Covert in Cairo, page 11
Agent Relish was pale and barely breathing. I quickly arranged everything on a table next to his bed: bandages, syringe, chloroform and gauze mask, a vial of morphine, and the bottle of blood. Thankfully, the young nurse agreed to assist me.
She ran to fetch a pole on which to hang the bottle while I went to wash my hands again. When I came back, the young nurse was shaving Agent Relish’s head. His black hair fell in bunches onto the floor.
The gash in his head was deep. He needed stitches. Lots of them.
“Romeo.” His voice was weak and hoarse. “Last act.”
“Yes.” I leaned closer to hear him. “What about the last act?” The coded messages must come in the last act.
His eyes went wide, he moaned, and then screamed out in agony. Poor, poor man.
I partially filled the syringe with morphine.
“Nurse!” the stranger in the next bed called out.
“In a minute.” I knew Agent Relish was in worse shape than the stranger.
“Stop!” the stranger shouted.
I glanced over at him.
“Don’t!” He nearly rolled off his cot. The poor man must be delirious.
“Please, sir.” I tapped the syringe. “Be patient.”
I administered one milligram of morphine to Agent Relish to take the edge off his pain. Then I gingerly cleaned the wound. While the nurse prepared the blood for transfusion, I took up a needle and medical thread to suture his wound. I’d done it before, but it never got any easier, holding a man’s life in your hands.
After I’d finished, an otherworldly high-pitched sound emanated from his mouth and his eyes popped open again.
I jumped back.
His body rose and shook in violent convulsions and then he collapsed back onto the cot. Motionless now, his lifeless eyes stared up at the ceiling.
I put two fingers on his wrist searching for a pulse. Nothing.
I felt his neck. Nothing.
Holy Mother of God. No. No. No.
He was dead.
I dropped the needle on the floor. Tears sprang to my eyes.
The young nurse was busy attaching the bottle of blood to the pole.
“We won’t be needing that.” I wiped my eyes with the backs of my hands. I truly thought we could save him.
“What?” She looked down at the dead man. A cloud passed over her face. “Oh.”
“I warned you.” A few feet away, the stranger sat up in his cot. “It’s not your fault.”
I stared at him. Of course it wasn’t my fault.
“You aren’t to blame.” He shook his head.
What did he mean? Of course I wasn’t.
The nurse narrowed her brows. “How much morphine did you give him?”
I picked up the syringe. “Only one milligram.” I’d purposedly given him the lowest possible dosage.
“Are you sure?” She came to my side and stared down at the glass syringe. “It holds ten times that much. Are you sure you didn’t fill it?”
I confirmed that the label read morphine and that I’d given him the correct dosage. “See.” I showed her the bottle.
“I tried to stop you,” the stranger said.
Blast him. If he hadn’t piped up again, the blooming nurse wouldn’t be interrogating me. He was becoming a pest. I was half-tempted to refill the syringe and inject him with enough morphine to knock him out.
I picked up the vial of morphine. It was half empty. But hadn’t it already been almost half empty? Still, something wasn’t right.
I held the morphine vial to my nose and recoiled at the smell. Not the raspberry smell of morphine, but a sweet grassy smell. I glanced around the room. I hoped it was the verdant smell of some doctor’s cologne.
I squeezed my eyes shut to quell the nausea.
11
ARCHEOLOGY LESSONS
Of course, I’d seen men die before. I’d even seen them die under my care. But I thought we’d got to him in time. I truly thought we could save Agent Relish.
Nurses bustled about. Volunteers carried supplies and bedpans. Out of the corner of my eye, I even thought I saw a doctor. But everything was happening as if in slow motion, as if I were in the eye of a storm. A great deadly storm.
“Nurse. Nurse. Help me!” The stranger’s voice brought me back and time started to flow again.
Agent Relish had discovered something, and I was going to find out what.
The stranger moaned. “Ohhh, my head.” He held his head in his hands and writhed.
The young nurse dashed over to him. “We need to remove your headdress, sir.” As she unwound the cloth from his head, he batted at her hands. “Please, sir.” She glanced over at me with pleading eyes.
