Night Train to Memphis vbm-5

by Elizabeth Peters

  ‘I don’t know what this is – ’ I began.

  ‘Neither do I. It tastes like battery acid. Never mind, it’s liquid. Where are we?’

  ‘A quarter of an hour from Nag Hammadi,’ Feisal answered. ‘I hope it was only a morbid fancy that made you mention roadblocks? If we don’t cross here – ’

  ‘There are other bridges farther north. And, if memory serves, a road of sorts on the east bank?’

  ‘Yes, to both. You didn’t answer my question. What makes you think they might be waiting for us at Hammadi?’

  ‘Foggington-Smythe followed Vicky out of the hotel. He was watching when we left.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say so earlier?’ Feisal demanded.

  ‘Why should I? Either he saw us or he didn’t. If he did, and if a lot of other equally unpleasant surmises are correct, they could be waiting for us at Nag Hammadi.’

  ‘But how – ’ I began.

  ‘Oh, Christ, do I have to spell everything out for you? Use your head. Your guess is as good as mine as to what Blenkiron will and can do, but his resources are extensive. Always anticipate the worst, remember?’

  He had edged away from me and was sitting bolt upright, staring straight ahead. Ten minutes, I thought. Give him that much, at least.

  Feisal began, ‘What are we – ’

  I leaned forward. ‘How well do you know the roads?’

  There was a perceptible pause before Feisal answered. ‘That depends on what roads you mean. The main north-south highway crosses the river at Hammadi and runs along the west bank from there to Cairo. There’s a secondary road on the east bank, but parts of it haven’t been completed.’

  ‘Where are the bridges?’ I asked.

  I was trying to buy John a little more time, but as Feisal expanded on the geographical features I found myself wondering how Schmidt meant to employ same. Damn it, I knew the old boy better than John did, I ought to be able to follow his thinking.

  ‘So the next bridge after Hammadi is at Sohag? The train Schmidt took – might have taken – stops there, doesn’t it?’

  ‘That’s right. It’s about fifty miles from Nag Hammadi.’

  ‘And the next crossing is at Asyut.’

  ‘Right again.’

  ‘Asyut is the second train stop. After that there’s only one before Cairo.’

  ‘Minya,’ Feisal agreed.

  ‘That’s where Schmidt stayed the night before he joined the cruise,’ I said thoughtfully.

  John cleared his throat. ‘Are you suggesting he might have left some of his luggage there? My theories may have been a trifle exiguous, but that is really – ’

  ‘No, listen.’ The more I thought about it, the more likely it seemed. ‘Schmidt stocked up on spy stuff before he ever left Munich. He even had contact lenses made in various colours! He suspected this cruise was more than a simple vacation. Who would know better than Schmidt that I wouldn’t try to pass myself off as an expert on a subject I know nothing about without good and sufficient reason? I’ll bet he’s been plotting and planning ever since he arrived in Egypt. He’d have done that just for the fun of it. He spotted Max immediately, and that confirmed – ’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ John said. ‘You mean the little elf’s been on to us all along? Why didn’t you tell me this?’

  ‘There hasn’t been time,’ I began.

  ‘Schmidt is bad enough,’ John went on bitterly. ‘The two of you together . . . Feisal, stop the bloody car. No, not in the middle of the bloody road, pull over as soon as you can find a suitable place. Now then, Vicky, perhaps you can bring yourself to tell me precisely what Schmidt said to you and what you said to Schmidt before you sallied forth to rescue me. You did have sense enough to make contingency plans, didn’t you, in case you were held up or Schmidt had to vacate his room?’

  The medicine had cleared his head but it certainly hadn’t improved his disposition. I realized, with only faint surprise, that we were back on the old footing. Nothing had really changed except my perception of him. He was the same person he’d always been – neither saint nor sinner, hero nor villain, but a bewildering and exasperating mixture of all of them. Human, in other words. Like me. We were more alike than I had wanted to admit – sarcastic, prickly, defensive, afraid of feeling emotion, much less expressing it. My other self; my dark angel, my dear, deadly companion, my . . .

  ‘Take all the time you like,’ John said, sneering audibly. ‘We’re in no hurry.’

