Sands of Time (Out of Time #6)

by Monique Martin

  Diana stopped at a fruit vendor and picked out a pair of oranges. “I’m sorry about that.” She handed the vendor a few small coins. “It really was supposed to be a simple pick-up. Poor Amir.”

  She handed Jack one of the oranges and tore into the peel of hers as they continued along with the crowd, as if they hadn’t just leapt across buildings to escape being shot.

  Jack shook his head. This woman was insane. “Who are you? Are you some kind of thief?”

  She looked at him askance. “Is that what you think?”

  He shrugged. What else was he supposed to think.

  Diana chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “I…repossess things. I reclaim objects for their rightful owners,” she said as she popped a piece of orange into her mouth. “Things turn up missing and I find them.”

  “Isn’t that the police’s job?”

  “It is, but some of my clients would rather not involve the authorities.”

  Jack frowned. “Riiight.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “They’re either inept or corrupt. And some people would rather keep a low-profile about these things.”

  Jack shook his head. “And running over rooftops and getting shot at is your idea of a low-profile?”

  Diana frowned and ate another slice of her orange. “That wasn’t part of the plan.”

  “And throwing the table at them. I think you’re probably insane.”

  She laughed and wiped some juice from her chin. “Probably. But Reza definitely is. Nico’s harmless, but Reza, he’s…better avoided.”

  Jack looked back over his shoulder. Still clear. “I’m all for that.”

  Diana finished her orange and took Jack’s from his hand. “Right,” she said. “Now, about that papyrus…”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  There was just something about a man in a tuxedo, Elizabeth thought as she looked from Simon to the rest of the men in the main hall of Shepheard’s. From dress uniforms to black tie attire, the weekly party at the hotel was a high-class affair. Champagne flowed freely, silver trays filled with canapés never seemed to deplete, and music from popular standards to classical waltzes drifted down from the orchestra in the gallery above.

  Smoke from Virginia tobacco, imported to Europe and brought on steamers to Egypt rose from every corner of the room. White-gloved hands gently gripped tortoise-shell cigarette holders; the ivory tips never straying more than a few inches from their owners’ ruby red lips.

  Even in what she thought was a pretty posh green silk evening gown, Elizabeth felt underdressed. Maybe it was because she’d left the matching evening gloves upstairs, but she didn’t regret it. They made her hands sweaty.

  She held on to Simon’s arm as they reached the bottom of the grand staircase and tried to forget how much this trip had cost. Travers had offered to fund their expedition, but Simon had steadfastly refused to accept more than a few hundred pounds in period currency. He insisted they pay for everything else themselves. The last thing on Earth he wanted was to be beholden to the Council. It was much more comfortable the other way around.

  Arthur and Christina Whiteside sat at one of the white-linen covered tables that ringed the impromptu dance floor that had previously been the main hall and lobby. Simon inclined his head in their direction, silently asking if Elizabeth wanted to join them. She nodded and he led her toward their table.

  Arthur looked tired and drawn and, looking at Christina, it was no wonder. She brought sullen to new depths. Not that Elizabeth could blame her. She’d had her heart broken. A girl was allowed to mope after that.

  Arthur rose to greet them and gestured for them to join them.

  “That’s a beautiful dress, Christina,” Elizabeth said as Simon helped her into her chair.

  Christina smiled, but it faltered and fell quickly. Her father looked sadly at her, clearly wishing to help her, but having no idea how. Elizabeth offered him what she hoped was an encouraging smile. Caught with his emotional pants down, Whiteside cleared his throat and blushed.

  “Henri tells me you stopped by the museum today?” Whiteside said hopefully.

  The man Ahmed had sent them to see was very knowledgeable about ancient writings, but he hadn’t come across anything like what they were looking for. Jack hadn’t made progress on the cipher and the lead he’d followed ended in a total of bupkis.

  “Yes,” Simon said. “But nothing’s come of it yet, I’m afraid.”

  “Well,” Whiteside said and then briefly clamped his hand on Simon’s forearm. “You’re keen for trying. Both of you. And I hope you’ll let me repay your kindness and accept my invitation to Giza the day after tomorrow.”

