Covert in Cairo, page 16
A shuffling sound in the hallway made me open my eyes.
Archie let out a grunt and then collapsed at my feet, almost taking me with him.
A hand clamped over my mouth and nose. I struggled to get loose. The sweet clinging smell of chloroform overpowered my senses. My consciousness floated away.
When I came to, my hands and feet were bound. Luckily, whoever did this didn’t try to tie my hands behind my back. My arm hurt badly enough without being contorted by ropes.
The room was dark, except for a sliver of light coming through the window. So, it was still nighttime? My vision was blurry, and I had a dreadful headache. My stomach wasn’t too happy either. And along with the lingering odor of chloroform, the faint smell of death assaulted my nostrils, which didn’t help my sick stomach.
“Fiona, are you alright?” The voice came out of the darkness.
“Archie?” I blinked hard to force my eyes to see. “Is that you?”
“Are you alright?” His voice was desperate with worry.
“Yes. I’m fine.” A little white lie. If only I weren’t trussed up like a Christmas goose, I could hold my aching head. “I can’t move. My hands and feet are bound.”
“Mine too.”
A dragging sound came from nearby.
“Is that you?” I held my breath.
“Keep talking and I’ll scoot over to you.”
I patted the ground next to me. Dirt.
Wait. What’s this? My poor mangled handbag. At least the kidnapper had the decency to leave it. Wriggling myself upright, I picked up my bag. It was lighter than usual. Blast. The kidnapper must have removed Mata Hari’s gun.
I glanced around. What I’d taken for a window was nothing but an opening in the rocks.
“Where are we?” Whoever put us here could be coming back to kill us. Either that or they’d left us here to die. I shuddered at the thought of starving to death in a dark cave.
“Can’t you smell the rotting mummies?” Even the exasperation in his voice was reassuring. “We’re in a bloody tomb.”
“Hopefully not our own.” I wished my stomach would calm down. Being alone with Archie didn’t help either—at least, I hoped we were alone.
“Indeed.” The sounds of Archie’s boots scraping across the dirt were getting closer.
“What were you doing in the institute? What are you doing in Cairo?” My questions were rapid fire, but at least they kept me talking. “Are you here to stop the plot—”
“Same as you, I suppose.”
Scrape. Scrape.
Soon, I felt his comforting warmth next to me.
He was breathing hard from exertion.
I was breathing hard too. But not from exertion. Come on, Fiona. Get a grip. You’re tied up in a tomb, for goodness’ sake, not on your honeymoon.
Archie’s arm brushed against mine and I suppressed a smile.
Steady on, Fiona. You’re a spy on assignment, not a schoolgirl at a dance.
“You first,” he said.
“What do you mean?” I hoped he had devised our escape.
“Why are you in Cairo?” He leaned closer. “Why were you at the institute?”
I leaned into him. The scent of citrus and masculinity was reassuring. “Captain Hall sent Kitty and me to Cairo to foil Fredricks’s plan to blow up the Suez Canal.” That wasn’t entirely true. Captain Hall had only authorized us to follow Fredricks and report back. I had strict orders not to do anything else. But with two murders, a missing agent, a theater full of German spies, and a possible threat to the canal, I couldn’t just sit on my hands and wait. Unless, of course, I was tied up in the dark.
How long had we been unconscious? What if we were too late to foil the plot? Fredricks had assured me the map and the note were decoys. But decoys for what? Something more sinister than blowing up the Suez Canal?
Surely Kitty would have noticed I was gone. What if she’d been kidnapped too… or worse? I closed my eyes and prayed. Please, God. If I get out of this, I’ll never be cross with the girl again. I promise.
“There’s light coming from the entrance to the tomb, so it must be morning.” Archie leaned closer.
Oh, Archie. Why couldn’t we just have a normal romantic liaison instead of ropes and caves? Archie’s breath warmed my cheek.
Not a window. Not nighttime. The chloroform must have affected me more than I knew. I tugged at the ropes around my wrists. “Ouch.” A stabbing pain ran up my arm.
“What’s wrong?”
