As he told me later, he had concluded that I was bound to run the vehicle into a ditch or a tree before I got a hundred feet. There would not be time for me to get up much speed in that distance, and he would find me waiting, bruised and embarrassed but relatively unscathed, when he returned.

Naturally no such thing happened. I did hit a tree or two, but not very hard. Since I was not entirely confident of my ability to turn the car, I had to go all the way to Helwan before I found a space large enough to drive in a nice circle and head back the way I had come. That was when I hit the second tree. It was only a glancing blow.

The distance from Cairo to Helwan is approximately seventeen miles. It took me almost an hour to reach Helwan; steering the thing was more complicated than I had realized, and the clutch, as I believe it is termed, gave me a little trouble initially. Fortunately there was no traffic on the road at that hour. By the time I started back, I had got the hang of it and was beginning to understand why Emerson had insisted on driving himself. It was just like a man! They always invent feeble excuses to keep women from enjoying themselves. I reached the bridge in a little over a quarter of an hour. There was no time to waste. I had to be home before the others returned from the ball.

I slowed down a bit as I passed the spot where I had left Emerson, but there was no sign of anyone, so I did not stop. The motorcar was as conspicuous as a signpost.

From the point where he had left the car, the distance was less than two miles. There were paths, since the quarries were still being worked, and intrepid tourists sometimes visited them, usually by donkey from Helwan. The fine white limestone of Tura had provided the shining exterior coating of the pyramids, and faced temples and mastabas for thousands of years. Some of the ancient workings penetrated deep into the heart of the gebel.

All of which made Ramses wonder why this spot had been chosen as a hiding place. It was the most dangerous one yet, the most likely to be discovered by chance. The change in the arrangements was also disturbing. There had been a long interval between this delivery and the last, and this time the Turk had avoided direct contact. It might have been only a precautionary measure on his part; but the time was drawing near and if the man in charge of the operation doubted Wardani’s commitment, this could be a way of testing him—or removing him.

The insects and lizards that infested the cliffs were somnolent now, their body temperature lowered by the cold air. Other animals were on the prowl, hunting and being hunted; he heard the bark of a jackal and a distant rattle of rock under the hooves of an antelope or ibex. Those sounds helped to mask the noises he was making. He had exchanged his boots for sandals, but there was no way of moving in complete silence; bits of bleached bone snapped under his feet and pebbles rolled.

He left the path after a time and made his cautious way down into and up out of a series of small wadis. More pebbles rolled. When he came up out of the last depression he was several hundred feet east of the spot the message had indicated. The brilliant desert stars cast an ethereal ivory light over the white cliffs. Shadows like ink strokes outlined their uneven contours and formed black holes at the entrances of the ancient diggings. He stood still, knowing that immobility served as a kind of camouflage; but his shoulder blades felt naked and exposed and he didn’t relax until a man stepped out of one of the openings and raised an arm to wave him on.

“It’s all right,” David said when Ramses reached him. “Dead quiet. I found the cache.”

He’d come by one of the paths that were used to transport stone down to the river. A small cart and a pair of patient donkeys stood nearby.

“Is it all here?” Ramses asked.

“Don’t know. I didn’t want to start dragging the boxes out till you got here. Give me a hand.”

“Wait a minute.” Somewhere to the south a lovesick dog raised its voice in poignant appeal and Ramses raised his, three words uttered before the howl died away. “Father. Come ahead.”

David let out a strangled expletive. “You didn’t tell me—”

“He didn’t tell me.”

Emerson’s large form was hard to make out until he moved; the white-and-black-striped robe faded into the pattern of moonlit rock and dark shadows. He came toward them with the light quick stride unusual in so heavy a man.

“Curse it,” he remarked calmly. “I thought I made very little noise.”

“It’s impossible not to make some noise. I had a feeling you’d follow me. Where did you leave… Please don’t tell me you brought her with you!”

“No, no.” Emerson’s beard split in a grin. It was an incredible beard, covering half his face and reaching to his collarbone. “Don’t worry about your mother. Let’s get the job done.”

With his help the job was done in half the time Ramses had allowed. His skin prickled when he saw how carelessly the load had been hidden; the artificial nature of the cairn of stones covering the hole was dangerously obvious. Flat on his belly, lifting canvas-wrapped bundles one-handed, Emerson said, “Not a very professional job.”

“No.” Ramses passed the bundles to David, who placed them in the cart. “Is that all?”

Emerson grunted and reached down. He had to use both hands to lift the rough wooden boxes.

“Grenades and ammunition,” Ramses said, tight-lipped. “What’s that one?”

It was larger and heavier. Emerson hauled it out. “I think I could hazard a guess, but you’d better have it open.”

The lid gave way with a hideous screech. Ramses pried it up just enough to look in.

“Holy God. It’s a machine gun. A Maxim, I think.”

“And here, I expect, is the mount,” said Emerson, removing another box. “That’s the last. I wonder how many more there were—and where they are now?”

“So do I,” Ramses said grimly. He hoisted the box into his arms and deposited it in the cart. “Someone else has been here.”

“It looks that way.” His father stood up. “I’ll drive the cart. You boys go on your way.”

“But, Father—”

“If I’m intercepted by a patrol I have a better chance of talking my way out of it than either of you.”

Ramses couldn’t argue with that. All his father would have to do was identify himself. No one would dare ask what he was doing or what the cart contained.

“I had intended to take them to Fort Tura ,” Ramses began. Emerson nodded approval.

“The place is in ruins and nobody goes there. After I’ve unloaded I will proceed placidly back along the main road, a poor hard-working peasant with an empty cart. Where shall I leave your equipage, David?”

“Uh…”

Emerson climbed up onto the seat and picked up the reins. He was obviously impatient to be off. “Where did you hire it?”

“I stole it,” David admitted in a small voice. “The owner farms a few feddans near Kashlakat. He’s a very heavy sleeper.”

Emerson chuckled appreciatively. “Then he probably won’t notice it’s missing until morning. I’ll abandon it near the village. He’ll find it eventually.”

He spoke to the donkeys in Arabic and they groaned into motion. Ramses and David stood watching as the cart jounced along the path.

“He’ll be all right, won’t he?” David asked anxiously.

“The Father of Curses? He’ll be towing those donkeys before he’s gone much farther. We might just follow along the same path for a while, though. At a distance.”

The creak and rumble of the cart was audible a long way off. It stopped once; David stiffened, and Ramses laughed. “I told you he’d get off and tow the donkeys. There, he’s gone on.”

There wouldn’t be any trouble now. If an attack had been planned it would have already taken place, and he was certain no one had followed Emerson. The release of tension left him limp. He yawned.