I took the page and stared at the words. It was in Mom's handwriting. Her fluid graceful strokes of cursive always made me wish I had spent more time on my own penmanship. I had rationalized the deficit like most other computer people do . . . penmanship was an archaic, soon-to-be lost art. Now I regretted not spending more time at it. My chicken scratch looked like a doctor's bad writing.
The tips of my fingers touched the elegant lines, tracing each word as though it would magically draw Mom closer. "If Mom had this paper in the lawyer's hands, then you'd better believe she was serious about sharing the money. I'll call him, if for no other reason than to announce the sale."
Fifi frowned. "Where is he?"
"Cairo, Egypt."
"What time is it in that part of the world?"
I turned to the computer, clicked the mouse to open a browser window, and typed in the Google Search box, Time difference between New York and Cairo, Egypt. "Six hours ahead."
"So it's 2:30 p.m. here. That would make it—"
"8:30 p.m. there . . ." I already had the handset, dialing the international code and the number from the paper lying in front of me.
The phone rang, unanswered. Tinny computer tones echoed in my head. I was just about to disconnect.
"Hello." An anxious male voice filled my ear. "Madame Camille, I had misplaced your number. Thank Allah that you contacted me. There is great danger. You must—"
"Umm . . . this isn't Camille. I'm—"
"You are not? Why are you calling me from her store?" The voice went up an octave, displaying palpable fear.
"I'm Camille's daughter, Sloane Templeton. I'm sorry to say, but my mom is dead."
"No . . ." The groan seemed to emanate from the center of the man's soul. "When? How?"
I shivered. Maybe it was the level of anguish in this total stranger or, more likely, that it mimicked my own, unexpressed sorrow. I didn't know if I'd be able to rein it back in once I let it out. "Mom passed away three months ago. It was a heart attack."
"Are you sure?" Ominous words, yet the melodic lilt of his Egyptian accent strangely soothed me.
I pulled back from the phone and stared at it.
Fifi made a face. "What's the matter?"
I waved her off, and put the receiver back to my ear. "What kind of question was that?"
"A very important one, Ms. Templeton. Many deaths have been attributed to the book. I have been in hiding because of just such a threat."
"My mom died of a heart attack." Speaking the words solidified the premise in my consciousness.
Concern rippled across Fifi's face. She sat forward and clutched at the receiver trying to get her ear near the phone to hear the other end of the conversation.
I tipped the receiver so we could both hear. "But if she hadn't, where would this threat have come from, and why?"
"Dr. Carlton Mabry and Dr. Lucius Barlow."
Fifi whacked me in the arm and pointed her finger while mouthing the words. "I told you so."
"If you don't mind me being blunt, how do you know my mom?"
"Your mother . . . a very lovely woman . . . was a friend of my father's. She helped him out of a difficult situation with an antique book four years ago, and on his deathbed, Father made me swear to pay back his debt to her. I happened to be privy to the location and renewed interest in Histoire de la Magie and, at the time, thought it would be an excellent way of repaying my father's debt. But I erred in my judgment, not realizing the danger involved."
"Are you telling me that leading my mom to buy a book ultimately worth twenty or thirty thousand dollars paid back a debt of your father's? What kind of debt was worth that much money?"
"Twenty or thirty thousand dollars?" Bakari Ahmed's voice ticked up another octave. "Ms. Templeton, your mother paid twenty thousand dollars to buy the book. Histoire de la Magie is easily worth one million dollars, if not more."
My jaw dropped and Fifi's eyes bugged as we stared at each other. We scrambled to get both our ears closer to the receiver.
"Come on. You're telling me that you turned my mom onto a book that was worth a million dollars? Why not keep it for yourself?"
"Because the deal that your mother saved for my father was also worth the same."
I stared at the surface of the desk. Processing that many zeroes drained my fragile mental resources, but I had Fifi as a witness. Those were his exact words . . . one million dollars. This wasn't a dream. What had Mom gotten into?
A clicking sounded in the receiver several times then stopped.
"Ms. Templeton? Are you still there?"