Afraid to administer any more morphine, I grabbed the gauze mask, added a drop of chloroform, and headed for the cot.
I was about to clamp the mask on his mouth when the stranger grabbed my wrist.
“No need for that.” His grip was firm, too firm for a dying man. And there was that fragrance again. Rosewood.
“Unhand me.” I tried to pull out of his grasp.
“Not until you dispose of that gawd-awful mask,” he said through his teeth.
I dropped the mask on the floor. He let go of my wrist. I reached down and ripped off the rest of his headdress.
I knew it!
Long black locks fell down around his broad shoulders.
He smiled up at me.
The mysterious stranger was none other than Fredrick Fredricks. He’d been literally right under my nose this whole time. I wanted to strangle him.
“Good to see you again, ma chérie.” The scoundrel was grinning from ear to ear. “I hope I get better treatment than your countryman.” He rubbed his head.
“Fredrick Fredricks. I should have known.” Without the headdress and the fake accent, I recognized him. How had I not known it was him all along? Was I completely daft?
“Is that a syringe in your hand or are you just happy to see me?” He grinned like a wolf.
If I had one, I would have plunged it into his heart.
No wonder I’d had a queer feeling about him since we met in the railway carriage. Now I knew why. Fredrick Fredricks, infamous South African huntsman turned German spy, who posed as an American journalist… and now was posing as an Egyptian nationalist.
I tightened my lips to prevent emitting a string of curses. Blast him anyway. And to think I’d danced with the blackguard at the ball.
“You don’t look happy to see me.” He pursed his lips in a disingenuous expression of concern.
“What just happened with Agent Relish?” I stomped my foot. “What do you know about the morphine?”
My mind raced as I recounted to myself everything I’d seen the stranger doing—the stranger who was actually Fredrick Fredricks. He’d dropped a map marking the mid-point of the Suez Canal. He’d met with the actress Mori Al-Madie, who had been dressed as an Egyptian army officer at the time. I’d seen him in the mirror in Mori’s dressing room. Fredricks and Mori had been plotting together… the time and place I’d traced from the tablecloth. The time and place from a bombing attempt last year.
My head was spinning. Romeo. Last act. The map. The canal. What did it all mean? “Why did you bring me to Cairo? What is your scheme?” I fought back tears of rage. The bounder had used me most severely.
“I’m surprised you didn’t recognize me earlier.” Fredricks chuckled.
“Did you kill Jean-Baptiste?” I sharpened my gaze, hoping to cut through his insolence. “Where is Agent Dankworth?” I wasn’t going to play coy with him. I was aware that he knew all the British agents in the field. Besides, Dankworth was missing. I wasn’t exactly giving away his whereabouts.
“Have you forgotten I was attacked too?” He touched his head.
“Hold still.” The young nurse cleaned his wound, which was just a mere scratch under his thick hair.
“Ouch!” He batted at the nurse’s hands.
I hoped he was in terrible pain. He deserved it.
The nurse asked for the bandages, and I passed them to her. Although Fredricks’s wound didn’t require bandages, let alone hospitalization.
If only someone could bandage my wounded pride. And bring back Agent Relish.
I should have recognized the bounder. It was all so obvious now. Tears stung my eyes.
Good grief. What would I tell Kitty and Clifford? My only consolation was that they hadn’t recognized him either. The scoundrel was good, I’d give him that. A veritable master of disguise. If only I were so good.
“Only a matter of luck I wasn’t killed.” He pouted.
“Bad luck, if you ask me.”
“He attacked from behind—”
“Howard Carter?”
He nodded.
“Why would Mr. Carter attack you and Agent Relish?” Fredricks already knew Relish was a British agent. The confounded man always seemed to know everything.
“We discovered stolen antiquities.” Fredricks picked at some dirt under one of his fingernails.
Holding onto the handle of Mata Hari’s gun through the fabric of my handbag with one hand, I offered him a scalpel in hopes he might cut off a finger.
