The fuse hisses like a snake, and a sharp smell fills the air.
"Janice, I . . . ."
"I have a knife," Janice interrupts. "See if you can get to it."
"Where is it?" I ask.
"If Holst had torn off one more button, he would have found it. Hurry!"
I strain and stretch and am just able to get my nearly numb fingers on the handle of the small knife. I'm careful as I withdraw it, afraid the blade will cut her. As it comes free, I fumble and nearly drop it. "Pardon me."
"Hurry," Janice says again.
"Be quiet." Then I have the knife. I can't turn the short blade to cut my own ropes, but I am able to slice through the bonds on Janice's hands. She scrambles toward the fuse, but is stopped short, her legs tethered to me and to the table. I glance at the fuse. I cut the rope another place and then another. Janice hurls herself forward along the stone floor and lands on dynamite and fuse.
There's a deafening roar, and the chamber shakes. Large chunks of rock fall from ceiling and walls. I'm huddled beneath the table, waiting for the rest of the ceiling to drop, when I realize the cascade of rock has stopped. For some moments, I stay as I am, afraid to raise my head and look at Janice, fearful that what I see will destroy me, too.
Janice laughs. My head snaps up. Janice is sitting in the corner of the cave, back against one wall. She holds up her hands. In one, she grasps the stick of dynamite. In the other is a short piece of fuse, not more than four or five inches long. "This fuse took a little longer than the other," she says, "but Zeigmann timed 'em pretty close!" She places the explosive in one pocket and the fuse in another and crawls under the table with me. I burst into tears, and Janice awkwardly puts her arms around me and pats my back. "Oh, Mel, everything's all right now."
I stop crying. Janice's hair and shirt are coated with limestone dust, and I wish I could brush it away. "Everything's all right?" I ask. I swallow a giggle, afraid of what will happen if my tears turn into laughter. "What do you suppose that other explosion, the one with FOUR sticks of dynamite, was for?"
"To seal the tunnel, of course," she says matter-of-factly. "From the feel of it, it probably did a good job, too. I tell you, that Zeigmann is good at his work."
"But everything is all right?"
Janice takes the knife. She cuts my bonds at wrists and ankles and rubs my arms to encourage circulation. My hands tingle; then feeling returns.
"Look, we're alive. And unhurt," she adds.
"Relatively speaking."
"Okay, relatively unhurt. That's better than relatively dead. The tunnel entrance is undoubtedly sealed. But we WILL get out." She pauses.
I look at Janice and wonder if we're thinking the same thing. As she continues, I know we are. "I'm sure my father and the workmen were murdered before the entrance was collapsed the other time. That part about hearing metal on rock? Someone lied. And after the rescue shaft was dropped, the damage to the rest of the tomb was exaggerated so no one from the government would come in."
"So the papyri and the other antiquities could be sold?"
She nods. "From what Breen said about the fragments of the stele, my guess is that each person involved in the theft took a piece. Maybe it was a way to seal the bargain." She rises and reaches down to pull me to my feet. "Watch your head." Finding her knapsack, she starts replacing the items Gruner dumped. She pauses over the photograph and looks at me. When I don't speak, she returns that, too, to the sack.
"Now what?" I ask.
"Let's survey the damage. Damn! They took my flashlight. I don't see my extra torch, and these are almost done for."
I pick up the torch I placed between block and wall and hand it to her. "Great!" She lights it from one of those now burning feebly on the wall. "I don't see my lighter either," Janice complains. "Damn thieves. Take anything that isn't nailed down."
"Or too heavy to carry," I add, looking at the stone table.
Janice and the torch make their way past the block and into the tunnel, and I hastily follow. Behind us, the other torches gutter out.
In the tunnel are large chunks of rocks that weren't there before, but the passage is open--until we reach the only exit. That is firmly blocked by tons of rock.
"Can't we blast our way out?" I ask.
Janice shakes her head. "One stick of dynamite wouldn't budge that pile."
We stand for some time, reality setting in. I look up. "Isn't this where you said the rescue shaft was dropped?"
She nods. "But that was plugged after the bodies were removed."
"Plugged with what?"
Janice holds the torch up, and now she studies one part of the ceiling that looks different from the rest. "Rocks, maybe debris from the earlier digging, junk from the camp. . . ."
"Small stuff, right? I mean, who's going to drag big blocks of stone up that hill just to fill a hole?"
"Small stuff," she repeats. I look in her eyes, and the green fire is back. "One stick might do it if it's placed in the ceiling."
"Let's try."
