Tales of the Red Panda: Pyramid of Peril

by Gregg Taylor

  Before him he saw a lithe Egyptian girl, dressed in a light, loose-fitting wrap in neutral tones. Her black hair seemed to shine in the sunlight, and her eyes… her eyes were…

  “Kit?” he asked, not quite believing it.

  “Who else?” she asked, with a shake of her head. “You get a lot of girls climbing in your penthouse windows?” She stopped and checked herself. “You know what? Forget I asked that.”

  He suddenly realized that he was still half in a ready stance, and stood up straight, stepping in towards her. “I almost can’t believe it’s you,” he said. “You look quite good as an Egyptian.”

  She paused a little. “I don’t quite know how to take that,” she said.

  “I just mean… your disguise work is excellent,” he said, correcting himself.

  “Oh.” She seemed both disappointed and pleased, if such a thing were possible. “Thanks.”

  He paused an instant. “Except I thought you had the Bavetta travel documents.”

  She nodded. “Sure. Italian national, living in Morocco. I’m not all that far off, am I?” She looked at her hands. “I just liked the look of the local colouring so much, I guess I wanted to try it out. A little. Besides, no one looked twice at the papers.”

  Fenwick looked at her again. “No,” he said quietly, “I’m certain they didn’t.” With the sunlight blazing in the windows behind her, Kit’s silhouetted shape could clearly been seen through her light garments. Still shadowy, not immodest, but a pretty breathtaking distraction nonetheless. She glanced down to see if there was something wrong with her costume before getting a general sense of what he might be looking at.

  “Oh,” she said. “Nobody else really even seemed to notice.”

  He gave his head a shake and turned in the other direction, stepping past her to close the veranda door. “I suppose you’re right,” he said, “blending in and all that. Well done.”

  Kit scrunched her nose slightly in protest. “I didn’t say you had to stop,” she said.

  “So Signora Bavetta got checked in all right?” he asked, as if there was some doubt.

  Kit sighed. “In fact, she did. The suite below you is now the de facto crime lab. Or at least a lair. You’re lucky the room below you was open.”

  He smiled. “No, I wasn’t. I had a hold on it from the time I booked the hotel. I only released it when we checked in.”

  “Well, it worked,” she grinned. “And you’ll have a real easy time going back and forth, the south side looks pretty unobserved.”

  “You’ll have a tougher time,” he told her. “Your room is on the opposite corner from mine.”

  “Subtle,” she grimaced.

  “I don’t think it’s that,” he grinned. “I think Weston is trying to set up buffer zones between certain members of the staff.”

  Kit blinked. “Is it just possible that we aren’t at the top of the chaperone list?” she said in mock horror.

  He smiled and said nothing.

  “So we’ve established base camp,” she said. “What now?”

  He furrowed his brow slightly. “I asked about Max at the desk,” he said. “He is still missing. They have taken his belongings out of his room and are holding them. I paid his outstanding hotel bill, half hoping that they might release his things to me, but of course they didn’t, it’s too good a hotel for that.”

  Kit nodded. “Looks like we’ve got a burgling gig for tonight,” she offered.

  “Yes,” he nodded. “I can’t imagine that will yield much. Not like Max to leave things laying around, and we can’t be sure that someone else hasn’t already searched his things.”

  “Perhaps they are not as clever as we are,” she smiled.

  “Let’s hope not,” he agreed. “There is another possibility.”

  She raised an eyebrow and waited.

  “I wasn’t particularly quiet in asking about Max,” he said, “and as you can imagine, our arrival was about as subtle as a truck.”

  “You’re hoping we might get a nibble?” she asked.

  As if in reply, there was a knock at the door.

  Fenwick looked toward the door of his suite and then back to his disguised partner. “You had better-”

  But of course she was already gone. Hidden even from his eyes. He smiled.

  “Come in,” he called as the knocking came again.

  The door opened and Weston stepped in.

  “I beg your pardon sir, but there is a gentleman here who wishes to speak to you,” he said. “I should not have allowed him up, but apparently he is a mutual friend of Mister Falconi, about whom you were asking downstairs.”