“Stolen antiquities.” I hadn’t thought of that. Had Jean-Baptiste learned of Mr. Carter’s criminal activities and that’s why he was killed? Oh, dear. I should warn Lord Carnarvon about his daughter. Their foreman was a criminal and a murderer. And his daughter was involved in it all.
I had to get rid of this nurse so I could properly question Fredricks. “Would it be possible to bring Mr. Fredricks a glass of water?” I raised my eyebrows in hopes he’d play along.
“Yes, I am parched.” He coughed. When he sat up, his robe slipped down around his shoulders, revealing his tanned chest. “But such a lovely young woman shouldn’t be reduced to fetching water, unless it’s on the stage.” His mischievous eyes twinkled as he winked at her. Cheeky cad.
The nurse giggled and scampered off.
I shook my head. Why did women always fall under his spell? I, for one, would never succumb. Never. Not if he were the last man on earth. Exasperating man.
I took the opportunity of the nurse’s absence to interrogate Fredricks. “Is Lady Evelyn involved with stolen antiquities?” What will I tell her father if she is? It would break his heart to find out his daughter was conspiring—and who knew what else—with his crooked foreman.
“Lady Evelyn?” Fredricks squinted at me.
“Lord Carnarvon’s daughter.” I lowered my voice. “Is she involved with Mr. Carter?”
“Why, Fiona, I didn’t know you were such a gossip.” His grin was infuriating.
“Why are you in Cairo?” I fingered Mata Hari’s gun through the cloth of my handbag.
“Calm down and I’ll tell you everything.” His eyes danced. “Ma chérie. You’re stunning when angry.”
I exhaled. “Start talking.”
“Persuasion is my strong suit, as you know.” He winked at me. “I’m here to convince the Bedouins to turn against the British.” His countenance turned serious. “Captain Lawrence and Miss Bell know as well as I do that your government will not make good on its promises.” He looked genuinely pained. “It never does.”
Propaganda. That was his strong suit. He was a con man.
“What about the Suez Canal?” I loosened the drawstrings on my handbag in case I needed the gun.
“What about it?” He fingered the bed sheet.
I wished he’d cover himself. His bare chest was bloody distracting.
“You lured me here with suggestive remarks about the canal.” I reached down and pulled the sheet up to his chin.
He winked. “Suggestive remarks?”
“Just as the Suez Canal facilitates commerce between the Red Sea and the Mediterranean, you and I will facilitate peace.” I quoted his letter by heart.
“We make better friends than enemies.” He held out his hand. “Fiona, ma chérie. I know you want this war to end as much as I do.”
“Not enough to kill in cold blood.” I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t go around poisoning countesses and assassinating double agents.”
“Not even poor Agent Relish?” His lips turned downward in an exaggerated pout.
I was really starting to hate him. Wordlessly, I glared at him.
“A joke, a very bad joke.” He reached for me. “You didn’t murder him and neither did I.” He wiggled his fingers at me. “Truce?”
“I don’t make peace with assassins.” I took a step backwards.
“What about your precious Lieutenant Archie Somersby?” He narrowed his brows. “You seem to make an exception for him.”
“That’s different—”
He cut me off. “How is it any different?” He sat up straighter. “He kills for his country, and I would kill for mine and so would you, if it came to that.” His gaze pierced my soul. “So don’t take the moral high ground with me.”
“Why did you give me Archie’s watch?” My voice trailed off. I couldn’t stand to think of Archie as a killer. It wasn’t true. Archie was nothing like Fredricks.
“Something to remember him by, ma chérie.” He shrugged. “I’m sorry about your beloved lieutenant, but it couldn’t be helped.” He troubled the bed sheet.
“What did you do to him?” I stomped my foot.
“Shhh.” He glanced around. “You’ll disturb the patients.”
The nurse returned with a glass of water.
Fredricks thanked her with the drama of a Shakespearean actor. In return, she fawned over him. Sickening. I could hardly watch the touching little scene between patient and nurse. The young nurse tucked the bed sheet around his shoulders and cooed at him.
