by R. J. Jagger
Alexandra muscled to her feet and surveyed the horizon.
Then she said, “We need to get that hole plugged before someone ends up out here searching for those two guys.”
They climbed up.
And each drank a full water bottle, which left them with one apiece, enough to get back to town alive. A lot of the stuff they could leave in the cave—the flashlights, shovel, rope, food and burlap bags. They put the water bottles, the camera and some of the food into their backpacks. Alexandra went down, using the rope for support. Deja pulled the rope up, stuck it in the cave, plugged the hole with rocks and climbed down.
Then they walked east towards Luxor with the sun at their backs.
ON THE WAY, Deja said, “I still don’t understand what we’re doing. We found the treasure. How come you’re not calling your contacts at the government so they can come and get it before someone else does?”
Alexandra exhaled.
“I told you, it’s not that easy.”
Deja stopped walking.
“It seems that easy to me,” she said. “The only reason I came here in the first place was to get the treasure into safe hands so the looters would give up and leave me alone. Every minute you waste is another minute I’m at risk; and you too, for that matter.”
Alexandra got a distant look.
“That’s not the only reason you came,” she said.
“No?”
“No. You also came to find out who killed Remy,” Alexandra said, “or at least I think you did. If we turn the treasure over to the government, the looters will evaporate. They’ll just go on living their little lives as if nothing happened. Do you really want them sitting in a bar drinking beer and telling jokes, while Remy rots away in a coffin?”
They walked in silence.
“Maybe that’s something you can live with,” Alexandra added. “If it is, then I’m a different person than you. That guy you shot, in my apartment, he would have killed me. There’s no question in my mind. True, he’s dead, but his little friends aren’t, and they’re just as guilty as if they had been there themselves with their fingers on my throat.”
“So this is about revenge?” Deja asked.
“It’s about two things,” Alexandra said. “Getting the treasure to the government is the first one. Revenge is the second. If we turn the treasure over now, we only get it half done. If we play our cards right, though, we can do both.”
Alexandra stopped walking, put her hands on Deja’s shoulders and looked her in the eyes.
“Don’t you want to bring Remy’s killers to justice?”
Deja thought about it and realized something.
Yes.
She did.
She nodded to prove it.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“So how do we do it?” she asked.
“I don’t know yet,” Alexandra said. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
THEY WALKED.
The sun beat down.
The heat made their legs heavy.
They drank the water, down to a mouthful, but didn’t drink it all because of the pressure of knowing there was none left.
“We need to draw them in,” Alexandra said.
“You mean the looters?”
“Right. The best way to do that is with the treasure,” Alexandra said. “We need to be absolutely sure they don’t get it though. That’s the tricky part.”
Agreed.
“We also need to be sure they don’t capture us, or even one of us for that matter.”
Agreed again.
“Maybe you should back out at this point and let me handle it,” Alexandra said.
Deja watched their shadows walking.
“How many times would you be dead right now if I wasn’t around?”
Alexandra grunted.
“Point taken,” she said. “But likewise, remember.”
“I remember.”
Chapter Seventy-Five
Day Seven—July 18
Sunday Night
______________
SUNDAY NIGHT AFTER DARK, Durand and Prarie swung by Chantal Thomas’ house and found one vehicle in the driveway—hers. They parked a couple of hundred meters away, doubled back on foot and looked in the windows to see if the caveman was inside. They saw no one but the windows were open and they heard noises upstairs, strange noises.
“What’s going on?” Prarie asked.
Durand didn’t know.
“Come on.”
They worked their way through the shadows, along the edge of the house, to the back. There they found a double deck, with one level coming off the first floor and another above. Stairs led to the upper level.
They walked up on cat feet.
A sliding glass door was partially opened.
A faint light came from inside.
They peeked in.
The caveman was in a chair, fully clothed.
The woman was naked and draped across his lap, with her ass in the air, being spanked. After each slap she said, “Thank you master. Give me another please.”
Sometimes he would spank her right away.
Other times he would run his hand over her flesh.
Caressingly.
Lovingly.
Letting her anticipate it.
Building the moment.
Then, slap!
They watched for five minutes and then headed back to the car. On the way Prarie said, “You can’t believe how horny I am right now.”
DURAND DIDN’T KNOW if the man lived there, but had the feeling he didn’t, meaning the woman might eventually drive him home. So they waited in the car down the street for an hour.
Then they gave up.
He took Prarie back to her apartment and, at her insistence, draped her naked body over his lap and spanked her. Then they made love like rock stars.
Prarie hit the sack.
Durand tucked her in, then headed out to do some night work.
HE WENT DOWN TO THE HOUSEBOAT and walked once down the opposite side of the river. The boat was dark and had no signs of life. Was the woman sprawled out somewhere inside with fang marks in her face and a head twice its normal size?