  “Excellent, Weston, show him in,” Fenwick said.

  A moment later a wiry man in an immaculate dark suit and a fez had been admitted and introduced, and Weston had been dismissed.

  “Can I offer you a drink, Mister El-Nemr?” Fenwick asked casually.

  “I should be most grateful, Mister Fenwick,” El-Nemr said with a nod.

  “Please, have a seat,” Fenwick said with a gesture and turned away to the small bar in the far corner of the room.

  But the man who called himself El-Nemr did not sit down. Instead he strode forward silently, toward the casually receding figure of his host. And from the folds of his coat, a flash of steel could be seen as he produced a long, thin dagger.

  Six

  El-Nemr’s knife hit the floor with a rattle and he cried out briefly before his head rattled off the floor, stunning him momentarily. When he recovered himself an instant later, he was face down on the ground with his right arm pinned painfully behind him and a small weight which he could not account for resting on his back. His host barely seemed to register that anything had happened, but when he turned back, he had only one drink in his hand and a rueful smile upon his face.

  The wealthy young man picked up El-Nemr’s dagger and shook his head. “Not the best beginning,” he said.

  “Effendi, please,” El-Nemr pleaded as if for his life, “spare this impudent dog.”

  “Oh, stop blubbering, El-Nemr, if that is your name at all,” Fenwick said, settling into a comfortable chair. “I wasn’t about to stab you. A courtesy you did not seem inclined to extend to me a moment ago.”

  El-Nemr bit his tongue to keep from crying out as his arm was twisted harder by the unseen force. His left fist pounded upon the floor in involuntary reaction. “Please, Fenwick effendi,” he cried, “release me, I beg of you. I wished only to learn what news you might have of our mutual friend, Maxwell Falconi.”

  “Behiti,” Fenwick said quietly, “that is enough. Let him up.”

  The pain in El-Nemr’s arm ceased and he was astonished to find a person stepping off of his back. And even more surprised when he glanced up and learned that his tormentor had been a beautiful young Egyptian girl, who seemed more than ready to hurt him much worse than she had, should the opportunity present itself.

  “My… assistant, Behiti,” Fenwick said casually, and reached out his hand. The girl walked past El-Nemr in response to her master’s gesture, but never took her eyes off El-Nemr for an instant. She reached out and put something into Fenwick’s hand and then circled away, taking a position behind El-Nemr. The young man began flipping through the item he had been handed in a casual manner, and El-Nemr realized quite suddenly that they were his own travel documents. He turned slightly to glimpse the unusual bodyguard who had put him down, but the girl’s eyes flashed with anger as he did so, and he found himself forced to look away.

  “Well,” said Fenwick with a casual air, “your name does appear to be El-Nemr, which is something, I suppose. I don’t think much of your conversation style thus far, but you can take a seat, if you wish.”

  El-Nemr stood slowly, as if this might be a trick, and made his way gingerly to a chair opposite Fenwick. “I thank you, sir,” he said with a rueful smile. “I am sorry to begin badly, but there are many ruthless people in pursuit of Maxwell Falconi, and I feared you might be among them.”

&nb
sp; “I am,” Fenwick said coldly, “but I am also his friend.”

  El-Nemr nodded slowly. “You are an unusual man, Fenwick effendi,” he said, “and you keep unusual company. I did not know that ‘bodyguard’ was a popular choice of vocation among beautiful Arab girls.”

  Fenwick smiled grimly. “Behiti also happens to be one of the world’s more deadly assassins. You may never see her again, El-Nemr, but I assure you that she will see you.”

  El-Nemr shivered involuntarily and tried hard not to look behind him to see what the girl was doing. He nodded. “You are an interesting man indeed, Fenwick effendi,” he said. “Clearly wealthy. American?”

  Fenwick said nothing.

  “Why would a wealthy young man with… exotic tastes be searching for an old stage magician like Falconi?” El-Nemr seemed to be getting more comfortable, searching for some advantage.

  Fenwick flipped El-Nemr’s travel documents back to him. “Don’t trouble yourself too much over August Fenwick,” he said. “It will do you no good. Your instincts are entirely correct.”