  ‘Damn it, how the hell could we plan ahead?’ I demanded. ‘I didn’t know how long it would take me to get into the house, or where in the house you were. It might have taken me all night to locate you.’

  ‘All night?’

  Feisal had turned off onto a narrow dirt road bordering one of the irrigation canals. I could see a dark glimmer of water below. On the other side of the road tall stalks of some kind of vegetation, sugarcane or reeds, blocked my view.

  I didn’t need John to tell me I must have been out of my mind to think I could ramble around the house for hours on end without being caught. I had been out of my mind. Since I couldn’t think of anything sensible to say, I kept quiet.

  ‘All right,’ John said. He sounded as if he were choking. ‘Perhaps this is not an appropriate moment to pursue that subject. We’ve got to come to a decision about where we’re going next. God knows I’m reluctant to follow Schmidt along the chaotic pathways of his imagination, but I hate to think of the havoc he can wreak wandering through Egypt alone and uncontrolled.’

  ‘He’s done better than we have so far,’ I said indignantly. ‘That message he left was danmed ingenious.’

  ‘He’s done better than you have, you mean,’ was the unkind reply. ‘And on the basis of the ingenuity he has displayed thus far I’m willing to consider the possibility that he tried to give us additional information.’

  ‘Johnny,’ Feisal interrupted. ‘No one admires the precision of your syntax more than I, but could you possibly cut it short?’

  ‘I’m thinking of those travel brochures,’ John said. ‘He wouldn’t dare underline or circle a name, but the one on the top of the pile had been opened and refolded. The sites mentioned were all in Middle Egypt. Beni Hassan, Amarna – ’

  ‘Nefertiti!’ I exclaimed. ‘She was on the top of the pile too. The bag he bought at the bazaar, with her picture on it –

  ‘Amarna,’ John muttered. ‘I don’t see how . . . He couldn’t possibly . . .’

  ‘Johnny,’ Feisal began.

  ‘Yes, right. We need more information before we reach a final decision as to our route. I don’t suppose this miracle of automotive engineering possesses a radio? No, that would be too much to ask. Stop at the first café – or, even better, petrol station.’

  When we stopped, not far from the access road to the bridge, I withdrew into the darkest corner and covered my head with a scarf while Feisal got out for a man-toman chat with the attendant and the other guys who were hanging around the pumps.

  He wasn’t gone long. When he came back I could tell by his expression he had heard something he didn’t like.

  John waited until Feisal had turned off onto a side road. ‘Well?’

  ‘My career in crime is burgeoning,’ Feisal said sourly. ‘It seems I am now a kidnapper as well as a notorious terrorist.’

  ‘Who’d you kidnap?’ I asked curiously.

  ‘You, of course.’ Feisal made another sharp turn. ‘There’s a taftish – checkpoint – ahead, on this side of the bridge. It’s a safe bet they’ll be watching for us.’ He spun the wheel again and the car squeezed itself into a narrow lane between walls that scraped the fenders. ‘We should pick up the east-bank road a couple of miles farther on.’ He let out a thin scream and slammed on the brakes. The rider of the donkey glanced over his shoulder and made a rude gesture. I assume it was a rude gesture.

  ‘Bad luck, old chum,’ John said insincerely. ‘I had hoped they wouldn’t get on to you so soon, but I suppose it was inevitable, when we all turned
up missing at the same time.’

  ‘So Foggington-Smythe is in Larry’s pay,’ I said.

  ‘Not necessarily. He might have mentioned in all innocence that he had seen someone resembling you at the hotel.’

  ‘But I’m in disguise,’ I protested.

  ‘He was studying your rear view,’ John said disagreeably. ‘I told you those jeans were too tight. Dare I inquire how Foggington-Smythe became so familiar with the contours of your – Christ! Feisal, watch out for that – ’

  A splintering crunch announced the destruction of a small shed.

  ‘Don’t distract me,’ Feisal said between his teeth.

  The last few hundred yards of the detour ran along the top of a bank above an irrigation ditch. I think three of the wheels were on the path most of the time. We missed the guy on the bicycle, though.