"There's a problem. The only fuse we have is very short. After I light it, I'm going to have to run like hell. Maybe we can clear a path."
I interrupt. "Speaking of short, have you thought about how you'll reach the fuse?"
"I'll stand on something." She looks around. "We'll pile some rocks. We have plenty of rocks."
"You'll stand on a pile of rocks to light the fuse. Then you'll climb or jump down before you run. With four inches of fuse burning." She opens her mouth to argue, but I say, "Janice, you would be risking my life, too. If this doesn't work, we both die." In demonstration, I reach up and easily touch the ceiling.
Janice sighs. "Curse of my life." She studies the ceiling. Handing me the small knife, she points. "See if you can chip away some stones there and make a place that will hold the dynamite. She wedges the torch in an upright position between two large rocks. "I'll work on clearing a path."
We work in silence for some time. "Janice, look at this, and see what you think."
Janice inspects my work. "That's good."
"How will we keep the dynamite in the hole?" From her knapsack, she removes a pack of gum. She hands me two sticks and takes the remaining three sticks herself. "I don't chew gum," I say.
"Good time to start." I take the gum.
Janice removes the dynamite from her pocket. She reaches in one end and removes what looks like a small disk. She checks it over and, seemingly satisfied, replaces it. With the knife, she trims a tiny section from the burned end of the fuse. Then she inserts the other end into the disk. There can't be four inches of fuse protruding from the dynamite.
She hands me the explosive, and I carefully insert it into the hole above my head. "Use the gum to hold it in place." I remove the gum from my mouth and pack it on one side of the dynamite. Janice holds out the sticky mass she's been chewing, and I look at it with distaste. Finally, I take it and pack it around the other side. When I let go, the explosive stays in place, the short fuse hanging down.
"Tell me you're a fast runner," Janice says.
I shake my head. "I've always been awkward."
Janice holds a cigar in her hand. She bites off one end and lights the other from the torch. She puffs until the lit end glows.
"Last smoke?" I ask.
She smiles around the stogie and takes one more puff before removing it. "You can't use the torch to light the fuse," she says. "It might go up all at once." She takes another puff, then hands me the cigar. "Draw on it to keep it glowing," she advises. I place the cigar in my mouth and try to follow her instructions. I choke and go into a coughing fit. "Don't inhale! Just puff." I try again and am rewarded by seeing the tip glow. "And remember," she adds, in her eyes a wicked gleam, "sometimes a cigar is just a cigar."
She lifts the torch. "I'll go a few yards down the tunnel in line with the cleared path. You light the fuse with the cigar and immediately run toward the torch. Don't wait to see if the fuse is burning. As soon as you touch it with the cigar, take off. Got that?"
"No problem. Here, take my glasses. I don't want to get them broken. You go all the way to where the tunnel divides."
"Will you be able to see the torch from there?" I nod. "One more thing. This is straight dynamite, not the ammonia type usually used in enclosed spaces."
I look at her as if I don't know what she's talking about. I don't.
"There will be some poisonous fumes, but, with only one stick, they shouldn't be too bad. The four sticks didn't kill us, right? The other thing is that straight dynamite puts out hotter gases that expand faster."
I still don't understand.
"Even one stick of this stuff will make a very big boom!"
That I understand. Janice hesitates a moment, then takes the torch and heads toward the other end of the tunnel. I squint, but the light soon becomes a blur and then passes beyond my limited sight. I puff once more on the cigar until the tip glows red. Reaching up, I locate the fuse with my free hand, then touch the cigar against it. Against Janice's advice, I make sure the fuse is burning, then drop the cigar and race toward my friend, counting on my sense of direction and memory of the cleared path. It seems I've taken only a few steps when there's a deafening roar, and a giant hand swats me to the ground.
I wake with Janice lifting rocks off my back and legs. I try to move. "Bel, my lil! You pay hab brome poems!"
"What?" I shake my head and try to still the ringing in my ears. "Give me my glasses." She does, and at least now I can see to read her lips.
"I said, Mel, lie still. You may have broken bones."
"I'm fine," I say. "I just can't hear." I put fingers against my ears and press to try to clear them. Better. "Help me up."
Janice looks doubtful, but what is she going to do? I have to move. She helps me up. We look toward the cave entrance. "Why isn't there any light?" I ask.
With me leaning on Janice's shoulder, we walk toward the site of the blast. Was this all for nothing? We stand beneath the spot where the dynamite was placed. Above, some twenty feet above our heads, the darkness is decorated with a circle of stars.
I finally ask, "How do we get out?"