“I hurt my arm fox hunting.”
“You fox hunt? Or is it one of your many alter egos?” He chuckled. “I rather miss Harold the bellboy.” He pushed against my shoulder. “You make a darn pretty boy.”
“You too.” My cheeks were hot. Was he flirting with me? Or telling me he preferred Harold? Flustered, I changed the subject back to the pressing matter of the canal plot. “The actress at the Isis Theater is working with the Germans, using code during her performance.”
“Code?” His tone became serious.
“She repeats words in a coded sequence.” I kicked my feet to see if I could loosen the ropes. “To German spies in the audience, including Fredrick Fredricks.”
“Bloody hell.” Archie flinched. “Did you report it to Captain Hall?”
What an idiot I’d been. Going to the institute alone. Not telephoning Captain Hall. “No.” What must Archie think of me? “Why are you here?”
“That’s classified.” He gave me a weak smile.
“Your entire life is classified.” I scooted an inch away from him. “I show you my hand, why won’t you show yours?”
“I can’t.” Wrists bound, he reached over and brushed his fingers against my leg.
Oh, my word. He was bleeding. “Your wrist. You’re injured.”
“Ask anything you like.” He inched his way toward me again. “I’ll answer yes or no.”
He was trying to distract me from all the blood gushing from his wound.
“This is your only chance.” He tucked his injured wrist between his legs. “You’d best take advantage of my offer.”
I suppressed nightmarish thoughts of Archie bleeding out.
“What do you know about Hermann Gabler?”
“Yes or no, only. I won’t say more.” Hopefully his playful tone meant his wound was superficial.
“Is Hermann Gabler in Cairo?”
“Yes.”
“Is he dealing in illegal antiquities?”
“Yes.”
“Is Fredricks in on it?”
“You rang?” Fredricks appeared, holding a torch.
Good grief. What’s he doing here? Coming back to make sure we haven’t escaped?
“How are you lovebirds getting along?” He shined the light in Archie’s face. “Cozy, isn’t it?” He flashed the torch at me. “She’s a peach, c’est vrai? La crème de la crème.”
“You’ll never get away with it, Fredricks.” Archie spat out the words.
“Get away with what?” Fredricks laughed. “Wooing the lovely Miss Figg?”
I shot daggers up at him with my eyes. If only looks could kill.
“Sadly, you may be right.” Fredricks squatted a few feet in front of us.
Now, I was eye to eye with the fiend.
“The Turks have been trying to sabotage the canal for months,” Archie said. “What makes you think you’ll succeed when they’ve failed?”
“The Turks have been hoodwinked by the Germans, just as the Arabs have been by the British.” Fredricks slapped his riding stick against the leg of his jodhpurs. “You British promise sovereignty. You promise territory. You promise wealth.” He scoffed. “All you deliver are lies and brutality, just as you did in South Africa.”
“This isn’t the Boer War—”
Fredricks interrupted him. “You colonized South Africa. You colonized Egypt and India. You think you have the rights to the entire world.” He shook his fist. “But you’re wrong.”
“The Germans are not your friends,” Archie said.
“They’re not my enemies.” Fredricks stood up. “And my enemy’s enemies are the closest I’ve got to friends.” He raised his riding stick and made to bring it down across Archie’s face. He stopped short. “You’re a fine one to talk about alliances with the Germans.” He scoffed. “Double agent Somersby.”
I struggled against my bindings. I wanted to kick the bounder in the shin.
“Fiona, ma chérie, come with me.” Fredricks tucked his stick under his arm and held out his hand. “Together, we can stop this bloody war.”
Not that again! He was always blathering on about us working together to stop the war. Of course I wanted to stop the bloody war. But there was no way on earth I was going with him, the rotter.
“Together, we can help the Arabs throw off their chains and reclaim their sovereignty.” His eyes shone. “Come with me, ma chérie.”
“You belong with Fredricks.” Archie bumped me with his shoulder.
That was the lowest insult he could have given me. Belong with Fredricks, was he mad?
