered. “Sooner or later everybody will end up in Cairo. Where the museum is.”
“Yes. Vicky, have you any idea of who these people are?”
“Yeah.” I gestured. “Him.”
Schmidt and John had stopped, waiting for us to join them.
“Not Anton!” Larry exclaimed.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Him.” I couldn’t pronounce his name.
“Mr. Tregarth?” Larry sounded almost as incredulous. He slowed his steps. “But he’s a well-known—”
“Crook. I’ve encountered him before. I don’t know who the others are; he’s the only one I recognized.”
“Surely he wouldn’t bring his pregnant bride along.” Larry looked shocked.
“Excellent cover, wouldn’t you say?”
I heard John laugh. Schmidt had taught him a new one. A few words floated back to me: “When I woke up, I had shackles on my feet…”
“Come. Vicky, hurry, why are you so slow?” Schmidt yelled. “It is a glorious view.”
“One more thing,” Larry said quickly. “I want you to stay with me while you’re in Luxor. I have a house here, you know—”
“Of course I know. You’re holding the reception there, right?”
“Right. You’ll be safer there than in a hotel. Anton too, of course.”
Schmidt has twenty-twenty hearing. “What about me?” he demanded.
“I’ll tell you later, Schmidt,” I said. “It’s a surprise.”
Schmidt loves surprises. Beaming, he demanded that I admire the view.
The temple of the female pharaoh, Hatshepsut, lay below, its colonnades and courtyards sharp-etched by shadow and sunlight. It is probably the most graceful, perfectly proportioned structure in Egypt. I had looked forward to seeing it.
But not under these circumstances. Beside me, hands in his pockets, hair shining like silver-gilt, John was humming under his breath. “ ‘It takes a worried man to sing a worried song… I’m worried now—but I won’t be worried long.’ ”
That’s what he thought.
Chapter Eight
I
Hamid waited until we had assembled for lunch before making the announcement. There was the usual chorus of complaints from certain parties, but the sputtering and shouts of “Outrageous” faded as Hamid went on to outline the alternatives. They were a good deal more generous than most companies would have offered.
That afternoon we would be transferred to the Winter Palace Hotel—all expenses paid, of course. After the prearranged four days in the Theban area, passengers who wished to do so could board another cruise ship for Aswan, where they would spend several days before sailing back to Luxor. They might instead opt to return to Cairo by air for a two-week stay at Mena House or one of the four-star Cairo hotels.
“What do you say, Vicky?” Schmidt demanded. “What shall we do? Me, I vote for Cairo. Aswan is sehr interresant, but except for the nobles’ tombs—”
“We don’t have to make up our minds this minute.”
I couldn’t take my eyes off John. His face was as bland and uninformative as an oyster as he listened to Hamid. I had no doubt what his decision would be. He had known this would happen; he must have had a hand in arranging it. Mary was watching him too, her expression faintly troubled. She wouldn’t be consulted, but if I had been in her shoes (which God forbid), I’d have had my own reasons for preferring Cairo.
Shotgun wedding, I thought, savoring the ugly phrase. Mary’s daddy must be some guy. But he could never have cornered such an expert at elusion if John hadn’t had his own reasons for embracing matrimony. The ripe, juicy chunk of mango I was chewing tasted like sand as the inevitable calculations reeled off in my head. At least six weeks before she could be sure, maybe longer—a few more weeks making the arrangements for the wedding…
Months. It must have been going on for months. The same months during which he had… visited… me. While I sat there like some slack-jawed idiot in a country music ballad, bein’ true to my man.
I swallowed the loathsome morsel with a loud gulping sound. Schmidt looked at me in alarm. “Was ist’s? Are you going to be sick? You cannot be sick now, we have much—”
“I’m not sick, dammit! Stop fussing, Schmidt. Let’s go and pack.”
