Night Train to Memphis vbm-5

by Elizabeth Peters

  I got up, stretching. ‘Oh, God. If this is what it feels like to be eighty, I’m not sure I want to live that long.’

  ‘I’m sure.’ John steadied me as I climbed arthritically over the side of the jeep.

  We settled down next to a rock outcropping a few hundred yards away. ‘This isn’t very comfortable,’ I grumbled, squirming around in the hope of finding some surface that wasn’t littered with sharp pebbles.

  ‘It’s flat and it’s in shadow. Oh, for Christ’s sake. Here.’ He took off Feisal’s jacket and spread it on the ground.

  ‘Aren’t you cold?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Have you got a temperature?’

  He moved away from my outstretched hand and sat down a few feet away, his back against a rock. ‘It will certainly begin to rise if you don’t stop asking meaningless questions.’

  ‘How about a few meaningful questions?’ I handed him one of the cans of soda.

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Were you really planning to rob the Cairo Museum?’

  ‘Good God, no. I’ve already robbed the damned place twice, why should I do it again? A man’s reach should exceed his grasp, don’t you think?’

  ‘Stealing an entire tomb is certainly a challenge.’

  ‘Your sympathetic understanding touches me more than I can say.’ He opened the can and drank deeply before going on. ‘It isn’t the entire tomb, you know. Only a few selected walls.’

  ‘I still find it difficult to believe. How he hoped to get away with it – ”

  ‘Oh, he’ll get away with it,’ John said calmly. ‘Unless we can stop him. It’s a pity, in a way. This might have been the high point of my distinguisbed career. You can see why the idea appealed to me.’

  ‘When did it start appealing?’

  John settled himself more comfortably. ‘My first arrangement with Blenkiron concerned the princess’s diadem. You ought to have noticed the anomaly of that item during your encounter with my friends in Rome. All the other jewellery we – er – replaced was Renaissance or later in date, and it was all in private collections. The diadem was in the Cairo Museum, and only a fanatical collector would want an item that could never be displayed. You might have postulated a man like Blenkiron – obscenely wealthy and totally unscrupulous-when you saw that.’

  ‘Don’t hassle me, John. I’m trying very hard to be nice.’

  ‘Are you? Sorry, I hadn’t noticed. As I was saying, the beauty of my arrangement with Blenkiron was that I only had to liberate the objects from the museum. They stayed in the country, so there were no nerve-racking encounters with customs. The only exception was the Tetisheri statuette. He was so besotted with it he insisted on carrying it around with him. However, smuggling antiquities into Egypt isn’t as difficult as smuggling them out.’

  ‘So the one in the British Museum is a fake.’

  John chuckled. ‘Ironically enough, Blenkiron’s is probably a fake as well. It wasn’t only the analysis of the paint that cast doubts on the one I removed from the B.M.; there’s something a bit off about the hieroglyphs. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn that the first one was manufactured by the great-grandfather of the little old forger in Gurnah who made the second one for me. Manufacturing forgeries is an old tradition there.’

  ‘How did you find him?’

  ‘It’s a long story,’ John said. ‘Reaching back into the mists of the past, and replete with details Schmidt would undoubtedly find extremely romantic’

  ‘Then don’t tell it now. The British Museum must have been a real test of your skills. Their security measures are pretty good.’

  ‘I shan’t respond to your subtle hints, darling, so don’t bother asking how I did it. Trade secrets, you know. However, I will say that the theatrical plots concocted by writers and producers of thrillers are completely unworkable, especially the ones that depend on esoteric equipment. The more complicated a gadget, the more likely it is to break down just when you need it.’

  He paused for refreshment before going on. ‘The idea of stealing Tetisheri’s tomb came to Blenkiron soon after the Getty people began working on the other queen’s tomb – that of Nefertari. It was really rather a clever idea. Restoring the reliefs was precisely the sort of philanthropic endeavour people had come to expect of him, and it gave him a perfect opportunity to have them copied. There was even a suggestion that a replica of the tomb might be made, in order to satisfy tourists without endangering the original. If at any point his activities had been discovered he could claim that’s what he was doing, as a boyish surprise for his good friends in the EAO. It was a monumental job, of course, but as Feisal pointed out, Blenkiron’s rich enough to buy all the expertise he needs.’