“Lovers’ quarrel, is it?” Fredricks glanced at his watch. “Well, Fiona, what will it be? Me or him? I haven’t got all day.”
Archie nudged me again. “Follow him.”
I looked over at him, and he winked.
Follow him. Archie was right. I did belong with Fredricks. My assignment was to follow him, after all. Plus, if I left with the scoundrel now, I could come back for Archie later. Of course.
I smiled up at Fredricks. “You,” I said with as much conviction as I could muster. “I’ll go with you.”
“Wonderful.” Fredricks’s face lit up with surprise. “Let’s go, then.” He untied my feet. “There’s justice to be done.” He helped me to my feet.
I held out my bound hands.
“I’m not stupid.” Fredricks flashed a sly smile.
“But my arm hurts.” My voice was whinier than I intended. It was true, though. My arm did hurt.
“Did my colleague hurt you in transport?” His concern sounded genuine.
His colleague? Hermann Gabler? Mori Al-Madie?
“I’m afraid sacrifices are necessary, ma chérie.” He bent down and kissed my hand.
Not so long ago, Archie had done the same—the effect, however, had been completely different. This time, I cringed.
Fredricks put his hand on the small of my back and applied pressure.
I let him lead me out of the tomb.
Just before exiting, I glanced back at Archie.
He mouthed the words, “I love you.”
At least, I thought that was what he said. Did he think we would never see each other again? Were those his last words? Would he die in this tomb? A chill ran up my spine. My lip trembled. Oh, Archie.
And what would stop Fredricks from disposing of me too?
Archie’s gold pocket watch! “Do you mind?” With my bound hands, I held out my handbag. “Can you get the gold watch out for me? I want to return it to Archie.”
Fredricks shook his head. “You’re such a romantic.” He obliged and plucked the watch out of my bag.
“Your watch.” I held it up as I ran back to Archie’s side.
He smiled weakly. “I wondered where that old thing had got to.”
I bent down to give it to him.
“You keep it, my darling,” he whispered. “Something to remember me by.” He said it with the conviction of a doomed man.
My eyes filled with tears. “I’ll never forget you.”
16
BLACK LIGHTNING
In the early hours of Sunday morning, the Isis Theater was quiet. Not a soul stirring. The dimly lit basement was musty and full of cobwebs.
As I followed Fredricks into the basement, I considered whether I might be attracted to danger. Even my late ex-husband, Andrew, had been a perilous mystery with mercurial moods and a self-destructive streak. My times with Archie were filled with danger. I never knew if, or when, I’d see him again—the status of our relationship always a puzzle. Did he really love me? Did I really love him? Would we ever get enough time to sort it out?
Fredricks led me down a long hallway with a closed door at the end. Where was he taking me? At least he’d unbound my hands. He was unusually quiet as we made our way through the orphaned bric-a-brac littering the hall. Desolate and abandoned, furniture and set pieces were piled willy-nilly all along the hallway walls. A suit of armor lay broken over the top of a dusty headboard. A mouse-eaten wig hung from the arm of a chair, which was missing a leg.
Defective misfits. Pieces that could no longer fulfill their functions.
Not unlike me. Abandoned by Andrew because of my defective womb. If Archie found out, would he abandon me, too?
“Penny for your thoughts, ma chérie?” Fredricks’s voice pulled me out of my self-pity.
“You killed Jean-Baptiste and Mr. Relish and you’re trying to kill Archie.” I stopped in the middle of the hallway. “Are you planning to kill me too?” Unflinching, I looked him in the eyes.
“I’d never do anything to hurt you.” His mustache twitched. I never knew when the rotter was being sincere or having me on.
I scoffed.
“I know you’re fond of Lieutenant Somersby.” He flashed a snide smile. “As a peace offering, I’ll make sure someone finds him.” He put his hand on my arm.
“Ouch.” I flinched. “That hurt.”
“Don’t feign the fragile female, ma chérie.” He took off walking. “It’s not becoming.”
Bounder. I had a sprained arm, for heaven’s sake. I hurried to catch up to him. Was he actually jealous of Archie? Ridiculous man.