My elegantly appointed room and pretty little balcony had never looked more appealing. So much for that luxury tour I’d been promised; I’d never had the chance to enjoy it. Mother had always told me that if an offer seemed too good to be true it probably was.
The prospect of being Larry’s house guest offered some consolation. (It would certainly impress my mother.) I’d seen photographs of his Luxor establishment in some magazine; it wasn’t just a house, it was a whole estate, with beautiful gardens and a swimming pool and all the other odds and ends rich people consider necessary to happiness.
And I would be far far away from John and his pregnant bride.
I am not a neat packer, and my mood that day was not conducive to order and method; I tossed things at random into the bags and put them by the door. After a final check of closets and drawers to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything, I opened the safe.
The reels of tape were gone.
I was squatting in front of the safe, fumbling in its interior in the hope of finding something—a gun, a message, a box of chocolates, anything to indicate interest—when the telephone rang. I snatched it up and yelled, “What do you want, Schmidt?”
“I’m afraid it’s only me,” an apologetic voice murmured.
“Larry?”
“Yes. You are going to accept my invitation, I hope. I intended to repeat it in person, but you left the dining room before I could speak to you.”
He had meant it, then. A little quiver ran through me, a mixture of pleasure, relief, and renewed alarm. The situation must be serious if he was anxious to get me to a safe place without delay. “It’s very kind of you. Are you sure?”
“I’m sure it’s the best possible place for you.”
He didn’t have to spell it out. “All right,” I said. “Thank you. What about Schmidt?”
“I’ve already spoken to him. He said he’d come if you did. So it’s settled. We’ll meet in the lobby in, say, half an hour?”
There was no point in hanging around my room, so I headed for the lounge. I expected to find Schmidt there, since Hamid had announced the bar would be open—a final farewell to the Queen of the Nile, for those who chose to take advantage of it. Schmidt hadn’t chosen, but several of the others had, including Alice and Feisal, who were engaged in earnest conversation. I joined them.
“So what’s going to happen to you guys?” I asked.
“All friends must part at last,” said Feisal with a theatrical sigh. “We part sooner than I had hoped; but not for a few more days. I will remain with the tour here in Luxor.”
“And after that?”
His smile was dazzling. “Something good, for me at least. I’m not at liberty to discuss it just yet. Are you coming with me to the Luxor Temple this afternoon?”
I shook my head. Feisal gave me one of those patronizing masculine looks. “Primping for the reception instead? I will see you later at the hotel, then.”
He glanced at his watch and stood up.
“I won’t be at the hotel. Larry has asked me to stay with him.”
Alice gave me a startled look and then laughed. “Congratulations. You’re the first single woman to be so honored in years.”
“He’ll be adequately chaperoned,” I said. “Schmidt is coming too.”
Feisal grinned. He was in a good mood, all right. “He is not the marrying kind, as you say. And he is too old for you. You haven’t forgotten you promised to let me show you the night life of Luxor?”
“I’d like that. Thanks, Feisal.”
“Till this evening, then.” He went off, collecting Suzi as he passed her table. I heard her shrill voice raised in pretended protest as he led her out.
“Are you really staying with Larry?” Alice didn’t wait for me to answer. Thoughtfully she went on, “You’ll be all right, then. That compound of his could withstand a siege.”
“How about you?”
“I’m out of it.” Alice made no effort to conceal her relief. “They’ve asked me to accompany the group that will be going on to Aswan.”
“Then you’ve talked to—someone?”
The lounge was emptying, but I was wary of specific references.
“Not yet. I’m supposed to meet—someone—at the Luxor Temple later this afternoon. But I can’t imagine that my services will be required any longer. The people who—the people concerned won’t be going to Aswan.” She drained her glass and rose. “I was going to resign anyhow. I’m too old for this sort of thing. See you later.”
I let her go on before I followed. She was undoubtedly correct. The passengers who opted for the Aswan cruise had to be innocents. The Cairo-bound crowd was the one to be watched.
