Elizabeth Peters - Laughter of Dead Kings

“Oh, for God’s sake, haven’t any of you heard of wigs and hair coloring, and hats and turbans? John of all people knows how light, even dim light, shines on fair hair. If he was there, and I suspect he was, he’d be wearing some sort of disguise.”

“Ah,” said Schmidt, stroking his mustache and nodding.

“He was there, however, you believe?” Ashraf pounced. “Then he could have overheard her betrayal. Or learned of it later from one of his confederates.”

“Or got the information from a Ouija board,” I said. Schmidt and I exchanged meaningful glances. We were on the same wavelength, good ol’ Schmidt and I, perhaps because we were the only ones who weren’t obsessed with the well-being of Tutankhamon.

“Okay,” I said. “We’ll try it your way, Ashraf. It’s your decision whether or not to come clean to the Ministry. But from this moment on, you let us in on every move you make and every thought you think. You mucked up good and proper when you tried to go it alone.”

“They will be in touch again,” Schmidt added. “To designate when and where you are to hand over the ransom. You will notify us immediately of this.”

Ashraf’s sour expression showed how little he liked being ordered around. He had no choice but to agree, however. His last faint hope rested with us. I couldn’t blame him for finding that idea depressing.

When he got up to leave I offered him the box. He backed away, hands raised in rejection. “It’s yours,” I said firmly. “Anyhow, you are better able than we to find a secure hiding place. The hotel personnel are in and out of this room all the time.”

He agreed, after I had replaced the box in its original bag, and went out carrying it at arm’s length the way I remove the remains of the unlucky small animals Caesar occasionally manages to catch. Fortunately he’s not very good at it.

It was amazing what a relief it was to have that box out of the room; it had permeated the air like poison gas. Schmidt mentioned the room service, and we agreed we might be able to force down a morsel or two. Saida got out her list again. Before she and Schmidt could start on it, I said, “Hey, Schmidt, can I borrow your cell phone?”

“What is wrong with yours?”

“It’s dead. I guess I forgot to plug in the battery.” I’m usually a comfortable liar, but Schmidt’s innocent blue eyes made me plunge into unnecessary explanations. “I just want to call Karl and find out how Caesar is doing. I’ll pay you back.”

“ Ach, nein, there is no need.” He handed it over and I retreated into the bedroom. As I had expected, the number was on Schmidt’s frequent-call list.

The next problem was how to get away without Schmidt. I considered a number of ideas, none of them very nice and a few downright dangerous. Getting Schmidt drunk was not nice, and it had drawbacks. He was inclined to challenge people to duels, and once he passed out it was impossible to rouse him for hours. I pondered the problem as I picked at my food—turned out I wasn’t very hungry after all—and was still pondering when he said casually, “I am going out for a while. Stay here and lock the door.”

“Going where?” I demanded.

Schmidt chuckled. No cherub in a Boucher painting could have looked more innocent. “I wish to shop.”

“What for?”

“A galabiya and a scarf. In case I need to disguise myself.”

The explanation made perfect sense, if you knew Schmidt as I knew Schmidt, and it suited my plans perfectly. “And,” Schmidt went on, “I will get one of each for you too. The shops in the arcade are open late. I will not be long. Feisal and Saida will come with me.”

If I hadn’t been so anxious to carry out my own scheme, I might have realized he was babbling unnecessarily, just as I had. Saida indicated her willingness to participate, and off they went.

I had told her I would call her back. She was waiting for the call.

Unlike some heroines, I am not the girl to trot out onto the dark streets of a strange city in order to meet with an individual whose motives are open to question. The lobby of the Old Winter Palace is quite large, with groupings of chairs and sofas scattered here and there. I selected the grouping farthest from the door and the elevators and sat down, holding a book up in front of my face and peering over the top of it. She wasn’t long. I recognized her as soon as she came through the door, although her hair was a cascade of auburn tresses and she was made up like a Hollywood celebrity. Lipstick enlarged her narrow lips and she had on so much mascara and eyeliner, she looked as if she’d been punched in both eyes.

The guard at the security desk gave her elegant handbag only a cursory search and waved her on through. She’d spotted me by then and came straight toward me.

“It’s a delightful old hotel, isn’t it?” she said.

“We don’t have time for small talk, Suzi. Schmidt is on the loose and due back before long.”

Her lips stretched into a half-smile. “Fair enough. What do you want?”

“I want to know everything you know. Candor goes against the grain with you people, but you ought to realize we have the same end in mind.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

“Okay, I’ll tell you what I want. The damned mummy retrieved, and the perps caught before they can do any more damage.”

“Seems reasonable,” Suzi murmured.

“Your turn.”

She took a small hand mirror from her purse and pretended to inspect her makeup. “I don’t want you or Anton harmed. I’m very fond of him, you know.”

I thought of several caustic comments, but stuck doggedly to the subject. “What do you want most? Don’t tell me your priorities are identical to mine.”

“Frankly,” said Suzi, manipulating the mirror, “I don’t give a damn about the mummy. They can smash it to pieces for all I care. The people who pulled off the heist are small-fry, hired thugs. I don’t give a damn about them either. I want the man in charge.”

“John? Why? Forgive my rudeness, but you seem a trifle obsessive about him.”

She put down the mirror and looked me straight in the eye. “I spotted him on the cruise, but I couldn’t be absolutely certain I was right until I went over his dossier and put a number of hints together. Laws vary, and so do the statutes of limitations. I realized it would be very hard to pin any of his past escapades on him. But I didn’t believe the leopard had changed his spots. I knew he’d revert to his old ways sooner or later, and then I’d catch him in the act.”

Never trust people who look you straight in the eye. I said again, “Why? Why him? You must have other cases on the docket.”

“I’ll tell you the truth, Vicky.” A small self-deprecating smile joined the candid gaze. “He’s become something of a legend in the business, not only because he has gotten away with so many shady deals but because of their bizarre nature. Nailing him would be like—like identifying Jack the Ripper. Come on, Vicky, you know he’s been lying to you and Anton all along. Using you, betraying your trust.”

“He certainly has told me a lot of lies.”

“You don’t resent that?”

“Oh, I resent it a lot,” I said with perfect truth.

“Then collaborate with me. If he’s innocent, fine; I’m wrong and will admit it. If he’s not, you ought to be as anxious as I to catch him. It isn’t as if you’d be handing him over to the hangman, he’d only spend a few well-deserved years in jail.”

“Well…”

“I know where he is.”

I leaned back and crossed my legs. “I thought you might. You followed him the other night, didn’t you?”

“Yes. The place was crawling with people following other people. Most of them converged on your friend Feisal, who was yelling his head off, but I stuck to Smythe—or Tregarth, if you prefer—who had taken off after the woman, the one Khifaya met. I had to climb a damned wall; it took me a while. I was afraid I’d lost him but I finally glimpsed him just as he caught up with her, outside a house behind the temple. They talked for a minute, maybe less. Then she twisted away from him and ran. That distracted me. It shouldn’t have, but it did, for a vital second or two. When I looked back he was gone. He had to have entered the house. He hasn’t come out since.”