  Simon and Elizabeth exchanged a quick glance. “Giza?” Simon asked.

  “Yes, a fundraiser for the museum. A bit of fun,” Whiteside said, with an infectious grin. “We stomp around the area for a bit, being suitably impressed, and have tea at Mena House. George, God rest his soul, was quite looking forward to it.”

  Whiteside’s enthusiasm dimmed.

  “Was he?” Elizabeth asked, both out of a need to comfort Whiteside and to find out what Mason would have wanted there.

  “Oh, yes,” Whiteside said. “Quite the social event. We finish it all off with Aida at the foot of the Great Pyramid. Bedouins and their camels, hundreds of horsemen ride over the hill at the climax. It’s quite spectacular.”

  “Aida?” Simon asked with a hint of enthusiasm.

  “In its full glory,” Whiteside assured him.

  Going to the opera wasn’t exactly at the top of Elizabeth’s Top Ten Things I Simply Absolutely Positively Have To Do in Egypt list. And even though Simon loved it, he seldom indulged. Her falling asleep and drooling on his shoulder the last time they went might have had something to do with that, she thought guiltily.

  “We’d love to,” Elizabeth said before Simon could be noble and offer their apologies. And, honestly, if she left Egypt without going to see the Great Pyramids she’d have to have her head examined. A night at the opera was a small price to pay. And she would have paid it ten times over just to see the surprised smile that spread across Simon’s face.

  Sadly, it was short-lived and a deep scowl soon took its place. Elizabeth knew who had caused it before she heard his voice.

  “Good evening,” Henri said. “You look quite beautiful,” he said taking in both Elizabeth and Christina, “both of you. My heart is in my throat in the presence of such loveliness.”

  Whiteside chortled. “Frenchmen.”

  Henri smiled unfazed. “We have a passion for beauty. It makes our blood warm.”

  He gazed at Elizabeth so long she shifted in her seat and Simon threw back half a glass of champagne with one swig. Henri seemed to enjoy making them both uncomfortable, but finally shifted his attention to Christina.

  “Beautiful things need to be seen to be admired. You should not deprive the world by sitting here all night, Christina. Hmm?” He held out his hand. “Dance with old Jouvet, huh?”

  Apparently, Henri could use his super powers for good when he wanted to. In the end though, she shook her head, unable to rise out of her funk. “Not tonight, Henri. Thank you though. It was very kind of you to ask.”

  Henri nodded sadly, as if he seemed to know what she was going through. Elizabeth doubted Whiteside had told him. She was fairly certain Christina’s father was completely in the dark about her heartbreak. Maybe it was some sort of French affairs of the heart ESP.

  “I am bereft.” Henri smiled down at Elizabeth. “Unless you would like to dance, Mrs. Cross?”

  She glanced at Simon, whose expression was as hard as stone.

  “With your permission, of course?” Henri asked him. “Unless you mind?”

  Simon paused and finally inclined his head. “Not at all.”

  “Merveilleux!”

  Elizabeth hesitated, but took Henri’s outstretched hand and let him help her up. She glanced back at Simon who was watching them both coolly.

  She knew he wasn’t a fan
of Henri’s, but Jouvet’s contacts through the museum and the rest of the world of archaeology might be the key to finding the missing half of the papyrus. And, after all, it was just a dance.

  Henri led her out to the dance floor. Thankfully, the song was a slow waltz and she wouldn’t embarrass herself too badly. She hoped.

  Henri put his hand on her waist, raised their joined hands, and started them easily into the flow of dancers.

  “How are you finding Egypt?” he asked.

  “I love it,” she said honestly and despite the dangers they’d faced and the seriousness of why they’d come. “It’s an amazing country.”

  Henri smiled, pleased. “Yes, it is.” The hand on her hip pulled her just a bit closer.

  Elizabeth narrowed her eyes and smiled. “You do realize that the ring on my finger isn’t just for show?”

  Henri’s smile widened. “Where would the challenge be if it were?”

