Night Train to Memphis - Elizabeth Peters [136]
I flung myself at him, clutching at his shirt. Not such a smart move, that one, but there was a wall behind him; otherwise we’d have both fallen to the ground. His breath went out in a sound that would have been audible a long way off if compressed lips hadn’t contained it. Then his arms closed around me and his mouth brushed my ear.
‘Hang on, darling, it’s just a cave and a few miserable bats. Lazy little buggers, they ought to have been out before this.’
‘Oh, God,’ I whipered. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I hurt you.’
‘No, you didn’t.’ That was a lie if I’d ever heard one, and I had heard plenty of them from John. ‘Listen to me, Vicky. I doubt they know about this place but the dog may be able to lead them here. If that happens, there’s another way out. A tunnel.’
‘I can’t – ’
‘Yes, you can.’ We had both been whispering; he was barely breathing the words now, his lips against my ear. ‘Rest a minute. Catch your breath.’
I tried to pull away from him, so my weight wouldn’t press against his chest, but he tightened his grip. His lips moved across my cheek.
‘Show me where the tunnel is,’ I murmured.
‘In a minute.’
It seemed to go on longer than a minute. Then he said softly, ‘This way,’ and drew me with him towards the back of the cave. ‘Here. See it?’
‘I can’t see a damned thing.’
‘Feel it, then.’ He guided my hand.
‘Got it. How did you know about this place?’
‘There’s an old family . . .’
He didn’t have to warn me to stop talking. Sound carries a long way in the quiet desert night. The footsteps were still some distance away, but they were coming closer.
His hand moved to my shoulder. I resisted the pressure. It wasn’t difficult.
‘You first,’ I said.
‘I’ll follow.’
Another lie. Adrenaline and a mix of other hormones had given him a temporary burst of strength, but I doubted he could stand erect without the support of the wall against which he was leaning.
Sometimes my instincts work better than my so-called brain. The one that gripped me now superseded fear and even self-preservation. My hands were icy-cold but absolutely steady. His were neither. I got the gun out of his pocket while he was still fumbling for my wrist.
The dog was right outside. I heard its quick, excited panting, then a slither of rock and a muffled expletive. The uneven contours of the entrance brightened.
I got my finger around the trigger and aimed, bracing my wrist with the other hand.
The dog let out a sharp, peremptory bark. The man with it cleared his throat.
‘Uh – Dr Bliss? Mr Tregarth? Are you there?’
It wasn’t Max’s voice. It was a voice I had never heard before – slow and hesitant, with a pleasant Southern accent.
John’s hand closed over mine and pushed my arm down. The voice went on, ‘Uh – I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you, Dr Bliss, but – uh – if you’re there, you, uh – Damn it, Fido, are you sure this is the right place? Stupid dog . . .’
Fido (Fido?) barked indignantly. ‘Oh, well, then,’ the voice said. ‘I feel like a jackass, but if you say so . . . Uh. You remember me, Mr Tregarth – Keith Kendrick, from UCal? Uh – how are you?’
I started to laugh.
‘Do come in,’ John said. ‘You’ll have to excuse Dr Bliss; she does this sometimes.’
Giggling maniacally, I shielded my eyes against the brilliance of the light. Behind it was a tall, thin man with sandy hair and an embarrassed smile. The dog at his heels looked like one of the pariah dogs that hang around the villages, but it had a collar and its tail was flailing furiously.
John cleared his throat. ‘Dr Bliss, may I present Dr Kendrick?’
‘Vicky,’ I gasped. ‘Pleased to meet you.’
‘Call me Keith.’
I made an effort and managed to stop laughing. ‘How did you know we were here?’
‘He told me, of course. He’s been expecting you.’
‘Feisal?’ I asked doubtfully.
‘Not Feisal,’ John muttered. ‘I’m afraid it wasn’t Feisal. I’m afraid . . . I don’t think I can stand this.’
‘We did run into Feisal,’ Kendrick said. ‘While we were