I peeked at Mustafa while taking another bite of my spherical hockey puck. As I suspected, he was listening intently to Habib.
“Are they going to have their way with us?” Fiona asked clutching her journal to her chest.
I elbowed her. She took my hint and tucked her book under her butt. Erotica for Dummies was going to have to wait.
“Absolutely not. We are professionals and you are here as a result of miscommunications. You will be treated with the utmost respect till you are released unharmed.”
I lowered my voice to a non-whisper whisper and hid my mouth behind the meatball. “What about Roger? Is he okay?”
Habib shifted backwards a foot or so into the darkness and spoke in a barely audible tone. “You have feelings for this man who pretends to be your husband?”
“He’s my partner,” I said just as quietly.
“As I told you, the Egyptian Government wants Cleopatra’s tomb secured once it’s discovered. My job is to protect Doctor Jolley until then. After that, I will break cover and be responsible for the security of the tomb. I will try to have someone assigned to protect your group but with all the demonstrations sapping our resources, it might not be possible.” There was a note of concern in his voice.
I shivered. I was sure it wouldn’t be possible. The welfare of a few foreigners would be far down the priority list considering the turmoil the country was experiencing.
Habib eased forward a bit. The firelight reflected off his handsome face. I felt a flush and it wasn’t from the heat of the fire. I had an inexplicable connection with him. In that instant I was positive he had been straight with me and would do all he could to help us get home safely. I also knew from the look on his face that he didn’t think the government would provide protection for us.
He shook the worried look off and smiled. “Tell me, how will the famous Roger Jolley locate the tomb, besides having the Osiris half of the medallion?”
“I can’t betray Roger. His plan must remain a secret even though you’re trying to protect him.”
“It will be easier to protect him if I know what method he’ll be using.”
“Aside from his brilliant brain, he has nothing with him that will aid his quest.” That was the truth. The MUDD was safely in my purse, which sat in my lap, which was too darn close to Habib’s lap. I loosened my jacket. Boy it was getting hot.
The Dark Forcemen were finishing their meals and passing a bottle of vodka around, most of them looking our way.
Habib locked eyes with me. “You must leave before morning. I don’t know what the Dark Forcemen might do. Some of them are saying you have no hostage value and should be disposed of. I have a plan.”
He refilled our teacups. “Camel’s milk to aid your digestion and help you sleep until your escape,” Habib said. He clinked his cup with ours and chugged his camel’s milk nightcap.
I didn’t know if the milk was drugged or fatigue caught up with me but I got woozy and my lips got rubbery.
Habib walked us back to our tent followed by two of the Forcemen to stand guard. I fell asleep instantly but not before I heard a snore from Fiona.
Sometime during the night I had a disturbing dream, foggy but realistic. I tried to wake up to stop it but I was too groggy. I heard several people arguing in Russian. One of the voices sounded like Habib. My last memory of the dream was thinking about how weird it was to dream in Russian.
Chapter Twenty-one
I brushed the sand out of my eyes and greeted the morning sun sneaking through the seams in the tent. What tent? It took a second to remember where I was.
Fiona was snoring lightly. I turned my head away from her and came face-to face with maggots. Slithering, squiggling, disgusting maggots rooting over and under one another! No heads, just hungry mouths. Crawling over a body lying next to me.
I jumped to my feet, brushing my clothing frantically in case some had gotten on me. I looked at the corpse again, covered my mouth, and gagged but didn’t toss my cookies. I stuck my head outside the tent flap and took several deep breaths. It smelled a whole lot better out here. I must have been really exhausted to sleep through that smell.
Two Dark Forcemen guards motioned me inside with the barrels of their AK-47s, always a persuasive direction giver, much more effective than an arrow. I turned my head toward Habib’s tent. The flaps were closed. Where was Habib? He promised to get us out of here before daylight. I said, “Habib?” They looked at each other then back at me. The AK-47 movement became more vigorous so I took the hint and retreated.
The corpse looked slightly familiar, possibly would have looked more familiar if he wasn’t dead and in an early stage of decomposition. Damn! I hate waking up with a wormy dead stranger.