  El-Nemr nodded. “You are not August Fenwick,” he said.

  “If you made some inquiries, you would find that August Fenwick is currently a guest aboard the steamship Amazon Star, en route to South America,” the younger man smiled. “My associates and I found it convenient to appear as he and his staff for the duration of our quest. And both of us know, I think, that Maxwell Falconi is no mere stage magician.”

  El-Nemr grinned. “Very good, sir,” he said. “What can I call you?”

  The young man looked cross. “You can call me August Fenwick,” he snapped. “I haven’t lived this long by telling my name to every fool who pulls a knife on me.”

  El-Nemr bowed his head as a gesture of apology.

  “I think that you had better tell me what you know about Max,” Fenwick said. “Earn your way back into my trust. And Behiti’s.”

  El-Nemr turned his head reflexively, but he could no longer tell exactly where the deadly girl behind him was.

  “Maxwell Falconi travels at times under another name,” El-Nemr said. “Only a friend would know it.”

  Fenwick raised an eyebrow. “Many evil men have cause to remember the name of the Stranger,” he said.

  El-Nemr smiled and seemed to relax. “True,” he said, “but I always imagined that few of them knew his true face. I was astonished to learn it myself. I thought the Stranger had given up the fight, or perhaps passed from this world entirely. But something drew Maxwell Falconi back, and once back, it is very difficult to leave a life of adventure behind.”

  “You speak as if you know Max well,” Fenwick said.

  El-Nemr shrugged modestly. “Not well, perhaps, and not long. But he had cause to trust me, and in this latest quest, I have served as his guide and his right-hand when he needed me. But now it seems that he needs me the most, and I am unable to serve him.”

  “You don’t know where he is?” Fenwick asked grimly.

  “I do not,” El-Nemr shook his head, “and I do fear the worst. There is only one thing that gives me hope.”

  Fenwick raised an eyebrow. “And what is that?” he asked.

  “Maxwell Falconi’s enemies,” El-Nemr said with a smile, “they still watch the hotel.”

  “So they don’t know where Max is either,” Fenwick nodded.

  “If they did,” El-Nemr said, “I would not think he could yet be alive.”

  “The Stranger has great power,” Fenwick said.

  “As do those opposed to him.” El-Nemr was grim.

  “Well,” Fenwick said, settling back in his chair, “why do we not let Behiti find one of these watchers and make him tell what he knows?”

  “It has been tried,” El-Nemr said ruefully.

  “By whom?”

  “By me,” the Egyptian said simply. “They are simply low-level criminals, employed by others whom they cannot name. I feel certain that they would have if they could.”

  “Fair enough,” Fenwick said. “You say that Max was on a quest. Was he searching for something? An artifact, perhaps?”

  El-Nemr was impressed. “Very good, sir,” he grinned. “But that is a road you do not wish to travel. There is only misery and fear upon that path.”

  “And perhaps Maxwell Falconi,” Fenwick said. “I don’t care about some ancient trinket, I am here to find my friend. It seems that in order to do so, I must look for the item he sought, and hope to find him on the way. Logical, yes?”

  El-Nemr nodded slowly. “The Stranger was sent to recover an ancient artifact of tremendous power. An item lost even to legend, which has not been seen by the eyes of men since the days of the Pharaohs. An ancient stone known as the Eye of Anubis, which is said to give the bearer the power of dominion over death itself.”

  “You say he was sent? Sent by whom?” Fenwick asked.

  “He did not share that with me,” El-Nemr said. “I think he was protecting me. I knew only that others also sought the Eye, and that the fate of all mankind rested with us finding it first.”

  “These others,” Fenwick said, “who are they, and whom do they work for?”

  El-Nemr shrugged. “As for their employer, I do not know and will not guess,” he said. “There are far too many in the world who lust for power that they would misuse for me to tell their precise motivation. Merely that they want the Eye of Anubis, and the value that they put upon it is far greater than they put upon human life, effendi. There is one called Pavli. Aris Pavli. I think. He is known in these parts, though he is a Greek man. A hunter of ancient power. A sorcerer himself, they say, though I have not seen it with my own eyes. He is quite ruthless and commands many men. But the other one…” El-Nemr trailed off. “The one they call Thatcher. He is a bad man, effendi. Great magics are his to command, and very dark they are. Those who cross him, die.”

