By this time Emerson had proceeded with his other suggestion, and I felt a pleasant lethargy seize my limbs. I opened my mouth to speak, but found myself yawning instead.
“Close your eyes,” Emerson said softly, doing it for me. His fingers moved from my eyelids to my cheek. “You didn’t get a wink of sleep last night, and tomorrow will be another busy day. There. That’s right. Good night, my love.”
Through the veils of sleep Emerson’s gentle hands had wrapped round me I was conscious of a vague sense of irritability. His explanation had been reasonable, so far as it went, but… I was too weary to continue the discussion. Of all the questions that still vexed me, one of the most inconsequential pursued me into slumber. How the devil had Ramses got away from Mrs. Fortescue?
Chapter 5
He’d been as rude as he could manage and rougher than he liked. Most women would have taken offense at his frequent glances at his watch during dinner, but she appeared not to notice. After they had dined he led her straight to the most secluded alcove in the Moorish Hall. He expected at least a token protest, but she moved at once into his arms, and when he kissed her she kissed him back with a force that made his teeth ache. Further familiarities aroused an even more ardent response, and he began to wonder how far he would have to go before she remembered where they were and what sort of woman she was supposed to be. Nefret would have broken his arm if he’d handled her so cavalierly.
Nefret. The memory of that night, the only night they had been together, was imprinted in every cell of his body, so much a part of him that he couldn’t touch another woman without thinking of her. His caresses became even more mechanical, but they had a result he had not anticipated; she brought her lips close to his ear and suggested they retire to her room at the Savoy .
He took out his watch. It was later than he’d thought, and annoyance, at himself and at her, provoked him into direct insult. “Damn! I beg your pardon, madam, but I am late for an appointment with another lady. I will let you know when I am free.”
He made his escape, collected his hat and coat from the attendant, and slipped out the side door. Another story to go the rounds of society gossip, he supposed; she wouldn’t be able to keep it to herself, but she would certainly revise it to make him appear even more of a boor. Attempted rape in the Moorish Hall? There were a number of people in Cairo who would believe it.
David was waiting for him in a part of the hotel grounds no guest ever saw, between a reeking heap of refuse and a stack of bricks designed for some repair job that had never been begun. A sickly acacia tree shadowed the area and provided convenient limbs on which to hang objects temporarily. “You’re late,” he whispered. “What happened? I told you—”
“Shut up and hold this.” A rat ran across the top of the bricks.
“Has she left the hotel?”
“I don’t know. I hope so. Watch out for her.”
They made the exchange of clothing as they spoke. Ramses had simplified his cumbersome evening garb as much as possible; his shirt had attached collar and cuffs, and buttons instead of links. Under it he wore the loose shirt and drawers of a peasant. David handed over his robe and knife belt and sandals. Forcing his stockinged feet into Ramses’s shoes, he grumbled, “Couldn’t you buy evening pumps one size larger? I’m getting blisters.”
“You should have mentioned it before. Here, take my coat and hat. I’ll see you later.” He pulled a woolen scarf from his coat pocket and wound it round his face and throat.
“Good luck.”
“And to you. Take care.” They clasped hands briefly but warmly, and Ramses slid away into the darkness.
His demand to be put in touch with the man running operations in Cairo had been rejected. He’d thought it was worth a try, but he hadn’t really expected they would agree. They didn’t trust Wardani any more than Wardani would have trusted them. It had been the Turk who turned up at Aslimi’s, with the information about the time and place of the first delivery.
Being late, he risked taking a cab for part of the distance. After the driver had let him off near the station at Demerdash he proceeded on foot, running when he could do so without attracting attention. It took less than half an hour to cover the two miles, and another five minutes to assume the rest of his disguise. He’d done it so often he didn’t even need a mirror: beard and mustache, a neatly wound turban, a few lines and patches of shadow rubbed round his eyes.
The village was off the main road; it had been abandoned for years, and like many villages in Egypt , it had been built of stone vandalized from ancient ruins. Segments of remaining walls stood up like jagged teeth around the roofless house that had been designated as the rendezvous.
The others were already there. He could hear low voices and the sounds of movement. He’d hoped to arrive in time to spot the wagon, which might have given him a clue as to where it had come from. Too late now. Damn Mrs. Fortescue.
His own men welcomed him with unconcealed relief. Farouk was particularly effusive, clasping him in a close embrace and inquiring solicitously after his health. Ramses shrugged him off and turned to exchange brief, insincere greetings with the Turk. The big man was obviously in a hurry to be gone. Urged on by his low-voiced curses, Wardani’s men had almost finished unloading the wagon into the smaller donkey carts they had brought. Ramses climbed into the wagon and began unwrapping one of the long cloth-wrapped bundles.
“Here! What are you doing? There is no time for—”
“There is time. Why the hurry? Did you run into trouble with one of the camel patrols?”
“There was no trouble. I know how to avoid it.”
It was a less informative reply than Ramses had hoped for, but he did not pursue the matter. The bundle contained ten rifles. He freed one from the wrappings and examined it. It was one of the Turkish models that had been used in the 1912 War, and it appeared to be in good condition. He passed it into the eager hands of Bashir. How the poor fools loved to play soldier! Bashir probably didn’t know which end to point.
“Ten in each. Two hundred in all. Where’s the ammunition?”
The Turk kept up a monotonous undercurrent of cursing as Ramses checked the other bundles and located the boxes of ammunition and grenades. There was another, larger box.
“Pistols?” Ramses pried the top off with the blade of his knife.
“A bonus,” said the Turk. He spat. “Are you satisfied now?”
“I wouldn’t want to detain you,” Ramses said politely. “When do we meet again, and where?”
“You will be notified.” The Turk climbed onto the seat of the wagon and picked up the reins. The mule team started to move.
Turning, Ramses was annoyed to see that his enthusiastic followers were passing round the pistols and trying to insert the clips. “How does it go?” Asad asked.
“In the grip. Like this.” It would be Farouk, Ramses thought. The others followed his lead, much more clumsily, and Ramses snapped, “Put those back and close the box. By the life of the Prophet, I would be better off with a bunch of el-Gharbi’s girls! Can I trust you to cover the loads and get moving? You’ve a long way to go and a lot to do before morning.”
“You aren’t coming with us?” Asad asked. A vagrant ray of moonlight shone off his eyeglasses as he turned to his leader.
“I go my way alone, as always. But I will know whether you carry out your orders. Maas salameh.”
He could still hear the creak of the wagon wheels and he too had a lot to do before morning.
He hadn’t gone more than fifty yards before there was a shout: “Who’s there?” or “Who’s that?” Ramses stopped and looked round. Not a sign of anyone. Had the damned fools got the wind up over a wandering dog or jackal? He started back, intending to put the fear of God into them before they roused the whole neighborhood. When the first shot was fired he didn’t bother to take cover, but when a second and third followed, they came close enough to remind him that there were several people around who didn’t like him much. Discretion being the better part of valor, he turned tail and ran.