Eureka! It hit me like an ashtray to the face. Maggot-man was the assassin from the hotel balcony. My first kill. Who re-gifted him to me? They didn’t have to go to the trouble. A simple congratulations card would have been plenty.
I put my hand over Fiona’s mouth hoping to wake her without a scream. Her eyes were giant green orbs over the edge of my palm. She kicked her tiny boots, twisted free from my grip, and scrambled to her feet. She glanced at the body. I was relieved she appeared to be handling the situation with poise.
She brushed her outfit, turned toward the corpse again, and started sucking in air for what I knew was going to be the scream that rocked my world. I clamped my hand over her mouth. “Don’t make a sound. We don’t want the guards to rush in.”
The guards had to know the body was here, probably dumped it themselves. But after Habib’s warning, I didn’t want them thinking about us. Out of sight, out of mind; or maybe I was out of my mind. “Don’t panic. I’ll get us out of here.”
Brave words, but I had no idea how to accomplish that. And where the hell were we? And how would we find our caravan? Hmph. The word caravan took on a whole new meaning. It was no longer a gaggle of real estate agents visiting new listings.
The tent flap opened. I covered my face. I was sure the guards were coming in to kill us. I spread my fingers and peeked. Petri entered wearing a white robe with the hood up over his head. He put his finger to his lips, sniffed, and saw the corpse. He turned a peculiar shade of yellow. I stepped next to him in case he passed out.
He shook himself. “Not to worry. I have seen worse.” He looked away rubbing his palms on his robe. “Please Miss Wendy, lay down on that rug. I will roll you up.”
“Wait! How’s Roger?” I asked.
“Shhh! My Arabic is weak. I convinced one of those imbecile guards I am here to pick up carpets to be cleaned. However, I may have asked him to marry me. I am not sure.”
“The guards are Russian.”
“That explains why his Arabic was worse than mine. Let us hasten!”
I lay down with hands at my sides, knowing exactly what he wanted. The old rollup and carry out escape. It worked for me.
Petri guided Fiona onto a vivid green rug in the corner of the tent.
“This is so exciting. Just like Cleopatra sneaking in to meet Julius Caesar.” She stroked the carpet. “I like my carpet. It matches my eyes.” She got down and tucked her arms over her stomach.
As he walked back to me, I focused on his Niles Crane build. “Petri are you going to be able to carry us out of here?”
He puffed up his chest. “In my youth I was an Olympic power lifter for my country.”
Oookaay.
He rolled me up like an egg roll.
I tilted my head up to create a vent and sucked in a nose-full of sand and dust.
Petri spoke softly as I heard him wrapping Fiona, “We cannot leave virgins lying around the desert.”
Surely he didn’t mean me.
“We can’t chance two trips so I will carry one of you over each shoulder, face down so you can bend like a rug. Please do not wiggle. If I fall, the game is over.”
He grunted as he worked us onto his slender shoulders. He walked out into the sunshine whistling as if his load was ligh
t. I almost grunted when he flopped me on what felt like his camel saddle. I heard a thud and felt the camel sidestep. I took that to mean Fiona was on board. Now if only she didn’t scream.
The saddle squeaked as our rescuer mounted. Petri said goodbye in Arabic to our guards and we jostled out of the camp. I felt myself slipping out of my cannoli wrapper and dug my fingernails into the carpet to hang on.
I couldn’t see, hear, or speak. All I could do was think and worry about Roger and Habib. What happened to Habib? He was going to spring us during the night. The strange dream in Russian replayed. Maybe it wasn’t a dream.
The camel shuffled to a stop. Petri offloaded Fiona. I heard her umph as he unrolled her. He tugged my carpet cocoon down to the sand and spun me loose. I caught a glimpse of a sign on the camel’s rump. Abdul’s Carpet Cleaning.
He removed his white robe and brushed an invisible speck from his immaculate white suit. “There you go, ladies. Have a good stretch. We’re clear of the mercenaries.”