  Once we were back on the highway John cleared his throat. ‘Would you like me to drive for a while?’ he asked tactfully.

  I had been about to offer myself. Night driving in Egypt was something no sane tourist would tackle, but I figured I could do better than Feisal was doing at that moment. I think his eyes were closed.

  Feisal hit the brakes. ‘Is there anything to drink?’ I handed him a can of soda. He slid over into the passenger seat and John took his place behind the wheel.

  ‘So what else is new?’ he inquired, returning to the road. ‘They didn’t get the license number, but they do have a description of the car. They aren’t certain whether my motive for making off with Vicky was lust or politics or – ’

  ‘Kidnapping an American tourist for any reason is enough to stir things up,’ John said thoughtfully. ‘Did you abduct me too?’

  ‘They know or assume we’re all together, if that’s what you mean. Odd, now that you mention it; they were somewhat vague as to your precise role. It’s been on all the news broadcasts. The government is appalled, shocked, and distraught. They will pursue the hunt with the utmost diligence and punish the perpetrator – ’ He swallowed. ‘Appropriately.’

  ‘Oh, very good,’ John said. ‘By accusing you of abduction they’ve enlisted the assistance of every honest police officer and worthy citizen, and they’ve left open the possibility that I may be a crypto-terrorist too.’

  ‘That’s crazy,’ I exclaimed. ‘I can tell them – ’

  ‘You may not have the chance,’ John said.

  We went on awhile in gloomy silence. A snatch of song drifted back to me from the front seat. ‘There’s a girl from Minnesota, She’s long and she’s tall . . .’

  I leaned forward. ‘She was from Birmingham, I believe.’

  ‘Wrong. Tennessee. One for me.’

  ‘I got the song right,’ I protested. ‘Anyhow, she wasn’t a girl, she was a train.’

  ‘Half a point, then. Why don’t you get some sleep? You must be tired. Heroic rescues take a lot out of a girl.’

  ‘The hell with that. I’m not going to sleep while you two big, strong intelligent men make all the decisions. Where are we going?’

  Feisal chuckled. ‘She does have a strange charm all her own, doesn’t she? I’m beginning to understand why you – ’

  ‘She grows on you,’ John agreed. ‘As for where we’re going, that depends to some extent on what we encounter along the way, but I think we’ll head for Minya. That must have been what Schmidt meant by his delightfully mysterious clues; it’s the nearest stop to Amarna. The train he’s taken doesn’t arrive until seven in the morning and it may be late. If we can make it in time we’ll look out for him at the station. If we miss him we’ll check the hotels.’

  ‘How are you planning to get across the river?’ Feisal inquired.

  ‘I intend to avoid the bridges. They are the most logical places for roadblocks. We’ll stay on the east bank until we reach Amarna and then take the ferry across. There are a number of advantages to that agenda; they will expect us to take the main road, and it’s always a good idea to do what the enemy doesn’t expect.’

  ‘Skip the lectures on crime, will you?’ Feisal said sourly ‘There’s only one little problem with your agenda, Johnny. We can’t get to Amarna from here.’

  ‘The road – ’ John began.

  ‘Ends a few kilometres north of Asyut. They haven’t finished it.’

  ‘There’s a track, surely.’

  ‘There are a number of paths, yes. For donkeys and camels. If we follow the river, there’s one point where the cliffs come right down to the water’s edge. The car would never make it through.’

  ‘Hmmm. Then we’ll have to think of another way, won’t we?’

  ‘It doesn’t sound to me as if there is another way,’ I remarked. ‘We’ll have to cross at Asyut and risk the roadblocks.’

  ‘Feisal is being modest,’ John said gently. ‘I’m sure he can suggest an alternative. He has friends everywhere. Knowledgeable friends. Right, old chum?’

  ‘Damn it, Johnny, I haven’t had anything to do with that crowd for years. It was one of those youthful enthusiasms – ’

  ‘I quite understand,’ John said, in the same quiet, very unpleasant voice. ‘No bright, idealistic lad or lassie can resist the lure of revolution. All the same . . .’

  The silence from the front seat was practically deafening. It seemed to satisfy John, though.