"Climb. Let's get all that rope our buddies left us."
A few minutes later, Janice is ready. I've tied the rope back together with non-slip sailor's knots, and Janice has tied one end around her waist. "Pardon me," I say, "but doesn't the rope keep you from falling only if the other end is tied to something up above?"
"I won't fall," she says. "I'm going to need both hands--and both feet--free. Give me a boost."
I cup my hands as if giving her a leg up onto a horse. I lift as Janice springs, and her head and shoulders are through the hole in the tunnel ceiling. She steps on my shoulders, and I support part of her slight weight as she searches for a handhold to pull herself up. "Another boost," she says, and I slip my hands under her toes and push. When I look up, she is wedged in the hole, shoulders pressed against one side, feet against the other. "Just like Santa up the chimney," she says, and she starts to climb.
A few minutes later, Janice shouts, "I tied this end of the rope around a rock outcropping. I think it will hold."
"You think?"
"Yeah, climb on up."
I study the rope dangling in front of me.
"Mel?"
"Yes?"
"You don't know how to climb a rope, do you?"
"No."
Many minutes and instructions and false starts later, I'm sitting on the hill beside Janice under a bright Egyptian moon.
End of Part 13
Part 14
Janice and I climb down the hill that shelters Harpsoptah's tomb. Our first objective is the well. Janice pumps the lever, and we thankfully watch clear water fill the stone bowl. We drink and bathe our faces. The slightly metallic taste of the water no longer bothers me. I find a handkerchief in my trousers pocket and soak it. I ask Janice to hold out her right arm, and, after hesitating, she does. For the first time, I see how deeply Gruner's stick has cut. As I bathe the hurt, tears spring unbidden to my eyes.
"How could anyone hurt another human being like that, Janice?" I ask. "Deliberately, just to get what they want?"
"Oh, Mel, people hurt and kill other people for a lot less. Or for nothing. Haven't you seen cruelty before?" She stares at me. "You really haven't, have you?"
I shake my head. "Well, there was Smythe in Macedonia. He certainly wasn't very nice."
Janice's expression is one of wonder. "To grow up in a world without cruelty. No wonder you're the way you are."
I feel myself stiffening, wondering if this is an insult. "What do you mean?"
"Just that you're so naive, as if you don't know how to distrust." She pulls her arm away, and I let her. Without bandages or disinfectants, there's nothing more to be done for it. "Do you have any idea what's really going on in Europe, in Africa? What was happening long before Americans got involved?"
"I read newspapers," I say. "And Tereise told me some things."
Janice sighs. "I don't know if you're lucky or not. Being so sheltered has left you with an innocence I lost when I was about eleven. But it's also left you unprepared for the world you're trying to live in now."
"Did I do so badly today?" I ask.
She smiles. "No, you did well. I guess that proves something. I'm just not sure what."
I make a confession. "I wanted to kill that man."
"Gruner?"
"No, I just wanted to stop him. I wanted to kill Holst."
"Good instincts." Janice rises and looks around. "Our canteens and water bags were in the tunnel entrance. They're either under a few tons of rock, or those bastards took them."
"We have the well," I remind her.
"I can't carry the well with me." She reaches into her knapsack and this time comes up with a small tin box. I laugh, thinking of those tiny circus cars, from which issue any number of clowns and all their umbrellas and baby carriages and other paraphernalia.
"What?"
"Just a thought," I say. "It's nothing." I hiccup.
"Right," she says doubtfully. "Dried dates." She shakes out the contents of the box and gives me half. The dates are VERY dry and difficult to chew, but they taste like ambrosia.
"What do you suppose ambrosia tasted like?" I ask.
"Huh?"
"Ambrosia. You know, food of the gods."
"Steak and eggs," Janice says. "At the Marina in Denver."
"Aunt Helen's chocolate cake with homemade chocolate ice cream," I correct, then add, "or dried dates and well water."
We chew contentedly for some minutes.
"I could travel tonight," Janice says. "That way, the lack of water wouldn't matter so much."
"What are you talking about?" I ask.
"I'm going to Dahkla Oasis. I'm sure that's where Breen and Gruner and friends were headed." She points out some tire tracks that lead to the northwest. "I've been thinking about how they get their merchandise out of the country. There's no way that bunch could get anything past the British or Egyptian authorities. They have to have a contact who does it for them. I figure they have a place to keep the antiquities until they can be moved and a place to meet their contact. Where better than Gruner's old dig?"
