Night Train to Memphis - Elizabeth Peters [102]
‘Now you are thinking,’ Schmidt said approvingly. He leaned forward and addressed the driver.
‘I did’t know you spoke Arabic’
‘I speak all languages.’ Schmidt twirled his moustache. ‘My Arabic is not good, however. Only a few phrases.’
Following – I assumed – Schmidt’s instructions, the cab stopped at one of the street markets, and Schmidt hopped out. He returned with an armful of souvenirs, including a new bag. This one was black, with the head of Nefertiti on one side and rows of hieroglyphs on the other. A good half of the souvenirs sold in Egypt have Nefertiti on them.
‘Now where?’ I asked, transferring passport, wallet, and a few dozen other objects into the new bag.
‘The ETAP,’ Schmidt answered. ‘It is good that you have your passport; we will need them in order to register.’
‘Under our own names?’
‘Unless you happen to have a false passport with you, we have no other choice,’ Schmidt said with pardonable sarcasm. ‘You know the regulations for foreigners. And don’t tell me we should choose a less expensive hotel. When they begin looking for us they will look in the cheaper places, thinking that we would not be so foolish as to go to another four-star botel. It is what you call the double whammy,’ Schmidt added.
I hated to get out of that taxi. I felt as conspicuous as a stoplight. However, I was less conspicuous at an expensive hotel, with other tall blond female tourists around, than I had been in the back streets of Luxor. Schmidt had had another bright idea, so, following his suggestion, I hung back, studying a rack of brochures, while he registered. The old boy was really in top form today – and I was not. If they tracked him down he could come up with a legitimate excuse for changing hotels, and my name would not be on the register. As he passed me, following the bellboy, he said loudly, ‘The fourth floor, you say?’ I waited a few minutes before following. When I got out on the fourth floor Schmidt was waiting to lead me to his room. It was a nice room, with a balcony and twin beds. Not that I expected to occupy one.
‘Good work, Schmidt,’ I said. ‘Now we have to – ’
‘Call the room service,’ said Schmidt, suiting the action to the word. ‘When he comes you will hide in the bathroom. Now close your mouth, Vicky, it looks very ugly when it is in that shape. I know the anguish that grips you, the frantic need to rush to the rescue of the man you – ’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I don’t think you do, Schmidt.’
‘But it is important that we organize ourselves instead of running headlong into danger and inevitable defeat. How long has it been since you have eaten?’
I sat down on one of the beds. ‘I don’t remember.’
‘We will be running and shooting and using much energy,’ Schmidt said with evident relish. ‘We will need all our strength and cunning. We must procure disguises. And weapons, and money, much more money, for bribes and for – ’
‘You can’t come with me, Schmidt.’
‘But Vicky – ’
‘Come here, Schmidt.’ I patted the bed next to me. Pouting, Schmidt sat down. I put my arms around him – as far around as they would go. ‘You’re the man I love, Schmidt. You’re also about a thousand per cent smarter than anybody I know, including me. Especially me. I will have something to eat and I will assume any disguise you can supply, and I will proceed with the utmost care and caution. But one person has a better chance of sneaking into that place than two.’ Especially when one of them was the size of Schmidt. I’d have cut my tongue out before saying it, though. I went on, ‘And one of us has to play backup. If I don’t make it, you’ll have to come in for me. That,’ I added quickly, ‘is a football term, Schmidt, not a literal suggestion. I mean – ’
‘I know the football,’ Schmidt sniffed. He had given me his handkerchief, so he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. ‘You mean I must go to to the police. Why don’t we do that now?’
‘I can think of at least two good – ’ A knock on the door interrupted me. I dragged myself into the bathroom and splashed water on my face while I waited for the waiter to