He Shall Thunder in the Sky - Elizabeth Peters [93]
“That would be unwise as well as unnecessary,” I replied. “I can tell you what needs to be done.”
We came to a stop some distance from the ropemen and an even greater distance from the watching tourists. I proceeded to explain the situation to Mr. Russell. He tried once or twice to interrupt me, but I never allow that sort of thing and finally he pursed his lips in a silent whistle.
“What makes him believe Farouk is a spy?”
“Goodness gracious,” I said impatiently. “I have already gone over his—our—reasoning on that subject. Let us not waste time, Mr. Russell. I want that man locked up. He has tried once to kill my son; I don’t intend to give him another chance. If you won’t deal with him, I will do it myself.”
“I believe you would at that,” Russell muttered. “All right, Mrs. Emerson, your—er—reasoning has convinced me. It can’t do any harm and it might lead to something.”
“How soon can you act?”
Russell took out his handkerchief and wiped the perspiration from his face. “It will take a while to make the arrangements. Tomorrow, perhaps.”
“That won’t do. It must be sooner.”
Russell’s erect, military carriage slumped. “Mrs. Emerson, you don’t understand the difficulties. I have already been called on the carpet by my chief for failing to inform him of certain of my activities. I am trying to think of a way of doing what you want without informing him.”
“And thereby, Mr. Philippides.”
“Yes, he’s the rub, all right.” Russell’s lips tightened into a firm line. “I’ve got my eye on him, and someday I’ll catch the—er—fellow in flagrante. Until then, the less he knows, the better.”
“Is that why you have not kept the shop under surveillance? It would seem to me—”
“And to me, I assure you. It is a matter of manpower, Mrs. Emerson. I don’t have enough men I can trust to act on my orders and keep their mouths shut, and I gave Ramses my word I would not involve any of the other services.”
“The General knows, does he not?”
“Yes, of course; he had to be informed. It’s that motley lot of Clayton’s that concerns me; Clayton is a good man, none better, but he’s trying to cobble together a working organization out of a scrapbag of his former commands and that collection of intellectuals.”
“Surely you don’t doubt the loyalty of men like Woolley and Lawrence?” I exclaimed.
“None of them have any practical experience in criminal investigation. That’s what is wanted for effective counterintelligence, and the entire table of organization is in such disarray—”
“Well, Mr. Russell, I am sorry about all that, but I really haven’t time to listen to your troubles. The raid must be tonight. Delay could be fatal. Come along now. The sooner you get to work on this, the sooner you can act.”
Russell allowed himself to be led back toward his camel. He appeared a trifle dazed, but perhaps he was only thinking hard. After a moment he said, “Does the Professor know of this?”
“Not yet. I do not like to distract him when he is engaged in important archaeological activities. But I feel certain he will wish to come with us.”
Russell stopped and dug his heels into the sand. “Now just a damned minute, Mrs. Emerson! Confound it, I apologize for my language, but you are really the most—”
“You are not the first person to tell me that,” I said with a smile. “Ah, here is your nice camel all ready and waiting.”
Russell took the reins from Ramses and, for the first time, looked him squarely in the eyes. Ramses nodded. It was sufficient confirmation of what I had said, and in my opinion Russell ought not have risked further conversation, but he appeared a trifle confused. It might have been the hot sun.
“She intends to be there,” he said in an agitated whisper. “Can you—”
“I can try.” The corners of Ramses’s mouth twitched. “When?”
Russell looked at me and mopped his forehead. “Tonight.”
“Excellent,” I said audibly. “Now do run along, Mr. Russell; I must get back to work.”
He obeyed, of course. Ramses squared his shoulders, cleared his throat, and said,