Janice looks at the moon. "It's hard to believe we were in that tomb for only a few hours. I need some rest before I go. But what if I'm sleeping, and they get away?"
"Get away? Janice, will you talk sense? Gruner and the others didn't just take or bury the canteens. They took your gun. And there are four of them, all mean, and at least three of them willing to do something about it. Are you seriously thinking about going after them like we're the posse heading out after the rustlers?"
"I didn't say anything about 'we.' I'M going after them. They killed my father, and they did their best to kill us. They aren't going to get away with it." Her expression is so fierce, I think for a moment she might be capable of capturing four dangerous men. Unarmed. With only me to help.
That moment passes, but I know I won't let her go alone.
"Let's get some rest," Janice says. She leads the way to the other side of the old wall. There's no wood for a fire, and no way to light it anyway, so we huddle together in the cool night air. I know I won't sleep, but, after a while, I do.
I wake with a hand clamped tightly over my mouth, and look into Janice's eyes, only a few inches away. Behind her, I see the pale light of dawn. Then I hear the sound of a truck motor. It is only a few feet away. My widening eyes probably tell Janice I'm fully awake because she removes her hand from my mouth. "They're back?" I whisper. "Why?"
"Maybe to check their handiwork. Just hope they don't climb the hill," she says as quietly. She slowly raises her head to see over the wall. I follow suit. A military-looking vehicle, desert-camouflaged, with large, balloon tires, parks between our position and the well. As the passenger door opens, Janice pushes my head down and ducks herself.
"Janice? Mel?" It is a familiar feminine voice.
Janice's head pops up. "Tereise?" She lets go of my head, and I peek over the wall. Tereise and a tall man, both dressed in desert fatigues, are walking toward us. I recognized Zepp and feel self-conscious that I am wearing his clothes.
Janice scrambles over the wall and grabs Tereise in a tight embrace. Tereise enthusiastically returns the hug, then holds her friend at arm's length. "Are you all right? What happened to your cheek?" She touches Janice's right cheek, which shows the beginning of a purplish bruise. Janice hastily pulls her sleeve over her injured arm, but Tereise stops her. She clucks over the injury. "Antone brought a first aid kit," she says. "Janice, we know you, remember?"
I walk around the wall and approach the group of old friends. "I'm very glad to see you," I tell Tereise and Zepp.
"Hello, Mel," Tereise says with a smile. "You have any boo-boos that need bandaging?"
I shake my head. The bump on my head is smaller, and the ringing in my ears has started to subside.
Tereise takes charge, directing Zepp to get the first aid kit and Janice to sit on the step of the truck. Tereise pours a disinfectant into the cuts and blows to reduce the stinging. She skillfully wraps white gauze around Janice's forearm and rips and ties it to secure it. "Those look like marks from a whip," she says, as if she has seen such welts before. Perhaps she has.
"Gruner hit me a couple of times with that swagger stick he carries," Janice says.
"Gruner hit you?" Zepp asks.
"Yeah," Janice answers, "and your 'businessman' friend Breen watched. Then they left us in a tomb they tried to blow up. Nice guys."
"Start at the beginning," Tereise orders, "from the time I left you."
Janice does, and we listen raptly to the story she weaves. Although she minimizes the injuries done and leaves out entirely the attempted rape, her account leaves even me breathless. When she is done, Tereise's and Zepp's jaws are set. Zepp's normally bored expression is replaced by a look of grim determination.
"You're sure they're heading for Dahkla Oasis?" Zepp asks.
"Where else would they go in that direction?" Janice points out the tracks heading deeper into the desert. "They have a truckload of stolen antiquities. They can't exactly drive them into Cairo. British Security would be sure to pick them up. They have to have a contact who can get the stuff out of the country."
"Speaking of British Security, Janice," Zepp interjects, "they're still looking for you. Yesterday, when I saw the car was back, and the Hat was gone, I went to the club looking for Tereise. Two huge Security Officers were there questioning the owner and the bartender about you. Something about your entry documents?"
Janice rolls her eyes, and I ask, "How did you two get here so quickly?"
Zepp answers. "As soon as I found out Tereise hadn't been to the club, I realized she had come with you. So I talked a friend at the Consulate out of this truck, and I headed upriver."
"Is that a truck like you borrowed?" I ask Janice.
"No," she says, "I never get the good stuff."
Tereise picks up the story. "I ran the Hat aground on the eastern shore about 10 kilometers downriver--at one of those irrigation wheels. I was preparing to hike to the village, when Antone showed up. He said he just ran the truck along the flood plain, figuring he would spot the Hat sooner or later."