“Shouldn’t you see to the other patients?” Standing arms akimbo, I waited for her to go.
Reluctantly, she left Fredricks’s bedside.
“What have you done to Archie?” My cheeks burned.
Fredricks’s smile broadened. “Weren’t you looking for Lady Evelyn?” He tilted his bandaged head toward the threshold.
I turned around to see what he was looking at.
Crikey.
Wearing a volunteer nurse’s outfit and carrying a bedpan, Lady Evelyn Carnarvon entered the room. Her freckled cheeks glowed with good will and cheer. Most ladies wouldn’t be caught dead carrying a bedpan. Riding camels in the middle of the night and then volunteering at the hospital at dawn, Lady Evelyn wasn’t most ladies… or even most girls.
Screaming. Banging.
A commotion in the next ward sent all the nurses running. “Code red. Code red,” one of the nurses yelled as she ran past.
My heart leaped into my throat as I went to the doorway to see what was happening. Another nurse ran past me. More screaming from the next ward. Another soldier wounded or dying. I would have gone to help, but I wasn’t about to leave Fredricks. Not now.
I turned back. Blast it all.
Too late.
Fredricks was already gone. Obviously, his injury was as false as his heart.
Tears of exhaustion and frustration streamed down my face.
I dropped onto Fredricks’s empty cot and put my head in my hands.
“Are you alright?”
A light touch on my shoulder made me look up.
It was Lady Evelyn. “Why, Miss Figg. What are you doing here?”
Choked by emotion, I couldn’t answer.
“Let’s get you a cup of tea, shall we?” Gently, she helped me up and led me to the break room. She sat me at a table. “Wait here.” She went and put the kettle on. After a few minutes, she returned with a steaming cup of tea.
I took a sip.
“Better?”
I nodded.
“You drink your tea and I’ll come back and check on you after my shift.” She smiled. “Alright?”
I nodded again.
After she left, I followed her. Fredricks had got away from me. I wasn’t making the same mistake with Lady Evelyn.
Thankfully, she made her rounds in the other wards of the hospital. I couldn’t face watching the orderlies remove Agent Relish’s body. So many men had fallen, carrying off corpses was a daily occurrence. Some hospital staff grew accustomed to it—they had to in order to keep going. I would never get used to watching young men die, and for what?
With love and care, Lady Evelyn changed soiled bandages, fed soldiers their breakfast or helped them write letters home. The diminutive teenager with the bright smile and freckles enlivened even the most pitiful patient. After trailing her for half an hour, I was in awe. She had a calming joyful presence that permeated every room she entered.
By the time Lady Evelyn took a break, I was dead on my feet. After a night without sleep, I felt like an old lady of forty instead of twenty-five. Judging by Lady Evelyn’s fresh face and lively spirit, the difference between seventeen and twenty-five was like that between a kitten and a sloth. Whereas she buzzed around tending to wounds—both physical and mental—it was all I could do to change a bandage or fetch a bedpan. Keeping up with her was no easy feat.
Finally, Lady Evelyn fetched her lunch from a locker and sat at a table in the break room. She picked up a magazine and nibbled on her butter sandwich.
My stomach growled, reminding me it had been hours since I’d eaten. I was so discombobulated from lack of sleep and last night’s misadventures, I had no idea how much time had passed. I glanced at my watch. Almost noon. Heavens. No wonder I was hungry. But now was not the time to think of food. Not when a murderer was on the loose.
The break room was small but neat, with a kitchenette and two small tables. One wall had been converted into a bulletin board where the nurses pinned Christmas cards from home. On a counter beside the gas hob stood a kettle and all the trappings of tea. I filled the kettle with water from the nearby sink and then put it on the hob.
An ensemble of mismatched cups and mugs sat upside down next to the kettle. I turned over two cups that showed no obvious cracks or chips. From a box of Twinings black, I dumped a good amount of tea leaves in the pot. After pouring the boiling water into the pot, I waited a few minutes for the tea to brew, and then poured out two cups.
With cups in hand, I approached the table.