  Fenwick nodded. “Then we had better get started,” he said.

  El-Nemr started slightly. “Do we even know where to begin?” he asked in surprise.

  “I don’t,” Fenwick admitted, “but you do. You were Falconi’s guide and right-hand man in his quest. “

  El-Nemr sputtered. “But I do not know where he is now,” he protested.

  “If the Eye of Anubis is as dangerous as you say,” Fenwick said, “we don’t need to search for Max. He would never give up. We will search for the artifact and that will lead us to the Stranger, if he is alive.”

  “And if he is not?” El-Nemr asked.

  “We will have our revenge or share his fate,” Fenwick said simply. “Well, El-Nemr? Where do we start?”

  El-Nemr nodded grimly. “I know a place,” he said.

  “Good,” Fenwick said. “Go downstairs and wait. I will call my driver and have her bring the car around. She may need a few minutes.”

  El-Nemr nodded and turned, and in the process saw Fenwick’s bodyguard for the first time in several minutes. “Will… will your young lady be joining us?” he asked.

  Fenwick smiled. “There is only one reason you would ever see Behiti again,” he said, “but I promise you, she will be nearby.”

  “I understand,” El-Nemr said and began to go. He paused and asked, “Effendi? The one reason that you mention-”

  “If she’s killing you, El-Nemr,” Fenwick said, amused. “You’ll see her again if she kills you. I’ll be down in ten minutes.

  Seven

  Kit Baxter hopped from the car and moved to open the door for her employer, only to find that he had stepped out onto the narrow street himself and was scanning the area with the intensity of the Red Panda. She gave her head a little shake. They were mixing their metaphors here, and no mistake. Back in Toronto, every moment in which her dear old Boss appeared as August Fenwick, he was wearing a carefully constructed persona, a veneer of uselessness that meant few ever considered him twice, and no one would ever have used the words Fenwick and adventure in the same sentence.

  But since they had got off the plane, things were different. It helped th
at they were extremely unlikely to be recognized, she knew, but openly involving their secret identities in an adventure like this was pretty strictly against the rules. She wondered if he had been bluffing when he told El-Nemr that August Fenwick was on a South American cruise, or if he had an agent planted on the Amazon Star right now. If she had to guess, she supposed it would prove to be the latter, though she couldn’t tell how long it would be before she had a quiet moment to ask him about it. She didn’t like bringing this El-Nemr with them, that much she knew. Something about the man set her teeth on edge. She watched as he made his way around the car to stand beside the Boss. She smiled to herself as she saw El-Nemr scanning the nearby streets and buildings. It was possible, she supposed, that he was on guard for agents of this Thatcher and Pavli he had spoken of, but she suspected that he was really looking for Behiti. She wondered what he would do if he knew how close by that deadly girl really was.

  When Kit was absolutely certain Fenwick had his eye on El-Nemr, she turned to survey the neighborhood herself. It had not taken many minutes on their drive toward Giza to leave the wide avenues and handsome cars of downtown Cairo behind in favor of narrow alleys and houses that were not much more than huts. She considered them carefully. There were interested faces peeping out toward the big car and its passengers, and Kit was careful enough to be wary of danger from any direction. But she was never one to assume that someone was dangerous, or less than trustworthy, just because they were poor. She knew perfectly well that, had she been born an Egyptian, it would almost certainly have been into a neighborhood just like this one, if she was lucky.

  A small boy came close, clearly taken with the car, and Kit waved him over. He might have been ten years old, maybe a little less, and he approached cautiously. Kit pointed to him, then toward her own eyes, and then to the car. He nodded eagerly, accepting the assignment, and Kit pressed a coin into his hand. She didn’t really have a grasp on the local currency yet, but the boy’s eyes opened wide at the sight of the coin, and she reckoned that he was on the job. She moved away and stepped close to where El-Nemr was quietly talking to the Red Panda.