"We would have been here sooner," Zepp adds, "but we had to go farther downriver to find a ferry to bring the truck across."
"I'm going to the oasis after Gruner and his crew," Janice states. "I need the truck, but no one else is obligated to go."
"Oh, we're going," Tereise says. Zepp nods and is rewarded by a warm smile from his love.
"I'm not staying behind," I say.
Tereise leads the way to the covered back of the truck and opens the flap. Inside are several large metal cans, some marked "fuel" and three labeled "water." There are also two wooden crates, each about two feet square. Tereise lifts the lid from one. "All we have are hand guns," Tereise apologizes. "Anything else is too difficult to smuggle in. Take your pick."
Her eyes gleaming, Janice removes a bluish-black pistol, the kind they call an automatic in the detective films. She sorts through boxes of ammunition and comes up with an extra clip. She turns and sights the gun, her small hand dwarfed by the size of the weapon.
"I don't know why you bother," Tereise chides. "You never shoot anyone."
"Bad aim," Janice says.
"Nonsense. You could shoot the head off a match at a hundred paces." To me, Tereise explains, "She's just soft-hearted."
"Liar." Janice slides the clip out and pulls the trigger several times. "Good action. This one will do."
Tereise takes out what looks like a smaller version of the same gun. She looks questioningly at me. I shake my head and then spot something else on the floor of the truck. I pick up a metal tube or pipe, about four feet long and perhaps two inches in diameter. It is surprisingly heavy. "May I have this?" I ask.
She laughs, but nods. "How do we pick 'em?" she asks Janice. At my puzzled look, she explains, "Antone won't carry a gun either."
I step away from the truck and take a practice swing. The only sport at which I showed any promise when I attended Ashley Hall was softball, and, except for being longer, the pipe feels much like a bat. Realizing that Janice and Tereise are staring at me, I blush and walk back to the truck. Zepp has joined us, and Janice points to the markings on the other box. "Is that a short-wave radio?" she asks.
Zepp looks it over before answering. "I guess. It was in the truck when I got it. I picked up the other box from a friend of Tereise's. I figured we might need it."
I can see Janice's opinion of her friend's intelligence being revised upward. "Good figuring. So what are we waiting for? Let's go get the bastards."
I return my "weapon" to where I found it, and we all squeeze into the cab of the truck, Janice and Tereise in the middle, Janice almost sitting on Tereise's lap, Zepp driving.
Janice questions and advises Zepp about the route he is taking and the slow speed he is driving, but he tolerantly ignores her. To me, he seems to be an excellent driver, and I discover that truck gears don't always have to grind. It appears to be something to do with using the clutch. I lean against the passenger door and watch the sun spread its rays over the barren landscape.
End of Part 14
Part 15
The landscape is lit by the huge disk of the sun when Zepp cuts the truck engine and lets the vehicle roll to a stop. I look around. The desert looks no different.
"Dahkla Oasis is just beyond that small rise," he says.
Rise? I think. It all looks flat to me.
We clamber out. I reach up to help Janice down, but she shakes off my hand and drops lightly beside me, followed by Tereise. Zepp walks around the front of the truck. "Stay here," Tereise says to Zepp and me. She and Janice crouch and move across what Zepp has called the rise. In a few minutes, they are back.
Janice grins at me. "We got them surrounded, pard," she says. "Here's the plan. They have a couple of tents pitched on this end of the lake. They all seem to be in the closer tent. They have two trucks, both parked beside the other tent. Mel, you and I will work our way around to the left and prepare a little distraction. Tereise and Antone will work their way around to the right and be waiting for them when they come out to see what we're up to. We'll catch them between us. Any questions?"
"What do we do with them once we have them?" Zepp asks.
"The live ones we take back to Cairo and turn over to the Egyptian authorities." Janice's fierce expression suggests there may not be any live ones. She reaches into the back of the truck and removes one of the fuel cans and a couple of rags. She hands these to me. I reach around her and retrieve my metal pipe. Janice slips the straps of her knapsack over her shoulders and sticks the automatic pistol behind her belt buckle.
"Antone, got a lighter?" He hands her a silver one, and I can make out his engraved initials.
"It's not a zippo," he says, "and I want it back."
Janice doesn't answer, but slips it into her pants pocket. "Come on, Mel," she whispers and leads me away from our companions. We take a wide arc, eventually coming back to the camp from the opposite direction. We lie on the ground near a tent and look at two trucks parked side-by-side. Janice sits up and takes the fuel can from me. She soaks both rags with gasoline.
