Читать книгу Familiar Mirage - Caroline Burnes - Страница 11

Beth followed the bellhop to her room, her face still suffused with heat. The encounter with Omar Dukhan was not what she’d anticipated. She’d expected a rugged man, a man of the desert. Omar was so much more than that. In his dark eyes she’d seen the fiery heat of the desert and the swirl of a storm.

She’d also seen something darker, something that made her heart race and her palms sweat.

She tipped the bellhop and closed her door, then leaned against it. Her attraction to the guide was unexpected, but she’d always been able to control herself. There had been other attractive men in her life, and she’d never found herself leaning against a door, knees like putty.

She walked to the bed and began to unpack a bag. She was behaving like a fool. So she felt desire for Omar Dukhan. Big deal. He was a handsome man. That wasn’t what was really bothering her.

She thought back to the conversation. Although he was a hired hand, he had treated her as if he was in charge. That bothered her.

There was something else, though. She thought about it as she laid out her sleeveless blouses and shorts. There had been an edge of danger about the man. For everything that he said, there were a million things unsaid. She realized, smiling at her imagination, that she could easily view him as a spy.

“Bond. James Bond,” she said out loud, mocking herself.

Her ability to laugh at herself helped ease the disquiet she felt. She went to the telephone and sat, knowing that patience would be required to get a call through to the United States.

She’d left Arizona without a word to Amelia Corbet or Amelia’s parents, Luther and Susan. The Corbets had been Beth’s family for the past fifteen years, and she wanted to make sure they knew where she was and that she was safe. She hadn’t called them because she was afraid that, in their attempt to protect her, they might fuel her own self-doubt in her ability to bring off this expedition. The Corbets had supported her in every aspect of her work, but they also felt a duty to shelter her from danger and disappointment. Now, though, Beth was too deeply engaged in the trip to pull back. It was time to let them know where she was.

As she dialed Amelia’s number in New York, she felt once again the thrill of her undertaking. She was actually on an adventure. She was doing something that Amelia would do.

To her disappointment, when the call finally went through, she got Amelia’s answering machine. According to the message, Beth’s best friend and “sister” was out of town for a few days to meet with a client in Tokyo.

Amelia worked for a high-powered public-relations firm, and her work took her all over the globe and into the most interesting situations.

Beth hung up without leaving a message. She wanted to tell Amelia about her expedition, not her machine. She wanted the satisfaction of hearing Amelia’s gasp of surprise when she told her she was in Alexandria, Egypt, on a trip that could gain her the kind of recognition in her field that many only dreamed about.

Glancing at her watch, she stood up. She was due to meet her team in the dining room. She’d organized an early dinner, a bit of walking around, then an early bedtime. Tomorrow would be a long, grueling day, even for those who were not diving. For herself, John and four others, it was going to be an exhausting day.

She went downstairs and entered the hotel restaurant. At the happy looks on the faces of her co-workers, she felt her shoulders relax. Everything was going to be fine. They were all going to receive the recognition for which they had worked so hard.

SO, MISS EXPLORER enters the dining room. I can’t hang around for long. I have a very important date with something fresh and delicious from the Mediterranean and Peter and Eleanor. Besides, everything looks fine here.

The guy at the airport was obviously her guide. He didn’t make his presence known because he wanted to check out her party before he decided to take them into the desert. I can see his point—I wouldn’t want to be stranded in the sand with a herd of whiners. On the other hand, I don’t really think that lurking behind a pillar and spying on someone is the way to behave, either.

There’s something about this Omar Dukhan that makes me want to keep him under close surveillance. But this isn’t my case. I’m not here to work. I’m on vacation. Even I need a break from the pressures of solving mysteries every now and again.

Beth Bradshaw has everything under control. I think I can safely head for the Abbula Hotel and my reserved room. I’ll just make a quick sweep of the hotel rooms here while all the scientists are in the dining room. One last quick check before I trundle out into the night.

Mauve’s room seems fine. A little trip down the hall, and the other three rooms are good. Silent as tombs, no pun intended.

Now back to John’s room, right beside Beth’s. I’ll creep in for just a moment. I’m a little curious about him, too. If he’s such a worrywart, why’d he come on this trip?

Wait. What’s that? Someone is in his room. Listen. What’s that noise? It sounds like a gas valve or air or—someone is letting the air out of his diving tank.

I’ll put an end to this. Wham! My body slamming into the door has frightened him. He’s running across the room and out the window into the night. He’s fast, whoever he is. Before I can even get to the window, he’s cleared the wall around the hotel garden and disappeared.