He hadn’t denied killing Jean-Baptiste or Mr. Relish. And although he’d promised to make sure someone found Archie, he didn’t say whether dead or alive.
“Why are we at the theater?” I waited as Fredricks unlocked the door at the end of the hall. “Was it Mori Al-Madie who attacked us?” It had to be her. Why else were we at the theater? She may have dressed as a man on stage, but surely she couldn’t have carried me or Archie. Not unless she was a lot stronger than she looked. Or she had help.
“Mori is a friend.” Fredricks opened the door and then turned to me. “Just a friend. No need to be jealous, my peach.”
Cheeky cad. As if I could have feelings for him… other than hatred. “Why in the world would I be jealous?” I put my hands on my hips. “You have a girl in every port.”
“Now, Fiona, don’t be like that.” He grinned. “You know you’re the only girl for me.”
A film I’d seen before I left London came to mind. The Little American. Mary Pickford’s character is in love with both a German and a French soldier. The French one dies, and she ends up with the German. Dear me. Just like Archie and Fredricks. Except unlike the little American, I didn’t plan to end up with my enemy.
If I hadn’t sprained my arm, I’d have socked Fredricks right in the kisser. “I know what you’re planning.” I hung back to see what was inside the room.
“We’re planning to stop this terrible war.” He took a step closer and gazed down at me with those intense dark eyes. “You’re going to help me persuade the Arabs to unite against their colonizers.”
The hairs on my arms stood up as if the threshold were suddenly filled with static.
“You and I will stop it. We must stop it. So many lives depend on us.” His countenance was fierce. I’d never seen such resolve and determination.
“You’re escalating the war, not stopping it.” I peeked over his shoulder into the storage room. “Threats on the canal, murdering British agents—”
“That was just a bit of fun.” He laughed.
“Fun!” I wanted to kick him. “Blowing up the canal is just a bit of fun?” How dare he!
“Lake Timsah. The map I dropped for you. And the scratching on the tablecloth.” He pulled me inside. “I just knew you couldn’t resist. Watching you sleuth is delicious, ma chérie.” His eyes sparked, and I had to look away.
“And you reported it to the War Office, right on schedule.” He grinned.
“You’re a sick man.” I knew it. He had planted those clues just for me. Infuriating man.
“Lovesick, perhaps.” He put the back of his hand to his forehead and feigned a swoon. Of course, he looked silly in his billowy white blouse, jodhpurs, and knee-high black boots… with his broad shoulders, muscular build, and long wavy hair.
I suppressed a smirk. The man was mad. But he did have a certain charm.
Fredricks shut the door and turned on the overhead light. “Would you like a cold beverage?” He crossed the room to a large white ice box. He opened it, revealing assorted bottles of champagne, Coca-Cola, and beer but no place for the ice block.
I shook my head. I refused to take anything from the bounder.
The basement room had no windows and was chock full of electronic gadgets of all sizes. “What is this place?”
Ignoring my question, Fredricks removed a bottle of champagne and popped the cork. “We need to celebrate our collaboration.”
I licked my lips. The ride back across the desert had left me parched. Only to keep up the ruse of going along with his plan, mind you, I accepted a Coca-Cola, the only non-alcoholic beverage on offer. Even on my trip to America, I’d never had a cola.
To my surprise, the bottle was ice cold. “Where is the ice block?”
Fredricks laughed. “It’s called a Domelre, a domestic electronic refrigerator.”
“An electric ice box? What will they think of next?” I took a sip and nearly spat it out. The fizzy sweetness was overwhelming. Still, it did quench my thirst. Leave it to the Americans to invent a beverage both too sweet and too sharp. They couldn’t just settle for one or the other.
In addition to the electric ice box, the large windowless room was furnished with filing cabinets, a giant mahogany wardrobe, a dining table and chairs, a daybed, and a wooden desk equipped with a headset and what looked to be a telegraph machine and another large machine I couldn’t identify.
The Isis Theater was more than a medium for coded messages. It was a hidden den of German spies.
“Have a seat.” Fredricks gestured to the dining table. He brought a platter from the ice box.