I inhaled and puffed out a deep breath of air. "Yes . . . I'm still here. How do Barlow and Mabry play into this situation?"
"I was the chief pit crew boss on their Giza dig last year."
"Their dig? As in together? I thought they were rivals." I rubbed my brow.
A rustling sounded in the receiver. I looked at Fifi . She shrugged her shoulders.
Loud voices. Indistinguishable words. A sharp crack. A scream.
The phone went dead.
"Bakari? Hello? Are you there?" Dead air space. I looked at the phone for a moment before clicking the off button and returning the receiver to its docking cradle.
"Where'd he go?" Fifi sat on the edge of the desk.
"I don't know. You heard exactly what I did."
"He said those two guys were on the same dig. If they're partners, what's going on here?"
I tapped the point of a pencil against the desk blotter so fast that the tip snapped off. "I want to know why he would question Mom's death."
30
WHEN THE PHONE RANG AGAIN, FIFI AND I SCRAMBLED TO GRAB THE receiver. I snatched it first. "Hello. Bakari?"
"Ms. Templeton." The weak voice whispered in a raspy tone. "There's not much time left. I have been shot."
I stiffened. "Shot! Where are the authorities? Are there police?"
A gasp, and then a moan. "No, help now. Please . . . listen." A gurgling sound. "They triangulated my cell phone to find me. . . . I have neutralized my assailant. . . . As long as you have the book in your possession, you are in danger."
"I'll call the police, or Interpol, or something. Where can they find you?" My eyes misted. This man was dying in my ear.
He ignored my plea. "You must listen to me!" Gag, cough. "There are three ciphers."
"Bakari, stop talking about the stupid book. Please, where are you?" I pushed back on the chair and paced. "Let me get you help."
His voice grew tired. "My time is done. My path is to my reward with Allah."
"Tell me who did this!" I screamed.
My glance darted around the store. Several customers looked up from their reading. And one stopped in mid-sip at the coffee bar, but Barbara continued typing at a furious pace, her eyes trained on her monitor. I motioned them that it was all right.
"A letter that will come to you from my successor."
"What? Why?"
"The . . . the secrets . . . the Sphinx and Orion . . ." He gurgled a wet cough.
"What? What are you talking about?"
A clunk.
"Bakari . . . Bakari?" No sounds. Just quiet, hollow airspace. "Bakari?"
I shoved the phone at Fifi , who fumbled to grab the receiver.
Fifi pulled the receiver to her ear. "The call hasn't disconnected. I hear labored breathing." She held out the phone to me. "Listen . . ."
I snatched the phone and pressed it to my ear. A cough . . . a moan. I shoved the phone into Fifi's hand and pulled the keyboard in front of me. A few clicks and the Skype call began to ring.
Trotter's grinning face flashed on the screen. "Helloooo, Warrior Princess. Greetings from the Big App—"
"Trotter, no time." I leaned into the monitor as though close proximity would telegraph the urgency. "My store landline is connected to a cell phone in Egypt. I need to know where in Egypt."
"LOL, girlfriend, are we chasing the brute that gave you that shiner?" He reached forward and touche
d the screen from his side as though he could connect with my black eye.
I consciously tilted my head to the left, flopping braids over my right eye. "This is an emergency, man, stop screwing around. There's a guy dying on the other end of my phone."
Trotter's face registered the emergency. He retracted his finger and expertly tapped out commands on his keyboard. "Does the store still have the same number?"
"Yes."
Trotter grinned. "Girlfriend, you don't have an iPhone." He clucked a scold. "You are falling behind the rest of the modern world. I knew letting you go back across the river was a mistake."
"Trotter, not now!"
He rolled his eyes. "I can find the phone within five feet of its location but to do anything about it you'll need the police."
I moaned. I hadn't thought of the next step. "You have the maps. Find a nearby police station."
Fifi grabbed my arm. "A police station? Don't you watch the news? You're talking about Egypt. That's going to be next to impossible."
I jerked away from her grasp. "What's wrong with you? A man is dying." I looked back at Trotter.