  In spite of herself, Elizabeth laughed and shook her head. “I don’t want you to get the wrong impression. I love my husband very much and I would never—”

  “Never is quite a long time,” Henri said and spun them around.

  Elizabeth studied Henri for a moment. “Have you ever been in love, Henri?”

  “I am always in love.”

  Elizabeth pursed her lips in impatience and Henri sighed. “Once, but it was long ago and better forgotten.”

  His words might have been casual, but she heard the emotion in them. “I’m sorry.”

  Henri shook his head. “Please, no pity. It makes it very difficult to seduce you.”

  Elizabeth laughed and Henri smiled. He was handsome and genuinely charming when he wanted to be.

  “Well, we do have to keep it challenging, don’t we?” she said.

  Henri grinned broadly. “We do.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Jack sat in the near dark of his hotel room and stared down at Mason’s letter. The light from the moon was bright enough to read by, but wouldn’t disturb Diana’s sleep.

  He sighed and let his hand fall into his lap. He glanced over at the bed. Disturbing Diana sounded like hell of a better idea than sitting here staring at numbers that only stared back.

  He’d woken with half a thought of how to solve the cipher, but by the time he’d slipped out of bed and unfolded the paper, the idea had disintegrated. He’d pulled on his pants, sat down in a chair by the window and squinted down at the rows of numbers, hoping somehow his dream revelation would come back to life.

  It hadn’t.

  With another sigh he started to refold the paper when he heard a rustle of sheets. Diana pushed herself up sleepily onto her elbow. “Can’t sleep?”

  Jack shook his head and looked back down at the letter. It was a risk trusting her, but his gut hadn’t let him down before. Except for Blake, a little traitorous voice whispered.

  He looked over at Diana. She’d risked hers and saved his life earlier. She’d brought him into her world, maybe he could afford to do the same? After all, she already knew about the papyrus.

  “Anything I can do?” she asked.

  Normally, he wouldn’t have let an invitation like that go, but this was too important. “Maybe.”

  He walked over to the bed and handed Diana the letter. She turned on the bedside lamp and sat up. Keeping the sheet wrapped around her, she leaned back against the headboard.

  Jack stretched out next to her on top of the covers. He planted one foot on the bed and leaned on his elbow as he watched her eyes dance over the numbers.

  “What is this?” she asked.

  Jack hesitated. “A code.”

  She smiled, but didn’t press him. He loved that about her. She didn’t mind secrets. She had plenty of her own.

  “There was a client,” she said after a moment of studying it. “Strange little man from Philadelphia. Had a glass eye he could pop out on command. Anyway, he was a bit paranoid and insisted every communication be encoded. It was silly. The painting that had been stolen wasn’t worth very much, but I always humor rich men’s eccentricities.”

  Jack chuckled.

  “Every note he sent or I sent him,” she continued, “used The Wizard of Oz as the key. The messages looked a great deal like these.”

  As soon as she said it, the image from his dream coalesced. He sat up and took the paper from her. A book cipher. He shook his head. Why hadn’t he seen that possibility sooner? Each number could represent a page number, a line and word or letter. It was a simple, but incredibly effective code.

  “I could kiss you right now!” he said.

  Diana smiled. “I think you should.”

  Jack laughed and looked back at the letter.

  “Any idea what the key might be?” Diana asked.

  The excitement from the realization ebbed. Without the right key, he was still only at square one. There had been books in Mason’s room though. Surely, one of them had to be the key.

  “Maybe,” he said. Mason’s room had been searched by the police. His belongings were probably locked away somewhere. “I’ll have to do some checking tomorrow.”

  “Good,” Diana said as she gently took the letter from his hand and set it on the nightstand. “Now about that kiss…”

  Jack grinned and leaned in, more than happy to oblige.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Simon had no idea the basement beneath Shepheard’s was so cavernous. Dozens and dozens of trunks and suitcases filled several large rooms that ran along the main underground corridor. From abandoned items to those left in long-term storage, the basement was a maze of crates, steamer trunks and valises.