  ‘And the experts,’ I murmured. ‘Poor Jean-Louis.’

  ‘That was one of the most difficult aspects, actually,’ John said. ‘You’d be surprised how many honest scholars there are. They had to he approached very, very carefully. But there aren’t many positions in archaeology open, and there are a lot of poor, overeducated devils like Mazarin and Feisal seeking employment. Mazarin wasn’t the one I would have chosen. Instead of admitting his own venality he had to convince himself he was guided by noble motives. Such men are dangerous. Their consciences are never at ease, and they are apt to crack under pressure. I told Blenkiron that. He ignored my advice, and now you know why. He was prepared from the first to remove inconvenient witnesses.’

  ‘Is that why you tried to pull out?’

  ‘It was certainly a consideration. However, Max was an even stronger deterrent. If you recall, he was already vexed with me when we ran into one another in Sweden. I had advised Blenkiron not to hire him for this job and Max knew it. He took my refusal to work with him personally, I’m sorry to say. He’s such a sensitive chap.’

  ‘How did he learn your real name?’

  I had caught him off guard. The empty can crumpled in his hands. ‘That’s not – ’

  ‘You’ve been controlling the direction of this conversation. Now it’s my turn. How did they find you? Max didn’t know who you were before. He kept calling you Smythe.’

  John didn’t answer. I knew he must be feeling rotten or he’d have been able to come up with a facile lie. Not that I’d have believed it. I knew the answer.

  ‘It was through me, wasn’t it? Max knew you weren’t dead. He knew my identity. She knew it, from him. When she set out to track you down she started with me. They must have been watching me for months, hoping – expecting – you’d turn up. All they had to do then was follow you home.’

  John tossed the crumpled can aside. ‘What difference does it make?’

  ‘None at all,’ I said morosely. ‘It’s just the last goddamn straw that broke . . . Look! Isn’t that a light?’

  John caught my arm as I started to stand up. ‘It’s a light, certainly. One of several. Hold on.’

  ‘You think it’s not Feisal?’

  ‘There hasn’t been time for him to reach El Till, much less have a look around. They’re coming this way. Oh, dear, oh, dear,’ John said. ‘I always expect the worst, but I loathe having it happen.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  I

  ‘THEY GOT HIM,’ I whispered.

  ‘Or he turned us in?’

  ‘He wouldn’t do that! Would he?’

  ‘One would certainly hate to think so.’ John’s voice was so soft I could scarcely hear it. ‘There are other possibilities, I suppose . . .’

  ‘The hell with other possibilities! We have to assume the worst, as you keep telling me. What are we going to do?’

  ‘You may do as you like,’ said John. ‘I am going to – er – lie down.’

  And he proceeded to do so, though ‘fall over’ would have been a more accurate description.

  He looked rather peaceful with his head pillowed on his bent arm but when I touched his cheek he didn’t move. His skin was burning hot.

  In a way, it was a relief to have no more choices left. I covered h
im with the coat and brushed the hair away from his temple. ‘Goodbye, John,’ I whispered. ‘I love you.’

  I stood up.

  His hand wrapped around my ankle and brought me thudding to the ground. ‘Where the hell do you think you’re going?’ he demanded.

  Sand is a lot harder than it looks, and this variety of desert is littered with rocks. By the time I recovered my breath it was too late to get away; he had rolled me over onto my back and was lying across me.

  ‘You low-down skunk!’ I gasped. ‘You did that on purpose!’

  ‘Is that any way to talk to the man you love?’ His voice was almost back to normal; I knew the slight unevenness was due to suppresed laughter. ‘I’m deeply hurt that you would think I’d resort to a childish, melodramatic trick like that one.’

  ‘John, are you crazy? Those people out there – ’

  ‘There’s plenty of time. Were you really going to dash out and lead the hunters away from me, risking capture and a fate worse than death?’

  His lips were hot and dry. At first. I wrenched mine away. ‘You’re not crazy, you’re delirious. Let me go. It’s the only sensible course of action.’