  I don’t know how long I slept, but I was stiff and cold when I woke. The car had stopped and the view out of the window next to me was so beautiful I forgot, for a few moments, that this wasn’t exactly the time to enjoy the scenery.

  The moon had risen. Now at the full, it hung over the cliffs like a silver balloon. In the cold, bright light the rocky ramparts looked like glaciers and the desert floor like new-fallen snow. I had never seen so many stars.

  My window was closed, but the one on the passenger side in front was partly open. I could hear their voices clearly.

  ‘You won’t need that,’ Feisal said.

  ‘I hope not. Just so you and your friend understand that I’ll use it if I must.’

  I shifted position so I could see. Feisal leaned against the front fender, his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched against the chill of the night air. John faced him, a few feet away. The moonlight was so bright I could see every detail.

  ‘I don’t doubt it in the least,’ Feisal said. He sounded more amused than apprehensive. ‘Amazing. I never thought I’d see the day . . . Now keep calm, Johnny. I wasn’t objecting to the aim, only to the means. It’s been five years since I went that route, and I don’t know whether I can persuade, bully, or bribe Amr into lending us the jeep. We haven’t much money left. Threatening him would be a serious error, however. Put the gun away, okay?’

  ‘Give him this.’ John unstrapped his wristwatch.

  Feisal took the watch. ‘All right, let’s make the attempt.’ They got back into the car. John turned and looked back at me. ‘Awake?’

  ‘Yes. Where are we?’

  ‘A few miles north of Asyut. Any further questions?’

  ‘How – ’

  ‘Save them. And don’t join in any discussion that may ensue. This is a conservative area. They don’t approve of uppity women.’

  The huddle of low, flat-roofed buildings a few miles farther on might, if one were charitably inclined, be described as a village. No lights showed at the windows of the houses. There was a café there is always a café, but even it was dark.

  To give myself credit, which I am always inclined to do, I felt sure I knew the answers to most of the questions I might have asked. The individual in the house on whose door Feisal was knocking had to be a member of the organization to which he had once belonged – whatever that might be. Even experts in Middle East politics had some trouble keeping track of the various revolutionary groups and how their aims and methods differed. I wasn’t familiar with the ramifications, but I knew that many students had been attracted to the radical movements because they promised an end to government corruption and inefficiency.

  That’s what they
all promise. And sooner or later, in the Middle East or Ireland or the States, the noble aims are distorted; violence inspires answering violence, and often the ones who suffer most are the poor devils both sides claim to be defending. The repressive measures of the State Security forces had won a lot of waverers over to the revolutionary cause, and I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that everyone in the village was a secret sympathizer. We were in Middle Egypt now; the city of Asyut, across the river, had been and probably still was one of the centres of rebellion – or terrorism, depending on which side you supported.

  The door finally opened and Feisal went inside. John had gotten out of the car and was leaning against the door, hands in his jacket pockets. I’d never known him to carry a weapon before. I wondered if he really would use the gun or if the guy inside the house would shoot first.

  Feisal was only gone for ten minutes. When he returned he was accompanied by his – friend? He didn’t look very friendly. He had wound his woollen scarf around his head and throat, but I could see his face clearly in the bright moonlight.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Feisal said, eyes fixed on John’s right-hand pocket. ‘He’s agreed. He’s not happy about it, but he has agreed.’

  ‘Good.’ John took his hand out of his pocket and opened the car door. ‘Come on, Vicky.’

  The sight of me didn’t make the other guy any happier. He let out a spate of low-voiced Arabic and began waving his arms. I gave him an ingratiating smile. ‘What’s he mad about?’ I asked.

  ‘Everything,’ Feisal said. ‘I don’t blame him. The situation has deteriorated, if that is possible. They’re setting up checkpoints on this side of the river now. And along the Red Sea highway.’

  ‘That’s encouraging,’ John said coolly. ‘They don’t know which route we’ve taken.’

  ‘They’ll soon find out if we don’t get moving. This way.’

  We followed our unwilling host to the back of the house, where the jeep – or, to be more accurate, the rusting skeleton of a jeep – was parked. The doors were tied on with rope. I climbed over the side, noting, as I sat down, that there were a few springs left. One, at least.