He Shall Thunder in the Sky - Elizabeth Peters [138]
“Oh, good Lord. What’s he supposed to be, one of those slimy terrassiers who prey on foreign women?”
“There is a question,” said Emerson reflectively, “of who preys on whom. The ladies are under no compulsion. Anyhow, they will all enjoy themselves a great deal, and it served to get Nefret out of the way so that we can have a private conversation. Pull up a chair.”
He opened the paper he had been looking at, and spread it out on the table. It was a map of the Sinai and the Eastern Desert.
“If you could find out how the weapons are being brought in and catch the people who are bringing them, that would put an end to this business of yours, wouldn’t it?”
“Possibly. It would take them a while to find alternate routes, but—”
“They don’t have that much time.” Emerson took out his pipe. “There will be an attack on the Canal within a few weeks. There are reports of troop movements in Syria, toward Ajua and Kosseima on the Egyptian frontier. Those complacent idiots in Cairo have decided against defending the border; they think the Turks can’t cross the Sinai. I think they are wrong. The same complacent idiots have concentrated our forces on the west of the Canal; the few defense posts on the east bank could be taken by a determined goatherd.
“Now, look here.” The stem of his pipe stabbed at the long dotted line that marked De Lesseps’s great achievement. “Our people have cut the Canal bank and flooded the desert to the north for almost twenty miles. That still leaves over sixty miles to be defended. Boats are patrolling the Bitter Lakes, but the rest of it is guarded by a few trenches and a bunch of Lancashire cotton farmers.”
“There’s also the Egyptian artillery and two Indian infantry divisions.”
“All of whom are Moslems. What if they respond to the call for jihad?”
“They aren’t that keen on the Turks.”
“Let us hope not. In any case, there aren’t enough of them. There are over a hundred thousand of the enemy based near Beersheba.”
“I won’t ask how you found that out.”
“It is common knowledge. Too common. I’d be willing to wager the Turkish High Command knows as much about our defenses as we do. Insofar as your little problem is concerned, transporting arms across the Sinai to the Canal or the Gulf of Suez would not present much difficulty. The question is: how are they getting the arms from there to Cairo? You know the terrain of the Eastern Desert. How well do you know it?”
“Well enough to know that there are only a few practical routes between Cairo and the Canal.” Ramses leaned closer to the map. “The northern routes are the ones we use, and there is a good deal of traffic along them, by road and rail. Aside from the problem of crossing the Bitter Lakes with gunboats patrolling them, the terrain south of Ismailia is difficult for camels or carts. It’s not a sand desert, it’s hilly and rocky, broken by wadis. Some of the mountains are six thousand feet high.”
“So?” Emerson inquired, like a patient teacher encouraging a slow child. At least that was how it sounded to his son.
“So the most obvious route is this one.” He indicated a dotted line that ran straight from Cairo to Suez. “The old caravan and pilgrim trail to Mecca. It’s also the most direct route.”
“I agree. Why don’t we go out tomorrow and have a look?”
“Are you serious?”
“Certainly.” The strong line of Emerson’s jaw hardened. “Sooner or later they will have to inform you of the precise date of their attack, so you can time your little revolution to coincide, but if they have the sense I give them credit for, they’ll wait until the last possible moment. I want you and David out of this, Ramses. It—er—it worries your mother.”
“I’m not especially happy about it either,” Ramses said. “Your idea is worth a try, I suppose.”
Ramses was