  ‘No, it’s not.’

  ‘Yes, it is. Stop doing that.’

  ‘No, it’s not. Why should I?’

  ‘Because . . .’ I had lost my grip on the conversation, not to mention the whole situation. ‘Look – ’

  ‘I can’t I’m busy.’

  ‘They won’t do anything to me,’ I said, giggling insanely. I do that when I’m upset, and his lashes were tickling me. ‘I’ll tell them – ’

  ‘It is not a sensible idea,’ said John, ‘because that may not be the police. And if it isn’t, and if they catch you, I’ll go after you and then we’ll have to repeat the whole tedious performance.’

  ‘Would you?’

  ‘I told you not to ask silly questions. Say it again.’

  ‘I love you.’

  ‘That’s what I thought you said.’ He lifted himself on his elbows, freeing my hands. I wrapped them around the back of his head and drew his face down to mine.

  I was a trifle distracted, however, not only by the unnatural heat of his skin but by a far-off sound. Turning my head I murmured, ‘We’d better stop this.’

  ‘Discretion would seem to suggest a more responsible course of action.’ Instead of moving, he kissed the corner of my mouth. ‘I couldn’t tell you the truth. I couldn’t even let you begin to wonder. They had me so boxed in – ’

  ‘I know. Feisal told me.’

  ‘I must have missed that part. I hope he portrayed me in a favourable light?’

  ‘You came out looking like Sir Galahad and me like something that had crawled out from under a . . . Oh, God. John – ’

  ‘Sorry. Did I hurt you?’

  ‘Yes. Do it again. No! No, don’t, we’ve got to – ’

  ‘I did hurt you – that night, after you danced with Feisal. While you were laughing and giving him languishing glances, she was leaning against my shoulder, watching you, and smiling, and saying things under her breath . . . Schmidt turned up in the nick of time. I couldn’t have kept my hands off her much longer. And then when I saw you – you’d been so cool and indifferent, I thought you didn’t care, and . . . But that doesn’t excuse what I did. Can you – ’

  ‘John,’ I said desperately, ‘isn’t that a dog I hear?’

  ‘Probably. There are dozens of them around and they howl at . . . Oh.’ He lifted his head and listened. ‘You mean a dog, as opposed to dogs in general. Damned if I don’t think you’re right. That puts a different complexion on things. We might elude human searchers but man’s best friend is another matter. I’m beginning to detest the bloody creatures. First that diabolical hound of yours – ’

  ‘Get up this minute!’

  The lights were closer now. Three separate beams – flashlights, I thought. Not the police, then. They’d have more effective equipment, and they’d be making a lot more noise.

  ‘How could they know we’d end up here?’ I demanded.

  ‘Good question.’ John got to his feet. Another outburst of canine commentary floated across the desert, and John echoed it with an outburst of profanity. ‘My brain seems to have crashed. We’d better get into hiding. It may not be necessary, but – ’

  My brain wasn’t working any better than his. It had gone back to basics, driven by the same primitive instincts that move all hunted creatures. ‘Right. Hide. Where?’

  ‘I know a place. I hoped we wouldn’t have to resort to it since I know how you feel about – ’

  ‘Oh, no. Not a tomb. I can’t, John, I really can’t.’

  ‘Not a tomb. We couldn’t get into them anyhow; they’ve all got locked gates. Come on.’

  The surface under our feet cracked and crunched with every step. The shadows through which we moved weren’t dark enough; the rocks between us and the plain weren’t thick enough or hard enough. If John hadn’t kept shoving at me, I might have sat down on the ground and waited in fatalistic acceptance like some poor cornered rabbit. In a way it was worse for me than it would have been for the rabbit. I knew exactly what would happen if we were caught I had seen what Mary could do when she was just amusing herself. She’d be really annoyed by now.

  The face of the cliff was weathered and uneven; I saw a dozen crevices big enough to offer concealment, but every time I headed mindlessly towards one, John pulled me on. I could have handled a nice shallow crevice, no problem. I had a feeling he had something less comfortable in mind. He seemed to know where he was going. How? The question, like a lot of others, ran through my head and out the other side, without hanging around long enough to inspire an answer.

