“Not at all.” I slid over into the seat he had vacated and took firm hold of the steering wheel. “Show me how to drive this thing.”
I was teasing my dear Emerson. I knew how to operate the confounded machine; at my request, Nefret had taken me out once or twice and shown me how to do it. For some reason she had not been able to continue the lessons, but after all, once the fundamentals were explained, the rest was only a matter of practice. I had a little argument with Emerson; it would have been longer if I had not pointed out he must not delay.
“He is already some distance ahead of you, my dear. It is vitally important that you watch over him tonight.” I handed him the nice clean striped robe I had brought in my evening bag.
“Why tonight? Curse it, Peabody —”
“Just take my word for it, Emerson. Hurry!”
Torn between his concern for his son and his concern for me (and the motorcar), Emerson made the choice I had hoped he would make. Swearing inventively but softly, he ran off along the path Ramses had taken. Pride swelled my bosom. No husband could have offered a greater testimonial of confidence.
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 Manuscript H
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 fedd
ans 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.
“You’ve got a long walk ahead,” David said.
“Not as long as yours.”
“I slept most of the day. How was the ball?”
“Jolly.”
“I’m sure it was. Here, watch out.” He steadied Ramses with a hand on his arm.
“Stubbed my toe,” said the latter, hopping. “Damn these sandals.”
“Let’s go back to the road. It’s easier walking.”
There was no sign of the cart or the motorcar when they reached the road. The dusty surface lay like a pale ribbon in the moonlight.
“How are you and Nefret getting on?” David inquired.
“Why do you ask?”
“Something has happened,” David said calmly. “I can always tell.”
“Yes, you can, can’t you?” He was tired, and the comfort of David’s companionship loosened his tongue. “The truth is I… It’s been more difficult than I expected, staying at a safe distance and trying not to be alone with her. I slipped a few times. And then, tonight, she asked me to dance with her—I couldn’t refuse—and I wanted to—God, how I wanted to! I got the hell away as soon as I could, but she followed me into the garden, and I—I couldn’t stop myself.”
“From doing what?”
“What do you suppose? The options were limited in those surroundings. I kissed her, that’s all.”
“Finally!” David exclaimed. “Then what happened?”
“Damn it,” Ramses said, half laughing and half angry, “you’re as bad as Mother. She gave me plenty of advice. I don’t need any more from you.”
“About Nefret and you?” David asked in surprise. “I thought you didn’t want her to know.”
“I didn’t. I was afraid she’d do precisely what she did tonight, after she saw us together—lecture, sympathize, advise. She was… in fact, she was very sweet. And she told me a few things about her and Father that came as a considerable shock!”
“Did you tell her you and Nefret had…” David hesitated delicately.
“Tell my mother we’d been lovers? Good God, David, are you out of your mind?”
“The Professor doesn’t know either, I suppose.”
“Not from me,” said his son grimly. “He’s a Victorian gentleman, and you know how he feels about Nefret. If I’d confided in anyone, it would have been you, but I didn’t think I had the right. Lia shouldn’t have told you either.”
“I’m glad she did. It helped me to understand why Nefret acted as she did.”
“You never showed me that letter she wrote Lia.”
“Lia never showed it to me—nor should she have done, it was meant for her eyes only. She told me enough, though. Ramses, you damned fool, Nefret was head over heels in love with you, and I believe she still is. Why won’t you tell her how you feel? Haven’t you forgiven her for doubting you?”
“I forgave her long ago, and I would trust her with my life. But I won’t trust her with yours, David. She’s been seeing Percy. Secretly.”
David sucked in his breath. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. She’s met with him several times, and he was hiding in the shrubbery while we—er—talked. I spotted him before I lost complete control of myself, but the only way I could keep matters from proceeding further was to say something utterly unforgivable to Nefret.”
“Ah,” said David. “So she was not unwilling? Hang it, Ramses, when are you going to stop making a martyr of yourself?”
“As soon as this is over. Once we’re in the clear I’ll plead with her, humble myself, or drag her off by her hair—whatever it takes. Just now I daren’t risk it. Percy’s on to me, you know. Oh, not the Wardani business, at least I hope to God not, but he suspects I’m involved in something and he’s trying to find out what it is. That’s why he’s been paying me those extravagant and very public compliments. He probably approached Nefret in the hope that he could learn more. She’s the weak link in our circle, or so Percy would assume. He’s such a conceited bastard, he thinks no woman can resist him.”
“And she, in turn, is hoping to learn something from him? That sounds like Nefret, all right. I don’t understand, though. Why should Percy care what you’re doing?”