"Stay here." Janice runs in a crouch to the nearest truck. She removes the gas cap and stuffs much of one rag into the opening. She repeats the operation on the other truck. As she reaches for the lighter, a man steps out of the shadow of the tent and is suddenly behind her. He grabs Janice around the neck, and sunlight flashes on the metal object he raises above her head. Not knowing how I"ve gotten there, I'm beside him, my metal club held in both hands and pulled back over my right shoulder. I swing it forward, shifting my weight from my right foot to my left and remembering to follow through. There is a satisfying thunk, and he drops to the ground, the knife still gripped in his right hand.
"Zeigmann," Janice comments.
"Is he dead?"
"I hope so." She feels for a pulse at his throat. "He's alive, but he won't be coming to for a while. Grab his other arm." Together, we drag him behind the tent.
"Time for the fireworks," Janice says. She pulls out the silver lighter and flicks it for an instant flame. "Nice," she says, and I hope Zepp owns another lighter. She touches the flame to the rag in this tank and then the other. There is a whoosh! and we dive for cover. As we hit the ground and roll, there is a tremendous roar, and the bright day becomes brighter yet.
We hear shouts and gunfire from the direction of the lake. Janice jumps up, drawing her pistol, and runs toward the sounds. Wondering what I'm doing, I follow.
Zepp is standing just outside the other tent and, in his hand, is a small gray revolver. I see Gruner beyond, lying on the canvas floor. Zepp is looking from the revolver to the still form and back, as if trying to make the connection.
"Where's Tereise and the others?" Janice shouts. Zepp, coming out of his daze, motions behind him. There's the sound of a truck starting, and Janice and Zepp take off at a run. I tear my eyes away from Gruner's body and race after them. I realize that I've dropped my pipe after hitting Zeigmann and now have no weapon. Still, I run. There's the sharp report of two shots, and I run harder.
Tereise walks toward us over the small rise, gun still in her hand. Zepp reaches her first, with Janice and me close behind. Tereise shakes her head. "They got away," she says, "in our truck."
Janice's eyes and hands search for wounds. "Are you all right?"
"Yes," Tereise answers. "That was me firing. All I hit was the back of the damned truck. When Antone and I got to the tent, Gruner was the only one there. I got the drop on him and took his gun. I left Antone to guard him with that gun and went to warn you. What was that shot from the camp, by the way?"
"Antone shot Gruner," Janice says.
"He tried to jump me," Zepp explains.
"Really?" Tereise's eyebrows raise. "Anyway, just then the trucks blew up. That's when I saw the other two running over this rise."
"Breen and Holst," Janice says. "Zeigmann's behind the other tent. Mel took a little batting practice on his head."
"All right, Mel!" Tereise praises me. "I guess we chose the right partners after all."
We return to the tents. Zepp and Janice find rope and go to secure Zeigmann in case he wakes up. Then, together, they drag Gruner's body to the other tent. Tereise finds a small piece of canvas and throws it over the spot where he had lain.
There's a camp kitchen near the back of the tent, and Tereise starts opening tins. By the time Zepp and Janice return, Tereise is ready to serve us all hot tea. "Soup in a few minutes," she says. "There's only one burner." We sit companionably around the table in chairs occupied not long ago by enemies. Enemies. It gives me pause. Except for girls' school bullies, I've never had an enemy before.
Tereise serves the soup and some stale bread she has found. "Ambrosia," Janice says, with a glance at me.
Tereise asks, "What?"
"You had to be there." Tereise looks puzzled, but doesn't ask.
After we have eaten, Janice nods at Antone, who places three objects on the table. I look at Janice. "Gruner had all three," she says.
Two are the stone fragments Janice carried to Cashi Zun. Janice fits these together. "The first one must have been given to Dr. Krykos, maybe as a bribe for his cooperation and silence. The second one was Breen's, the one Tekmet stole." The third is twice as large as the other two, and Janice fits it above the others. "This one was probably Gruner's. It looks like we have two-thirds of the puzzle now. We're only missing the bottom."
"We'll have to find someone to translate it," Zepp says. "I have an acquaintance at Chicago House. . . ."
Janice interrupts. "Mel can translate it. Can't you, Mel?"
I nod, already unable to tear my eyes away from the symbols. "Paper? Pen?" Tereise places these on the table. The others probably stay, but it's as if I'm alone with the stone fragments and the story they are trying to tell. A couple of times, I turn, expecting my reference books to be within easy reach, but the text is straight-forward, and I'm now familiar with the writer's style.
