He Shall Thunder in the Sky - Elizabeth Peters [150]
“I told you I would know you anywhere, in any disguise.”
“Yes. Touching, isn’t it? I believed you when you told me that, and I have been careful to stay out of your way, though I was unable to resist presenting you with a token of my affection. Are you going to thank me properly?”
The melting look he gave me would have been more effective if I had not known he was laughing at me. “It was a foolish gesture,” I said severely.
“Yes, I suppose it was. A student of psychology like yourself might claim I did it because subconsciously I wanted you to find me. I didn’t anticipate you would follow the young lady—is that what you were doing, or was it a joint venture?—but I knew you instantly, in spite of that hideous wig. It works both ways, you know. The eyes of love—”
“Enough of that.”
“I beg your pardon. So, knowing your inveterate habit of rushing into action without stopping to consider the possible consequences, I fancied you would drop by today. I was all the more certain after I learned, from sources that shall be nameless, that your husband had gone off into the Eastern Desert looking for ruins. Or so he claimed. What’s he after, really?”
I allowed my lips to curve into an ironic smile. “You don’t suppose you can trap me into a damaging admission, do you? There is nothing to admit. Emerson is an archaeologist, not some sort of spy.”
“And your son?”
The expression in those chameleon eyes made a shiver run through me. I concealed my alarm with a little chuckle. “How absurd. Ramses’s views about the war are well known. They must be known to you as well.”
“I know a great deal about that young man. So do others. The individuals in question are in some doubt as to the genuineness of his opinions.”
“Individual, you mean,” I said. “You are referring to yourself, are you not? A man in your vile profession suspects everyone of double-dealing.”
The insult struck home. His face hardened and his form stiffened. “I serve my present employers faithfully. You may not approve my methods, but you are hardly in a position to criticize them.”
“What do you mean?” I cried in terror.
“Why . . . only that you would do the same had you my qualifications. Fortunately, you don’t; but if you did, you would not hesitate to risk not only life but the appearance of honor.”
“I don’t understand.”
But I did understand, and I felt sick with fear and dismay. He was working for the enemy and he was warning me that his “employers,” as he was pleased to call them, were suspicious of Ramses. Those sneering references to the hazarding of life and the appearance of honor described my son’s masquerade only too accurately. Sethos had once promised me that none of those I loved would come to harm through him; the oblique warning was his perverse way of keeping that promise.
I reached into the bag at my feet, and saw him stiffen, his eyes following the movement of my hand, his body taut as a coiled spring, and I knew that I had made a fatal error. I had believed that he was guilty of nothing more despicable than dealing in illegal antiquities, and I had counted upon . . . I felt my cheeks grow warm with shame. Yes, I had counted upon that fondness he claimed to feel for me; I had intended to use it in order to induce him to do my bidding. What a fool I had been! He was worse than a thief, he was a spy and a traitor, and I dared not risk his escaping me now, not when my son’s life might depend on what he knew. I could not overpower him. I could not bind him or handcuff him unless I rendered him unconscious first, and I doubted he would be obliging enough to turn his back so I could strike him senseless. That left the pistol as my only recourse. But what if I missed, or only wounded him with the first shot? I knew his strength and his quickness; anticipating an attack, as he clearly was, he could be upon me before I extracted the weapon and aimed it. Yes, I had been a fool, but I might yet