He Shall Thunder in the Sky - Elizabeth Peters [172]
I slowed down a bit as I passed the spot where I had left Emerson, but there was no sign of anyone, so I did not stop. The motorcar was as conspicuous as a signpost.
From Manuscript H
From the point where he had left the car, the distance was less than two miles. There were paths, since the quarries were still being worked, and intrepid tourists sometimes visited them, usually by donkey from Helwan. The fine white limestone of Tura had provided the shining exterior coating of the pyramids, and faced temples and mastabas for thousands of years. Some of the ancient workings penetrated deep into the heart of the gebel.
All of which made Ramses wonder why this spot had been chosen as a hiding place. It was the most dangerous one yet, the most likely to be discovered by chance. The change in the arrangements was also disturbing. There had been a long interval between this delivery and the last, and this time the Turk had avoided direct contact. It might have been only a precautionary measure on his part; but the time was drawing near and if the man in charge of the operation doubted Wardani’s commitment, this could be a way of testing him—or removing him.
The insects and lizards that infested the cliffs were somnolent now, their body temperature lowered by the cold air. Other animals were on the prowl, hunting and being hunted; he heard the bark of a jackal and a distant rattle of rock under the hooves of an antelope or ibex. Those sounds helped to mask the noises he was making. He had exchanged his boots for sandals, but there was no way of moving in complete silence; bits of bleached bone snapped under his feet and pebbles rolled.
He left the path after a time and made his cautious way down into and up out of a series of small wadis. More pebbles rolled. When he came up out of the last depression he was several hundred feet east of the spot the message had indicated. The brilliant desert stars cast an ethereal ivory light over the white cliffs. Shadows like ink strokes outlined their uneven contours and formed black holes at the entrances of the ancient diggings. He stood still, knowing that immobility served as a kind of camouflage; but his shoulder blades felt naked and exposed and he didn’t relax until a man stepped out of one of the openings and raised an arm to wave him on.
“It’s all right,” David said when Ramses reached him. “Dead quiet. I found the cache.”
He’d come by one of the paths that were used to transport stone down to the river. A small cart and a pair of patient donkeys stood nearby.
“Is it all here?” Ramses asked.
“Don’t know. I didn’t want to start dragging the boxes out till you got here. Give me a hand.”
“Wait a minute.” Somewhere to the south a lovesick dog raised its voice in poignant appeal and Ramses raised his, three words uttered before the howl died away. “Father. Come ahead.”
David let out a strangled expletive. “You didn’t tell me—”
“He didn’t tell me.”
Emerson’s large form was hard to make out until he moved; the white-and-black-striped robe faded into the pattern of moonlit rock and dark shadows. He came toward them with the light quick stride unusual in so heavy a man.
“Curse it,” he remarked calmly. “I thought I made very little noise.”
“It’s impossible not to make some noise. I had a feeling you’d follow me. Where did you leave . . . Please don’t tell me you brought her with you!”
“No, no.” Emerson’s beard split in a grin. It was an incredible beard, covering half his face and reaching to his collarbone. “Don’t worry about your mother. Let’s get the job done.”
With his help the job was done in half the time Ramses had allowed. His skin prickled when he saw how carelessly the load had been hidden; the artificial nature of the cairn of stones covering the hole was dangerously obvious. Flat on his belly, lifting canvas-wrapped