Finally, I turn my attention to my audience of three, and I begin to read.
THE SUN BEATS DOWN upon the travelers as they cross the desert sands. This is a caravan of comfort, carrying M`Kare`, wife of the great Osorkon, prince of Heracleopolis, high priest of the god Ptah. Far from any city or oasis, bandits come across the desert, white-robed, riding pure white horses, hearts as hot as the sun. Guards pledged to defend the princess die bravely, cut by swords, as grain before the scythe. Others try to flee the bandits' harshness, but they are caught, and they, too, die. The bandits take the goods and gold and princess.
Upon the bloody sand, the bandits take their ease and argue about the division of the spoils. The princess can be heard crying above the wailing of the rising desert wind. Out of the halo of the sunset come defenders of the crying princess. A warrior woman and her companion. With stealth and strength, they attack and leave no bandit standing. Just then comes the Khamsin, storm that heralds summer, but chokes both man and beast.
That night a babe is born. Its mother hands it to the warrior woman. "Here, take my son to his father. Here is my seal. Take it as well." The warrior woman holds the newborn. The seal, a ring, she puts on her own finger, never guessing its royal message or of the bloodlines of the child. The mother parts from child and earth.
The storm has scattered camels and horses, none remaining. The warrior and her friend walk on. They save the water for the baby, using little to quench their thirst. Finally, the smaller stumbles, says, No more, I can't go on. The warrior will go on and save the child, carried snug within her desert robe, leaving her friend a few sips of water and a promise to return.
The babe brought to Pharaoh's city, to the very temple grounds, the ring is shown, the story told. Prince Osorkon gives his own horse to the woman, fastest steed in Pharaoh's stable, to return and <missing> Like the Khamsin, rides the woman,
"That's all there is," I say in the ensuing silence.
End of Part 15
The Further Adventure of Janice and Mel: The Gabrielle Stele by Judy (Wishes)
Chapter 16
Tereise, Janice, and I sit around the table in Gruner's tent. Zepp has gone to check on Zeigmann. Tereise breaks the silence first. "You know, that warrior woman sounds like Xena."
"You know about her?" I ask.
"Sure. Do you think anyone could grow up around the Covingtons and not know about Xena? For a while, Janice thought she WAS Xena." As Tereise goes on, I see for the first time that Janice can blush. "She ran around in her cape, carrying a wooden sword, and looking for evil doers behind every rock."
"A cape?" I ask.
"I was twelve," Janice explains.
"I see. Did you play too, Tereise?"
"Sure, but I didn't get to play Xena. I only got to play the sidekick, what was her name, Janice?"
"Gabrielle."
"Yeah," Tereise says. "I had to play Gabrielle. All I ever got to do was get into trouble so Xena could rescue me."
"Speaking of rescue," Janice says, and I sense a convenient change of subject. "Don't you think we had better get together a story for when our rescuers arrive?"
"Rescuers?" I ask. "I figured we were probably stuck here for the rest of our lives."
"Smoke signals," Tereise says. "Look outside."
I look out the tent flap and toward the burning trucks and immediately see what she means. Where the trucks once blazed, there are now twin columns of black smoke going nearly a hundred feet into the air. Tereise has come to stand beside me. "In this clear desert air, they can probably see that smoke halfway to Cairo!"
"I think we had better get our story straight before the cavalry arrives," Janice suggests.
"It's too late," I say, for there's the sound of engines approaching the oasis. "It sounds like two trucks."
Tereise listens, then shakes her head, but Janice says, "Good. Your hearing is back."
Zepp hurries to the tent as the trucks enter the campsite. "Egyptian Army patrol," he announces.
Janice says, "Antone?" Those two walk outside, with Antone bent over and Janice talking urgently in his ear. He nods and approaches the lead truck, passport and other documents in hand. Six soldiers, heavily armed, have emerged to stand several yards from the tent. Antone talks to the soldier who seems to be in charge. The man studies Antone's papers and gestures at us. Antone shakes his head and points at the burned out trucks. He calls to Janice, and she cradles her injured arm and limps toward him. She joins the conversation briefly, then limps back to us, smiling broadly as soon as her back is to the soldiers.
"Antone told him we're all scientists and that this is our camp. A German infiltrator attacked us, killed our friend Gruner, and was knocked out when he blew up our trucks. I was injured trying to save our documents. Unfortunately, they went up with the trucks." I can tell she's having fun again.
"Your leg?" I ask.
"Seemed like a nice touch."
I know it's a long-shot, but I try. "Have you even considered telling the truth?"
