He Shall Thunder in the Sky - Elizabeth Peters [188]
“How? Whether you’re right or wrong, the fellow hasn’t made a false move. There’s someone running the show here, even Maxwell admits that, but he’ll never believe it’s one of his pets. We’ve rounded up a few of the underlings, like that Fortescue woman, but none of them had ever spoken personally with him.”
“He must communicate directly with his paymasters, though. Probably by wireless. Obviously he can’t keep the equipment in his quarters. That means he’s got a private hideaway. I think I know where. He takes women there sometimes.”
Russell’s lips tightened. “Where did you get that? Your pederast friend?”
“My friend is more familiar with his habits than Maxwell or you. Your fine upstanding young officer is well known in el Was’a. Maxwell probably wouldn’t believe that either. Allow me to return to the point, please. There’s no use raiding the place, he wouldn’t keep anything there that would incriminate him. I’ll have to catch him in the act. No, don’t interrupt me. The uprising is set for tomorrow or the next day. He’s too fond of his precious skin to stay in Cairo during a riot, so he’ll head for a safe place—possibly the hideaway I mentioned. I’ll follow him.” He cut off Russell’s attempt to speak with a peremptory gesture. “That is why you mustn’t do anything to put him on his guard. You can’t arrest Wardani’s lot without his finding out about it, and then he’ll do something—God knows what—I can never predict what the bastard is likely to do. He might decide to sit tight and make no move at all. He might bolt. Or he might take steps to protect himself by removing potential witnesses.”
“You really hate his guts, don’t you?” Russell said softly.
“My feelings don’t come into it. I’m asking a single favor from you, and I believe I have the right.”
Russell nodded grudgingly. “You don’t have to do this, you know. You’ve done your job.”
Ramses went on as if he had not spoken. “I’ll look for a communication tomorrow morning. If it’s there, I’ll ring you and leave the message about the camel. If you don’t hear from me tomorrow, you’ll know it will be the next day.” He rose to his feet. “We’ve talked long enough. Would you care to call me a few names or slap my face? People have been watching us.”
A reluctant, hastily hidden grin curved Russell’s lips. “I doubt anyone would believe, from our expressions, that this was a friendly conversation. Where is this hideaway?”
Ramses hesitated.
“I won’t move in until I hear from you,” Russell said. “Or until—I haven’t heard from you. In the latter case, I ought to know where to look.”
“For the body? You’ve got a point.”
He described the place and its location. Russell nodded. “Do me one favor. No, make that two.”
“What?”
“Don’t play hero. If he’s our man, we’ll get him sooner or later.”
“And the other favor?”
Russell wet his lips. “Don’t tell your mother!”
Ramses backed away, trying to appear angry and insulted. God forgive him, he had almost burst out laughing at the look of abject horror on Russell’s face.
After he had mounted, he turned Risha, not toward home, but toward the railroad station and the narrow lanes of Boulaq. There was one more appointment he had to keep. He dreaded it even more than he had the other.
The café was a favorite rendezous for a variety of shady characters, including some of the less reputable antiquities dealers and the thieves from whom they obtained their illegal merchandise. It had been a good choice; even if Ramses was recognized—which was more than likely, considering his wide circle of acquaintances in the antiquities game—the assumption would be that he had come on business.
David was there as promised, wearing a tarboosh and a cheap, badly fitting tweed suit and sitting alone at a table. He was unable to conceal a start of surprise when he saw Ramses, and when the latter joined him he said at once, “Mukhtan is here. He’s seen you.”
“It doesn’t matter. You look very neat and respectable,”