The Amulet of Power - Mike Resnick [54]
Suddenly a hideous scream echoed through the corridors of the hotel. A moment later Gaafar, the front of his robe spattered with blood, entered the room and closed the door behind him.
“My family just became smaller,” he announced.
“Who was it?” asked Omar.
“Abdullahi.”
“He prepared the fruit bowl?”
“No, that was Khalifa,” answered Gaafar. “Abdullahi is the one who placed it in the room.”
“You are sure Khalifa was not a confederate?” asked Omar.
“I am sure.”
“How sure?” persisted Omar.
“He will be out of hospital the day after tomorrow.”
“I think we had better have Ismail and Suliman make sure there are no other traitors on the staff.”
“I can do that,” said Gaafar.
“I know you can—but we cannot continue finding trusted replacements for each one you question.” He turned to Lara and said, only half-jokingly, “I hope you can find the Amulet before we run out of family members.”
19
Lara awoke shortly after sunrise, washed her hands and face in the trickle of water that came out of the bathroom faucet, dressed in her shorts and top, donned Omar’s robes over them, and went down to the lobby, where she found her three companions waiting for her.
“I know we agreed there was no more need for a disguise,” she said, indicating the robes, “but somehow I don’t think my usual outfit would go over too well. Besides, this way I can still wear my pistols.”
“You are always thinking ahead,” said Hassam admiringly.
“Right now the only thing I’m thinking about is breakfast. Where’s the restaurant?”
“It is closed,” said Omar.
“When does it open? I’m famished!”
Hassam smiled wanly. “In three weeks.”
“All right,” she said. “Where can I find some food?”
“We’re just a few blocks from the Sudan Club,” said Omar.
“The Sudan Club?” she repeated. “What’s that?”
“A private club for your countrymen,” he said. “It numbered more than twelve hundred members at Independence back in 1956. Today it has less than one hundred and fifty members, and the building is in serious need of repair, but it does serve English breakfasts.”
“I could kill for a good English breakfast!” said Lara enthusiastically. “Let’s go.”
“We will take you there, and we will wait for you,” said Omar. “But we are not allowed inside.”
“But this is your country,” she protested.
“True. But it is your country’s private club.” He paused. “It has the only squash court and the best swimming pool in the city.”
“Do any of your relatives work there?” she asked.
“A few,” answered Omar. “And doubtless some Mahdists as well. No one of them is quite sure who is on which side, so I think you’ll be safe there as long as you remain in the public rooms.”
“All right,” said Lara. “We’ll go there, I’ll have some breakfast, I’ll join the three of you while you eat, and then we’ll go meet the Amenhotep.”
“We have already eaten,” said Gaafar.
“Right,” said Lara. “I forgot: This place is teeming with your relatives.” She lowered her voice. “What did the police say when they found the man you killed last night?”
“They will not find him,” answered Gaafar.
“We’re not air-conditioned. Even if you hid him, he’s not going to smell very good by tomorrow.”
Gaafar smiled. “He is not in the hotel.”
“Where is he?”
“After you were asleep, I left Hassam guarding your door and I took him swimming.”
“Dead men can’t swim,” said Lara.
“I know.”
“The hotel’s pool or the Nile?”
“We’re in the middle of another drought,” answered Gaafar. “There hasn’t been water in the Arak’s pool all year.”
“And no one saw you drop him in the Nile?”
“Probably someone did,” interjected Omar.
“And they didn’t report it?”
“You wouldn’t believe all the things that get dropped into the Nile at night,” said Omar. “Most of them are never reported. Shall we go?”
He led her out the door, and the four of them walked the half-mile to a white building that had seen better days and better decades. A large bronze plaque next to the door proclaimed that it was the Sudan Club. Then, beneath its name, in smaller letters, was the inscription: For Members Only.
A tall, lean Sudanese man opened the door.
“Welcome