“Oh, Mister Petri. You are my hero!” Fiona exclaimed throwing her arms around his neck.
“My pleasure, mademoiselle. I would gladly kill for you.”
“How did you find us?” I asked.
He smiled, definitely twinkling at Fiona. “I was in the French Foreign Legion. I have a dozen badges in tracking and body recovery. Not that I thought for one minute I would find your bodies. I mean…” He blushed over and above his sunburn.
I waggled his arm. “Please tell me. Is Roger okay?”
“He was unconscious when last I saw him. They returned to the oasis where Ms. Bone is tending to him.”
Bad news and worse news.
The Frenchman had canteens for Fiona and me. We guzzled like we’d been wrapped up in carpets in a burning desert. When we had rehydrated, we mounted the camel, sloshing like barrels of water. The lady in charge of erotica sat in front of Petri while I took the backseat.
Fiona pressed back against him. I cringed. What was she thinking? Please don’t distract the driver.
“Now to find that oasis,” Petri croaked.
Chapter Twenty-two
A killer headache started over my eyes and worked its way to the center of my forehead. Although I longed to massage the space between my brows, I was afraid to let go of Petri’s back. I’d come to appreciate Fiona’s camel-riding position. Well, maybe not in the way she was appreciating it. If she wiggled one more time, I was going to reach around Petri and smack the side of her head, pith helmet and all.
Cautiously I visored one hand over my polarized sunglasses to further cut the glare. I saw what could have been the outline of a pack of dromedaries distorted by the waves of heat rising off the sand.
A hundred yards later Petri said, “I see them! Straight ahead!”
He hut-hutted our mount and raced toward the silhouettes gathered under a cluster of date palms.
As we got closer, I thought I saw Roger sitting on one of the camels. Then I was sure of it. Petri blocked Roger’s line-of-sight to me. When we were almost there, I leaned to the side, beyond Petri’s shoulder, and waved.
Roger jumped from his camel and dashed toward me in a two-left-shoe limp. I leaped to the sand and gimped to my guy favoring my sneaker-footed left.
We stumbled into each other, our powerful hug keeping us upright. After we stabilized I pushed him away to checkout the damage. He had a purple knot on his temple and a slightly spacey… not Kevin… look in his eyes.
I tucked into his shoulder and held on tight. “Thank you, thank you, thank you for being alive and well. I was so worried. That was worse than anything that happened to me. Not knowing if you were okay.”
This time Roger pushed me away. He eyeballed me from head to toe. “Are you okay? Were you in danger? What happened?”
Darcy bumped her camel against my shoulder then swung off it, landing with a whump that could be heard in Chicago. She threw her arm around Roger and knocked me out of first position. “I took real good care of my dear Roger. Just like during our Amazon adventure. Remember that, baby cakes?”
I had enough of the Bone of contention with her French manicures, and chilled Dom, and horning in on Roger. I’d gone through fear and hardships and narrowly escaped death. I was worried sick about Roger and she was treating this like prom night. I wasn’t in a mood to be messed with. I snatched a machine gun from the scabbard of one of the Ishtar’s camels.
Darcy’s eyes sprung open wider than I would have believed possible. She shrieked, “No, no, don’t pull that trigger. You’ll –”
My mind and self-control were gone. I pulled the trigger and hosed her down, literally. It was a Super Soaker water gun. The translucent blue plastic should have given me a clue.
Darcy finished her sentence. “– ruin my hairdo.”
It was a bit drippy, I was happy to admit.
I turned to the Ishtar. He held his hands up in a helpless gesture. “The Camapoos, they like to be spritzed. But don’t spray the camels. They hate it and will spit on you.”
Perfect. I sprayed Darcy’s camel and ducked. The brown goop nailed Darcy right between her robed silicone mounds. She ran screaming toward the watering hole with a band of Ishtars chasing her, carrying everything from Dom to steaming towels.
I blew into the barrel of the soaker in the time-tested manner of gunslingers everywhere. “Now we can talk.”