There was nNo telling.
Durand headed back to Prarie’s and crawled into bed.
She cuddled up.
Chapter Seventy-Six
Day Seven—July 18
Sunday
______________
TEFFINGER GOT TWO MORE PEOPLE out of the plane before it disappeared under the surface of the Nile—a small boy, about three, who turned out to be the brother of the girl; and a woman, about thirty, who turned out to be the mother of the two kids. Everyone else died, as far as he knew.
Boats showed up.
Helicopters appeared.
Ambulances and police cars screeched to a stop on a road to the west.
People were everywhere.
He didn’t want to be there. He wanted to be somewhere quiet where he could process what happened and figure out if he should have done something differently, or better, or smarter. He needed to get an idea whether or not he could have pulled another person out. Until he knew the answer to that, he’d have no peace.
“Nick, are you okay?” Fallon asked.
He shrugged.
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
Someone showed up who spoke fairly good English and ended up being the interpreter. Lots of different people had lots of different questions.
Teffinger answered as best he could, patiently, because he understood how investigations worked.
By the time it was all said and done, everyone was treating him like a god. But he didn’t feel like a god. He felt like a mortal who was still alive while other people weren’t.
THE POLICE GAVE HIM and Fallon a ride to Luxor. Fallon had nothing left except the clothes on her back. Her purse, passport, driver’s license, money and everything else were gone. Teffinger, luckily,
had his wallet, but that was it.
He stared out the window and saw lots of sugarcane fields and locals with hard lives.
On the way, Fallon said, “I kept waiting for the mother to come over and thank you. I’m totally shocked she didn’t.”
“She thanked me,” Teffinger said.
“She did? I never saw it—”
“She looked at me, it was in her eyes.”
“But still, you’d think—”
“She didn’t need to,” Teffinger said. “She understood and I understood. She needed to concentrate on her husband.”
In Luxor, they checked into a hotel and bought clothes and necessities. Then, with three bottles of wine and glasses of ice in hand, they wandered outside until they found a quiet shady spot. Even though it was early evening, the air still blistered. That was fine, though, because it sweated the crash out of Teffinger’s body. They didn’t talk much. Then the wine loosened Teffinger’s brain and he let words out as the sun got lower and the shadows grew longer.
Fallon listened with her arm around his shoulders.
By the time the second bottle was gone, Teffinger knew he had done everything he could. There was nothing he could have done differently to save another person. In hindsight, he’d been more than lucky to get the mother out.
He exhaled.
He still felt bad but didn’t deserve any guilt.
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Day Eight—July 19
Monday Morning
______________
DEJA GOT SHAKEN AWAKE Monday morning before sunrise. It turned out that Alexandra had come up with a grand plan during the night. The first part of that plan called for them to go to Cairo. So that’s what they did, taking a two-prop plane. Besides one man in the back, they were the only passengers. The pilot looked nervous.
Weird.
Where was everyone?
Besides the normal rattling and shaking, and the occasional sputtering of one of the engines, the trip was uneventful. The pilot looked relieved when they landed and said something to Alexandra in Egyptian.
“What’d he say?” Deja asked.
“He said, See, no crash.”
A man named Amaury picked them up at the airport.
He was about thirty, bigger than most, with strong arms, piercing blue eyes, a white smile and a rough, dangerous bad-boy look. He wore beige pants, black shoes and a blue cotton shirt. He gave Deja a sideways glance, then put his arms around Alexandra, spun her around and kissed her on the mouth like he owned her.
“You taste like I remember,” he said in French.
“Then you have a good memory, because it’s been three years.”
Suddenly he turned and looked directly into Deja’s eyes. She felt like prey being studied by a predator. “How does your friend taste?” he asked Alexandra.
“I don’t know, try her.”
The man pulled Deja’s stomach to his, locked her in place with those muscular arms, and kissed her—on the mouth, like a lover.
He didn’t pull away until she stopped struggling. Then he laughed, released her and told Alexandra, “She’s nice, this friend of yours.” To Deja, “What’s your name?”
She pushed him on the chest.
“None of your business.”
He smiled.
“None of your business,” he said. “You have nice eyes, None of your business. But we need to work on your kissing.”
They got in his car with Alexandra in the front and Deja in the back, and headed east into increasingly thicker Cairo traffic.
ALEXANDRA FED HIM INFORMATION on the way, telling him about Remy Lafayette’s search for the lost treasure, his murder, the attack on Alexandra by a man named Pascal Lambert—one of the looters, who ended up shot.
Amaury turned and smiled at Deja.
“I’m impressed,” he said.
“No one knows,” Deja said. “I didn’t know Alexandra was going to tell you.”
He looked sympathetic.
“Your secret is safe with me, don’t worry. I’ve been forced to do the same thing myself on occasion. Do you want names?”
No.
She didn’t.