  Simon had been relieved to find out the police hadn’t held Mason’s belongings as evidence and instead stored them at the hotel until the next of kin could be contacted. Which, he thought sadly, would be a very, very long time. Another well-placed monetary inducement had given them the location of Mason’s belongings.

  Simon bumped into a tall stack of boxes and nearly dislodged a large hatbox perched precariously at the top. He reached up to steady it and a cascade of dust fell into his eyes.

  He coughed and blinked it away, wishing and he and Elizabeth had traded places with Jack and Diana. He’d much rather be out looking for the papyrus than digging around the bowels of the hotel, but Diana’s contact was apparently “skittish.”

  Simon brushed the dust from his shoulders and pressed on. Somewhere in the mass of things forgotten was Mason’s trunk. Squinting in the faint light cast by the single overhead lightbulb, he checked the tags as he went, looking for the brown leather steamer trunk Jack had described. That, unfortunately, narrowed it down to just over half of the contents of the room.

  He picked his way through the haphazard stacks, winding down a crooked path from the door around the perimeter of the room, checking both the things along the wall and those piled into the center of the room. When he’d reached the far end and turned back toward the door to complete the circuit, he heard a sound. “Elizabeth?”

  They’d been the only people in this section of the large basement. To cover more ground they’d split up, Elizabeth started at one end of the corridor with him at the other, each working their way toward the center.

  When no answer came, he paused and listened. Nothing.

  Simon waited another moment before continuing on. He was nearly at the end of his circuit. Mrs. Swanson of New Brunswick, Mr. & Mrs. Atherton of New York, Mr. George Mason, San Francisco.

  “Finally,” Simon breathed. He moved a crate of candlesticks and lamps aside and reached for the latch to Mason’s trunk. He’d half expected it to be locked, but it wasn’t. In fact, the lock had clearly been broken. There was no doubt in his mind it happened when whoever it was had searched Mason’s room.

  Simon lifted the lid, letting it rest against the wall. Moving aside neatly folded clothes, he quickly found what he was looking for. Sitting at the bottom of the trunk were four large leather-bound books. He picked one up and flipped through the pages. He put t
he book aside and reached for the others. Somewhere in all of that, he hoped, were the clues they needed.

  He bent over to retrieve the others when he heard a sound again. Slowly, he stood back up and turned around.

  An enormous man in black robes stood just feet from him. Simon’s heart raced and he clenched his fists. Where was Elizabeth? Had he found her first?

  “Elizabeth?” Simon called out.

  When there was no answer, Simon’s breath caught.

  Beneath the man’s keffiyeh, his eyes began to wrinkle into a smile. He started to say something, but Simon didn’t let him finish. His fist collided with the man’s jaw.

  The man grunted, but shook off the solid blow easily. Simon felt his heart sink at that. His best punch had almost no effect.

  Simon looked for something to use as a weapon and his moment’s hesitation cost him. The other man lunged forward with shocking speed. One hand shot out like a striking snake and grabbed a fistful of Simon’s shirt. The other was a blur until it crashed into Simon’s face.

  A spike of pain radiated through Simon’s temple and a vague sense of nausea choked his throat. Dazed, Simon stumbled back against a teetering pile of crates. The man held onto his shirt and punched him once, hard in the gut. Simon gasped for air. The blow seemed to have forced every last ounce out of him. The stinging panic of not being able to breathe sent a shot of adrenaline through Simon’s veins.

  Almost casually, the man threw Simon to the ground. He struggled for breath as the man in black loomed over him. Small gulps of air took the edge off the panic that gripped him. He blinked against the red and black splotches that colored his vision and tried to think.

  The bottom crate in the wobbly stack was to his right. As quickly as he could, Simon rolled over onto his back, braced himself with his arms and kicked. The bottom crate slid out from beneath and the stack toppled, crashing into the man. He stumbled in surprise, the weight of them pushing him aside.

  Simon tried to stand, but he was too slow and the other man too quick. Before he could get to his feet, the man in black was on him again. With disturbing ease, the man flipped Simon over and leapt on top of him. It felt like a lead weight pressing down onto his chest. Simon swung wildly and earned a wicked backhand for his trouble.