He flicked another piece of equipment on and chuckled. "My princess, the country of Egypt . . ." He reached out of sight and then came back. ". . . is not like small-town USA. You'll be lucky if you can get the police to answer the phone, let alone actually go on a wild goose chase caused by a hysterical American woman."
"I'm not hysterical." I glared at Fifi , then sat back. Maybe it did look that way. "What else can I do?"
"Okay, I'm triangulating. If the signal lasts, we may catch a break." He watched the screen intently. "What can you do? Hmm, good question . . ." His voice trailed off as he concentrated. "Interpol. You need Interpol." He cursed under his breath. "The signal is being overrun." He tweaked more settings.
Fifi touched my arm. "That's the International Police. Sloane, these are obviously dangerous people. What if they come after us?"
"They may have already done that." A shiver waved across my chest. I replayed the day I found Mom's still-warm body. My shoulders slumped. I leaned into the monitor again. "How do I call Interpol?"
"You don't." Fifi and I whirled from the computer to face the male voice. "I do."
Detective Griffen Justice approached the counter with his hands shoved in his pockets and a quizzical expression on his face. We were so involved that I didn't even hear the bell.
"Who said that?" asked Trotter.
I turned back to the screen. Trotter craned his head as though he could look around the corner.
"Hold on." I held up a hand and swung back to Justice. "What do you mean, you can get Interpol?"
His hands slid from his pockets as he moved around the counter to stand at my side. "I'm sorry that I eavesdropped on your conversation. I have contacts at the U.N. Now, why do you need Interpol?"
Fifi jumped up, propelling herself toward us. "Detective, please tell her not to get involved." She held out the quiet phone. "There's a man on the other end of this phone, in Egypt, who is probably dying because he's been shot."
A frown creased Justice's face. He accepted the phone and pushed the receiver to his ear. "Hello? Can anyone hear me?"
"I think he may be dead. He hasn't said anything for several minutes." I leaned over on the desk, resting my forehead on my hand, partly out of frustration, partially to keep my right eye from Justice. I watched Trotter working on the screen.
The bell on the front door jingled.
I glanced over my left shoulder and leaned back to look around Justice. My spirits sank further. Andreas.
He strolled through the sun-emblazoned doorway, casting an impressive silhouette of darkness.
Normally I would have been thrilled as all get-out to see him, but hiding my aches, pains, and black eye felt awfully labor intensive.
Andreas peeled off his sunglasses as he reached the counter. He glared at Detective Justice standing next to me, and moved around the counter to join the group. Please don't let this turn into a testosterone battle of wills, Jesus.
Justice shook his head and handed the phone back to Fifi . "I don't hear any movement. Give me a rundown of what's going on here." He glanced at Andreas, standing next to him. "I'm sorry, can I help you with something?"
Andreas lifted his chin.
Fifi laid the receiver on the desk beside me and moved to the other end of the counter to wait on a customer carrying an armload of books.
"Detective Justice, this is Dr. Andreas Comino." I tried not to expose the right half of my face. "Dr. Comino is . . ." Auh breeze! My brain vapor locked. What do I call him? " . . . my significant other."
Justice nodded.
Was that mouth twitch a frown?
Andreas returned the nod and stepped around Justice, approached my side, and began to massage my neck. I winced under the touch. Sore muscles screamed at the pressure. But I snickered at the obvious machismo display of Andreas marking his territory in front of the detective. My Greek had a little bit of a jealous streak going on. I'd never noticed that before. With a careful head movement, I smiled up at him and leaned into his hand, while inwardly the massaging fingers tortured my painful neck muscles.
"My mom's papers contained a legal document that gave a portion of the proceeds from the sale of a particular book to a gentleman in Egypt." I held out the paper to Justice and tried not to grimace from the pain radiating up my side and into my shoulder. "We were talking on the phone. He was attacked, and now I think he is dead."
"Holla!"
At Trotter's victory cry, I moved attention back to the screen. "Give it to me."