“Fada Sayyid, Istanbul, Turkey, last year,” he said. “Now you have my secret too; one of them, anyway. But know this. I never killed anyone who didn’t have it coming.” He winked. “Same as you.”
AT STREET LEVEL in an edgy section of Cairo, Amaury stuck a key in the lock of an inconspicuous wooden door next to a laundry. They stepped inside. The man slid two deadbolts into place and led them down a cinderblock stairwell. At the bottom he unlocked a thick steel door that led to a large, underground space. Along the back wall were freestanding metal shelves. A number of cardboard boxes sat on those shelves.
Different shapes.
Different sizes.
He sat down at a scratched wooden desk.
Alexandra and Deja took chairs in front.
The man looked at Alexandra and said, “Okay, let’s see what you got.”
Alexandra reached into her purse.
She pulled out one of the gold coins from the cave and carefully set it in front of him.
“I’ll be damned,” he said.
AMAURY MADE HIS LIVING in the black market, buying and selling ancient artifacts.
It was a dangerous profession but lucrative, and his blood never fell asleep.
Alexandra’s proposition was simple. Amaury would put the coin on the market and pretend it was for sale. Because it was specifically listed on the tomb’s inventory list, and because it was genuine on its face, there would be no doubt that it came from the lost treasure. If the looters had half an ear on the market—which they must—they would be lured in.
The coin was the bait.
Amaury cast a serious eye on Alexandra. “This won’t just draw the people you’re looking for. Every lowlife on the face of the earth will raise an eyebrow.”
Alexandra shrugged.
She didn’t care.
“Just be sure you get the right people,” she said. “You know that Pascal Lambert was one of them. You need to figure out a way to use that information to be sure you have the right people.”
He nodded.
“I already have a plan,” he said. “And now we get to the good part. What exactly do you want me to do to them, once I find them?”
Alexandra looked at Deja and said, “They killed Remy.”
The implication was obvious—an eye for an eye.
Part of Deja thought that was fair.
Another part didn’t.
“I know,” she said, “but—”
Silence.
Alexandra said to Amaury, “Once you know who they are, call me. We’ll regroup at that point.” She exhaled. “Be careful. If they think you have the whole treasure, or know where it is, there’s nothing they won’t do. You need to make them think that you stumbled upon just this one piece.”
The man twisted a pencil in his fingers.
“Don’t worry about me,” he said. “But you raise a good point. Where is the rest of it?”
Alexandra’s eyes flashed.
“Don’t even think about it.”
“Me? Never, we go back too far,” he said. “But let me give you a piece of advice. Keep your mouth shut after you leave here. I’m talking about the kind of shut where you don’t even open it to breathe. You’ve been in archeology a long time. You think you know how things work. But trust me, you’ve always been in the clean part of the dirt. There’s a whole other world out there that you don’t ever want to know about.”
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Day Eight—July 19
Monday Morning
______________
THE CAVEMAN’S GIRLFRIEND, Chantal Thomas, turned out to be an intellectual property attorney in Bertrand, Roux & Blanc, Ltd., which was a mega law firm that occupied three floors of the ultra-chic EDF Tower in La Defense. Durand took a shady spot outside the building shortly before the lunch hour, pulled u
p a wireless Internet connection, and worked the handheld on a different case while he waited for the woman to emerge.
She didn’t for quite some time but eventually did.
Patience.
That’s what this game was about.
Patience.
Durand hoped that she would meet the caveman for lunch. Then Durand would follow him. But she did even better than that. She came out of the building with the caveman at her side.
Not arm in arm.
Not like lovers.
More as professionals.
Unlike yesterday, the man was now dressed to impress in a wool-blend suit, a red power-tie and expensive Italian shoes.
He looked like a lawyer.
He looked even less now than the man Durand saw through the door crack.
Did he work at the same law firm as the woman?
Was he her boss?
That would explain the beauty-and-the-beast mystery.
Durand followed them to an expensive restaurant.
They disappeared inside.
He found a bench, opened the handheld, logged onto the firm’s website and went through the attorney biographies. Luckily they had photographs. One of those photographs turned out to belong to the caveman.
Paul Sabater.
That was his name.
Paul Sabater.
Durand frowned.
An important lawyer wouldn’t be running around at night shooting lowlifes in the head.
Dead end.
Time wasted.
Time he could have spent better on the taxi driver, Anton Fornier, or his brother, Serge.
FROM LA DEFENSE he went to the Laughing Hat Café, got a sidewalk table in Prarie’s section and ordered a sandwich and wine. She bent in and whispered, “Would you like that with a side of spanking?”
He chuckled.
“Maybe later.”
She rubbed her ass suggestively and said, “There’s no extra charge.”
He tilted his head.
“Can I get that to go, for later?”
“Oui.”
“In that case, you talked me into it.”