  After passing around a low ridge he headed for one of the openings in the cliff. The moon was down but those impossibly bright stars cast enough light for me to see how dark the opening was. Really dark. Very, very dark. He had to drag me through it. The space beyond was devoid of light but not of sound. Things squeaked and flapped. The blackness moved.

  I flung myself at him, clutching at his shirt. Not such a smart move, that one, but there was a wall behind him; otherwise we’d have both fallen to the ground. His breath went out in a sound that would have been audible a long way off if compressed lips hadn’t contained it. Then his arms closed around me and his mouth brushed my ear.

  ‘Hang on, darling, it’s just a cave and a few miserable bats. Lazy little buggers, they ought to have been out before this.’

  ‘Oh, God,’ I whipered. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I hurt you.’

  ‘No, you didn’t.’ That was a lie if I’d ever heard one, and I had heard plenty of them from John. ‘Listen to me, Vicky. I doubt they know about this place but the dog may be able to lead them here. If that happens, there’s another way out. A tunnel.’

  ‘I can’t – ’

  ‘Yes, you can.’ We had both been whispering; he was barely breathing the words now, his lips against my ear. ‘Rest a minute. Catch your breath.’

  I tried to pull away from him, so my weight wouldn’t press against his chest, but he tightened his grip. His lips moved across my cheek.

  ‘Show me where the tunnel is,’ I murmured.

  ‘In a minute.’

  It seemed to go on longer than a minute. Then he said softly, ‘This way,’ and drew me with him towards the back of the cave. ‘Here. See it?’

  ‘I can’t see a damned thing.’

  ‘Feel it, then.’ He guided my hand.

  ‘Got it. How did you know about this place?’

  ‘There’s an old family . . .’

  He didn’t have to warn me to stop talking. Sound carries a long way in the quiet desert night. The footsteps were still some distance away, but they were coming closer.

  His hand moved to my shoulder. I resisted the pressure. It wasn’t difficult.

  ‘You first,’ I said.

  ‘I’ll follow.’

  Another lie. Adrenaline and a mix of other hormones had
given him a temporary burst of strength, but I doubted he could stand erect without the support of the wall against which he was leaning.

  Sometimes my instincts work better than my so-called brain. The one that gripped me now superseded fear and even self-preservation. My hands were icy-cold but absolutely steady. His were neither. I got the gun out of his pocket while he was still fumbling for my wrist.

  The dog was right outside. I heard its quick, excited panting, then a slither of rock and a muffled expletive. The uneven contours of the entrance brightened.

  I got my finger around the trigger and aimed, bracing my wrist with the other hand.

  The dog let out a sharp, peremptory bark. The man with it cleared his throat.

  ‘Uh – Dr Bliss? Mr Tregarth? Are you there?’

  It wasn’t Max’s voice. It was a voice I had never heard before – slow and hesitant, with a pleasant Southern accent.

  John’s hand closed over mine and pushed my arm down. The voice went on, ‘Uh – I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you, Dr Bliss, but – uh – if you’re there, you, uh – Damn it, Fido, are you sure this is the right place? Stupid dog . . .’

  Fido (Fido?) barked indignantly. ‘Oh, well, then,’ the voice said. ‘I feel like a jackass, but if you say so . . . Uh. You remember me, Mr Tregarth – Keith Kendrick, from UCal? Uh – how are you?’

  I started to laugh.

  ‘Do come in,’ John said. ‘You’ll have to excuse Dr Bliss; she does this sometimes.’

  Giggling maniacally, I shielded my eyes against the brilliance of the light. Behind it was a tall, thin man with sandy hair and an embarrassed smile. The dog at his heels looked like one of the pariah dogs that hang around the villages, but it had a collar and its tail was flailing furiously.

  John cleared his throat. ‘Dr Bliss, may I present Dr Kendrick?’

  ‘Vicky,’ I gasped. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

  ‘Call me Keith.’

  I made an effort and managed to stop laughing. ‘How did you know we were here?’

  ‘He told me, of course. He’s been expecting you.’