Tomb of the Golden Bird - Elizabeth Peters [163]
“No mistake,” said Emerson, arms folded and brow dark. “You knew all along the message was not gibberish. You knew that three lives were at hazard.”
“Imminently,” I added. “Today is the twenty-ninth of December. The first day of the first month must refer to the first day of the new year. We have less than three days in which to warn the victims. It will take until tomorrow to reach Cairo by train, even longer by other means of transport. We cannot risk sending a telegram. What could we say that would be forceful enough to command immediate attention but would not warn the assassins, should it be intercepted by one of them?”
“What’s this all about?” Margaret demanded.
Sethos had tried several times to speak. It was odd to see him automatically continue to stroke the purring cat, while his normally impassive countenance expressed a series of conflicting emotions. Now he burst out, “Nefret. Nefret and Ramses. I warned them to watch out for Bashir and his lot, but if this is true, the consequences could be deadly, for it is not only he whom they have to fear. They must be told.”
“An aeroplane,” I cried. “You commandeered one before.”
“No chance,” Sethos muttered. “I might be able to pull it off, but I would have to go in person.”
“You aren’t going anywhere,” said Emerson. “Peabody, send for Daoud.”
Sethos did not take kindly to being locked up. He continued to protest as Daoud led him off to his room, with instructions not to leave him alone for a moment. He was in a state of considerable agitation.
“Or putting it on,” said Emerson. “The man is a consummate actor.”
“He is very fond of Nefret,” I said. Glancing at Margaret, who had been a silent witness to the proceedings, I added, “In a platonic way, of course. Like a loving uncle.”
“I haven’t asked what this is all about,” Margaret began.
“Yes, you have. Twice. I cannot explain, even if I were sure I could trust you to refrain from journalistic speculation. I hope we will not be forced to lock you up too.”
“I haven’t enough to go on,” Margaret admitted. “Just tell me one thing. He kept insisting that he had passed on to you what ‘they’ had told him. I have a good idea as to who ‘they’ are. Could he have been telling the truth?”
It mattered to her. She hadn’t taken out her notebook and her hands kept twisting together.
“That is what we intend to ascertain,” I said.
FROM MANUSCRIPT H
“He risked his life to warn us,” Ramses said. “And I called him a coward.”
Seated behind his desk, Russell gestured to an aide. “Coffee,” he ordered. “Unless you’d rather have something stronger?”
Ramses shook his head. Nefret dabbed at a bleeding scratch on one cheek. “Something alcoholic,” she said calmly. “To disinfect this. Cairo streets are filthy.”
The police had arrived with commendable promptness. Russell’s men were trained to respond quickly to sounds of gunfire, especially so close to their headquarters. They had not found the shooter, though. He had abandoned the rifle in the alleyway from which he had fired and melted into the crowd.
Russell was not the sort of man to waste time in sentiment. “Let’s go over this again. You are telling me that there are two different conspiracies, one in Egypt and one in Iraq? That both aim at the bloodless overthrow of the governments? Then who murdered Bashir? One of his lieutenants who disagreed with his pacifist notions?”
Ramses couldn’t blame him for sounding a note of cynicism. “Someone disagreed with him,” he said. “Vehemently. Their intention was to prevent us from exposing the plot to you.”
“Why the devil should they bother?” Russell demanded. “It’s not much of a plot, is it? And it hasn’t the chance of a snowball in hell…” He ran his hand over his chin. “Excuse me, Mrs. Emerson.”
“You have expressed my sentiments exactly,” Nefret said. “Bashir’s murder casts the whole story in doubt.”
“You say you heard it from Todros.”
Russell’s voice was studiously noncommittal. He had never quite got over his suspicions of David. Ramses said, “As I told you, Mr. Todros pretended to be in sympathy with Bashir