Trotter leaned into the screen and grinned. "Dude . . . it looks like it's gettin' kinda busy over there with you. Are you having a party without me?"
I didn't return the playful banter. "Not now, Trotter. The location please."
The smile melted from his face. "Sorry, Warrior Princess. The location is four-point-two miles southwest from the Cairo city limits. An access road dead-ends at a warehouse. Infrared imaging shows him in the northeast corner of the building. Here's the GPS coordinates."
A file scrolled in a pop-up on the left side of the screen.
"How do you have infrared capabilities?" Justice leaned down to the screen and jotted several notations from the short file."I just borrowed a feed from—"
"Five-oh, Trotter, five-oh." I scrunched up my face and raised my right hand in a cut-throat motion to my right where Justice couldn't see.
Trotter grinned broadly, exposing perfectly white teeth. "Girlfriend, you playin' with the po-po. Well, if that don't beat all."
I slapped my head into my hand. Great. On top of all the other problems, now pilfering government services could be added to the list.
Justice straightened up from the screen and nodded at me after making his last notation. "We'll talk about this later." A slight grin creased his face.
Something in his tone suggested maybe jail wasn't in the offing after all. I tried to read his body language as he exited from behind the counter. He flipped open his cell phone and turned his back to the assembled group.
I glanced up at Andreas, and did a double take. He was staring at me intently. His jaw set in a grimace. Okay, so maybe it wasn't jealousy, but that looked like it could be irritation.
The right side of his mouth slid up, dimpling his cheek. Was that a smirk? No. It had to be a smile. Right?
"You're awfully quiet, hon. Something wrong?" I lifted my chin to look into his eyes, still careful to keep my swollen eye from his view.
Andreas rubbed the back of my shoulder. "I had just hoped to get a little time with you alone. But that's all right. I'm content to watch and absorb."
31
WE'RE IN LUCK." JUSTICE TURNED BACK TO THE GROUP AS HE SNAPPED his cell shut. "There's a field team, less than five miles away, in Cairo. They have what you'd essentially consider an EMT team that can be deployed with the operation. They're on the way."
I let out a sigh. Maybe they w
ould find Bakari alive, just unconscious.
"Hello, remember me?"
I swiveled toward the computer screen. "I'm sorry, Trotter. Help is on the way."
"Good . . . then I'm outta here before your po-po decides to . . . ," Trotter wiggled a finger toward Justice and whispered, ". . . ask me for ID."
The screen went blank.
I swiveled toward Fifi . The feisty redhead, uncharacteristically quiet, sat on the edge of the desk beside me.
"What's the matter? I'm not used to you not having anything to say."
"I missed most of the conversation waiting on a customer. But if I remember correctly the last thing I said was, 'Don't get involved.' I swanney! Sugah, you've disregarded all my advice so far. So what more is there to say? This can't lead to nothin' but more danger. This situation has more stink than a chitlin'." Fifi shrugged, and dropped her hands into her lap.
"More danger? What is she talking about?" Andreas swung my chair to face him.
I looked up at him, trying to think of a way to explain. In that instant, I realized he could see my right eye, and so could Justice. Auh breeze! Caught!
"Honey, what happened to your face?" Andreas cupped his hand under my chin and tilted it up for a better look.
My eyes darted between Andreas and Justice as I searched for an excuse.
"Books! We were adding inventory to one of the higher shelves, and wouldn't you know? It dislodged several big ol' moldy volumes and they hit her right in the face." Fifi said as she turned my chair, pulling my face from Andreas's grasp.
I breathed a sigh of relief at the perfect excuse. Why didn't I think of that? Jesus forgive me. I'm going to rot in hell for lying. I just can't tell the two of them about Trey. "Yes, well, you know me! Just so clumsy sometimes. Fifi even warned me to be careful too."
"Yes sirree, Bob, this sweet li'l heifer never pays any attention to me." Fifi slid her arm around my shoulder and pulled me close, and away from Andreas's stony gaze.
Cooking the Books: A Sloane Templeton Novel (2012) Page 19