“Doesn’t a possible reason occur to you?”
“Aside from the fact that he hates you and would stop at nothing to injure you? There’s no chance of that. Even if he found out what you’re doing, which God forbid, he couldn’t use it against you.”
“You don’t understand,” Ramses said angrily. “Even after all the other things he’s done, you don’t realize what he’s capable of. Why do you suppose I wanted Sennia to stay in England this winter? I knew I’d be preoccupied with this other business and unable to watch over her as closely as I’ve done before. Percy hates the lot of us, and the sweetest, neatest revenge he could find would be through that child. Can you imagine the effect on Father if anything happened to her?”
“On all of us.”
“Yes. She’s safe from him, but Nefret is another matter. You may think I’m making a martyr of myself without sufficient cause, but I had to do what I did tonight. Have you forgotten what happened the last time he saw Nefret and me in what he took to be a lover’s embrace? His vanity is as swollen and fragile as a balloon. God knows what he might do to her if he thought she was only feigning interest in him in order to trick him. She’s too brave and reckless to recognize danger, and too impulsive to guard her tongue when a slip could be disastrous, and he’s always wanted her, and he—”
“Stop it.” David put an arm round his shoulders. “Don’t do this to yourself. Not even Percy would injure Nefret to get back at you.”
Ramses felt like Cassandra, howling warnings into deaf ears. He forced himself to speak slowly and calmly.
“He raped a thirteen-year-old girl and left her child—his child!—to be raised as a prostitute. If he didn’t kill Rashida with his own hands, he hired someone to kill her. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do if his safety and reputation were threatened.”
“He wouldn’t dare harm Nefret,” David insisted. “She’s not a poor little prostitute, she’s a lady, and the beloved daughter of the Father of Curses. Your father would tear Percy to pieces if he laid a hand on her.”
Ramses realized he hadn’t a chance of making David understand. He was too decent and too honorable to recognize evil. Or—Ramses rubbed his aching forehead—was he the one who refused to recognize reality? Had his loathing of Percy turned into dementia?
They tramped on in silence until they reached the train station at Babylon . Ramses stopped.
“I’m tired,” he said dully. “There’s a cab. I’m going to hire it, unless you want to.”
“You take it; I can sleep as late as I like. Are you angry?”
“No, just a bit on edge. This will boil over within the next few days; the signs are all there. I need to be able to reach you in a hurry if that does happen. Any ideas?”
“I’ll be peddling my wilted blossoms outside Shepheard’s every day, as we arranged.”
“Fine so far as it goes, but I can’t always be certain of getting away during the day. Give me an alternative.”
David thought for a minute. “There’s always the useful coffee shop or cafй. Do you remember the one that’s just off the Sharia Abu’l Ela, near the Presbyterian church? I’ll be there every night from now on, between nine and midnight .”
“All right.”
David’s hand rested for a moment on his shoulder. “Get some rest, you need it.”
Ramses woke the sleeping driver and got into the cab. He was tired, but his mind wouldn’t stop churning. Had his father made it home safely? And what the devil was his mother doing? Emerson had pointedly refused to answer questions about her.
Worst of all was the mounting conviction that had been forced on him by one fact after another. He doubted he could convince anyone else, especially when a crucial clue had been supplied by a transvestite Nubian pimp. He could picture Russell’s face when he heard that one!
But he had gone to el-Gharbi to ask where the ineffectual terrorist had procured his grenades, and el-Gharbi had kept dragging Percy into the conversation. El-Gharbi knew everything that went on in the dark world of prostitution, drugs, and crime—and he had kept talking about Percy, hiding his real motive behind a screen of fulsome compliments and pretended sympathy. El Gharbi was approximately as romantic as a cobra; that final sting, about Percy’s role in tricking Nefret into marriage, had been designed to give Ramses a single piece of vital information.
Percy’s connections with Nefret’s husband had been closer than anyone had suspected. Close enough to be a partner in Geoffrey’s illegal business activities—drugs and forged antiquities? Percy had spent several months in Alexandria with Russell while Russell was trying to shut down the import of hashish into Cairo from the coast west of the Delta. One way or another, Percy knew the routes and the men who ran the drugs. They were, Ramses believed, the same routes being used now to transport arms.
As Ramses had good cause to know, the grenades had not come from Wardani’s people. So whom did that leave? A British officer who had access to a military arsenal? A man who wouldn’t scruple to kill an innocent passerby in order to play hero and impress his alienated family?
He Shall Thunder in the Sky taps-12 Page 40