Roger asked no questions while I told him everything about the kidnapping, the Russians’ plans, my high school ring, and Habib, not exactly everything about Habib, just the pertinent parts.
When I finished, he said, “You spent the night with the guy that has your high school ring?”
That cut straight to the heart of the matter. Never mind the minor points like the attempt on his life or Habib’s protection ending when we find the tomb or the plans to kill us.
I squinted at him. “Are you jealous?”
“No, I’m not jealous, merely concerned about the ramifications of your so-called friendship with this Habib guy.”
“You’re jealous.”
“You’re the one who’s jealous. You just tried to machine-gun Darcy.”
“I did not. I knew it was a water gun.”
“Hah, not until–”
“Fight nice, children.”
I whipped a one-eighty and was face-to-face with Darcy Bone, obviously pleased that Roger and I were having a little tiff. But the worst part was she looked like she stepped out of a spa. She wore sparkling clean robes and her hair, nails, and makeup were perfect. Could I pull off the squirt-the-camel-in-the-face trick again?
She patted Roger on the cheek. “Now that you’re conscious and your secretary is back…” She paused and flicked her fingers at Petri and Fiona, who were sitting on Petri’s camel, “…as are those two, whatever they might be, don’t you think we should move on to Taporisis so we can find Cleopatra’s Tomb and fame and fortune?”
Roger’s jaw clenched but he controlled himself. “Remember, Darcy, you are getting to go along for the ride because of the camels. You are not part of the search team.”
“Of course, Roger darling, how could I forget? I’m sure your secretary has it in her minutes.”
I was searching for something to bean her with but Roger gave me a don’t-even-think-about-it face and I backed off.
“Mount up!” Roger bellowed. He cut his eyes at me. “I’ve always wanted to say that too.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Roger Jolley, Mister Mount Up, led our group. I had trouble thinking of it as a caravan. There wasn’t a beachfront condo or McMansion in sight. How could it be a caravan if we weren’t going to tout real estate? And I was still ticked at our fearless leader, perhaps brainless leader considering his association with Darcy, for accusing me of being jealous. I didn’t have a jealous bone in my body. Okay, maybe one.
Lardo, excuse me, Darcy, and the biological Ishtars followed Roger. Behind them, the Ishtars with the champagne and hot towels and other roughing it gear. Riding
on the rumble seat of a carpet cleaning camel and bringing up the rear was a humbling experience. I didn’t have to see Darcy’s face to know she was gloating. I can smell a gloat a mile away.
Our expedition traveled a desert road with spikey bushes and palm trees on both sides. The sky was blue, the sun hot, and the sand… well… sandy. We entered the outskirts of Abusir. From my vantage point on the back of Petri’s camel, I had a clear view of two and three-story apartment buildings where wash hung from the windows and children played on dirt streets.
The modern landscape was mixed with old mud-brick huts. The village also contained remains of a public bath and dwellings that went back to the time of the pharaohs.
The burn on my chest from the Mark Antony-Osiris half of the medallion began to sting like a half-million fire ants. With my layers of clothes I couldn’t get at it, not that I had a solution for the pain, which worsened as we neared Taporisis, increasing to a million fire ants. Plastered up against Petri I couldn’t dare to rub it.
I tapped him on the shoulder with my chin. “Stop the camel. I want to get off.”
“I don’t think it is wise to separate from the others.”
Before I could tell him what I thought of his opinion, the camel stopped and knelt so I could dismount easily. Huh? I wasn’t going to look a gift camel in the mouth. I jumped off and peeked inside my jacket afraid of what I might see. I was distracted by the cat rubbing my ankles.
Like Charlie Brown kicking the football, I bit again and lifted my skirt. No cat but I might have to get estimates for my next leg waxing. Was I having some kind of mental breakdown? Then I noticed the pain was gone, not completely but down to a tolerable level, akin to a pizza cheese burn on the roof of my mouth. I couldn’t think of a psychosis that involved cats, fire ants, and pizza so I shrugged it off.
Barbara Silkstone - Wendy Darlin 03 - Cairo Caper Page 10