"What? That you stole part of an ancient stele from a national museum, that we sailed down the Nile in a stolen houseboat, that we were tortured and entombed by grave robbers, escaped, came here, blew up some trucks, and shot an eminent Egyptologist in his own camp after knocking one of his guards unconscious with a piece of irrigation pipe?" She starts to walk away. "Sure, let me try that. . . ."
I grab her uninjured arm. "Maybe next time."
Zepp returns, and he is also smiling. "The officer bought some of it, didn't care about the rest. Seems there's a big tank battle up north, and all these guys care about is that the British left the Egyptians out of it. Now we hand them a Nazi spy and saboteur. They love it."
"Will they give us a lift?" Janice asks.
"They're heading back to Bani Suwayt, where they're garrisoned," Zepp informs us. "They'll give Zeigmann and us a ride there, but they're not willing to take Gruner. In this heat, he would be a bit ripe before we arrived. They think their commander will be willing to send someone back from their graves detail."
"Gruner's problem," Janice says firmly.
"Janice!"
"So say a prayer for him, Mel, if you want. I'm not shedding any tears." With that, she walks back into the tent, forgetting to limp.
I watch as two of the soldiers lead a groggy Zeigmann across the camp. His legs are free, but they have left his hands tied. He mumbles in German as they lift him into the first truck.
"I wonder if he'll tell the truth about Gruner and Breen," I say to no one in particular.
"No, he won't tell them anything," Zepp says, and adds, "I know the type."
After checking around the camp, and having no questions about the boxes of artifacts that fill the other tent, the soldiers help us into the back of the second truck. They take special care with Janice, who holds her arm and remembers to limp. Along each side of the truck bed are long benches. Tereise, Janice, and I sit together on one side, Janice in the middle. Zepp sits on the other side with three young Egyptian soldiers, who direct their gazes at their own feet. As the truck begins to move, one young man looks up and smiles at me, white teeth gleaming in his dark, sculptured face, a face that could have graced the statues at any Egyptian temple. I return the smile and feel Janice's elbow nudging me in the ribs.
"Stop doing that," she orders.
"Doing what?"
"Flirting."
"Flirting? Me?" I'm astounded. "I never flirt."
"Just now? What was that?"
"He smiled at me. I smiled back."
"That fool in Macedonia," she persists. "I suppose you didn't flirt with him?"
"I don't think so." I try to remember what I did. He DID seem to like me.
"And Ahmet? The one who wanted to marry you?" She makes the last two words sound like the plague. I hear Tereise giggling.
"Ahmet is studying archaeology at the university," I explain. "We got into the habit of talking during his visits to the museum."
"And you ended up in his tent in the desert," Janice finishes. "My God, Mel Pappas, I don't think you're even aware you do it!"
I close my mouth, and we ride in silence for a while. Whenever I look up, the young soldier is still smiling at me.
Bani Suwayt is a small city on the western bank of the Nile. White stone and mud-brick houses bake in the late afternoon sun when we reach it. Because the Egyptian soldiers have generously shared their water with us, we have survived the trip, but barely. The trucks pull to a halt in front of a large brick building. The Egyptian officer appears and helps us down. My young soldier risks a grin and a slight wave, and I can't help but return both before I turn away.
The officer is saying in English, "Please to stay here at European hotel. Our commander will wish to speak with you." To Janice, he says, "Are you needing a doctor?"
"I can wait until we return to Cairo," she assures him.
We thank him, and Zepp shakes his hand. As soon as the trucks turn the corner, Zepp says, "I'll see if we can hire a car and driver. And it would probably be best to visit the commander before he sends for us. Miss Pappas, your papers are in order, aren't they?"
"Yes."
"Then I think you should come with me. If we show the commander two good sets of documents, one showing diplomatic status, he may not ask to see Tereise's and Janice's." I've never seen Zepp this decisive, and I realize we've entered his official world, where he is the expert.
"My papers would probably pass," Tereise says. "And Janice's burned in our truck."
"Let's not chance it," Zepp replies.
Janice has dug my passport and other papers from her knapsack and now hands them to me. "We'll take a couple of rooms and see if baths are available," Janice says. She wrinkles her nose, "And laundry services. You two can clean up when you return."
I consider that I'm still wearing Zepp's clothing and what it has been through since I put it on. My hair is tangled, my face and hands, washed at the oasis, have picked up a new layer of grime. This is no way for a lady to go calling, Aunt Helen would say. I dismiss the thought. Another saying of which she is fond: What can't be helped must be borne."
End of Part 16