Now why would someone break into a room to let the air out of a diving tank?

Maybe Miss Explorer could use a few more hours of watching. I’m not sure what’s going on here, but I’m getting a really bad feeling. Cats have always had psychic abilities. That, too, is a little-known fact. We’re very attuned to use of the sixth sense. In all the best ways, of course. And my intuition is telling me to stay close to Miss Explorer tonight.

Criminy. I guess I’ll have to rush over to the Abbula Hotel, eat a bite with Peter and Eleanor, and then get back over here to make sure no one bothers Beth.

OMAR FOUND HIMSELF standing in front of the high-rise building that contained his brother’s development firm. Dukhan Enterprises was one of Egypt’s most prestigious firms. Known for innovative architecture and global outlook, the company was a big part of the changing face of Egypt.

Omar thought of his brother, and his mouth tightened. Harad Dukhan insisted he was leading Egypt forward into the future. A brighter future. Omar wasn’t so sure.

He looked up at the high rise. It was a beautiful building, all white limestone and glass. In any other city it would have been a marvel.

In Alexandria, it was an eyesore.

He squared his shoulders and went to the main door, where an armed security guard looked at him with a wary eye.

“Can I help you, sir?”

Omar knew that his desert robes had aroused the guard’s suspicions. Many of the nomadic desert people in Egypt were opposed to what they considered westernization. Like Omar, some viewed Harad Dukhan as a man who’d climbed into bed with the capitalists. Unlike Omar, these people didn’t love Harad Dukhan. Some of them wanted to kill him.

“Is Harad still at work? I’m his brother.”

The guard spoke into a telephone, and in a moment pushed buttons to open the door electronically. “Tenth floor,” he said.

Omar nodded. It had been at least five years since he’d stepped foot on his brother’s property. Five years since he’d seen his brother. He rode the elevator up and stepped into an elaborate office. Against the wall, backlit by the beauty of the city, his brother sat at a desk. Very slowly he leaned forward.

“Omar,” Harad said with some surprise. “You haven’t been to Alexandria in over five years. What’s wrong?”

“I need a favor,” Omar said. He gave no indication how glad he was to see his brother or how much it cost him to ask for help. They had parted bitterly, with harsh words on both sides. To his relief, he saw that Harad was not going to mention the argument that had caused such a rift between them.

“What can I do?” Harad asked.

“There’s an expedition set up to search for the City of Con.” He saw his brother flinch. So Harad still, at least, had some affection for his desert roots, for the things his nomadic people held close. For the place where their mother had been buried.

“There have been other expeditions. None of them have succeeded,” Harad said carefully.

“This woman, Beth Bradshaw, she’s different.”

Instead of questioning Omar, Harad simply nodded. “What can I do to help my brother?”

“Find out who’s backing her. If we can get the money withdrawn, she’ll have no choice but to go home.” Omar held on to his composure, but it was hard. Like old times, Harad was there for him.

“I can try to find that information.” Harad got to his feet slowly. “Will you have dinner with me?”

Omar almost said no, then he hesitated. “We’re as different as the lion and the camel. Can we share a meal without one getting eaten by the other?”

Harad’s smile was amused but sad. “Perhaps for one meal the lion can put aside his claws and teeth. I’ve missed you, brother.” He stepped forward and took his brother’s elbow. “You’ve lost weight, gotten hard, like the desert people.”

“Like our people, Harad.” Omar looked around the elegantly appointed office. “This is not where you belong. We’re free people. Nomads of the desert.”

Harad only squeezed Omar’s arm more tightly. “You’ve made your choice, brother. I don’t intend to try and talk you into putting your university education to use. Please, don’t try to talk me out of my chosen life.”

Omar nodded. “For tonight,” he said.

Harad smiled. “Shall we go someplace quiet where we can talk, or noisy where we can laugh?”

Omar’s lean face broke into a grin. “Noisy. With good food and beautiful women.” There was one woman he definitely wanted out of his mind, and the distractions of some of his brother’s beautiful friends would be the perfect way to erase Beth Bradshaw.

“Done,” Harad said, and picked up his neatly folded suit jacket. “I’m glad to see you, Omar. Very glad.”

They walked out of the building together and headed toward the waterfront, where the restaurants were busy and the sound of laughter rang out over the water.

BETH SAT UP in bed, her heart pounding. It took several seconds for her to realize that her terror came from a nightmare, not from any real threat. In the time it took her to calm her fears, she recognized the hotel room, felt again the thrill of actually being in Egypt.

Taking deep breaths, she got out of bed and walked to the French doors that opened to the balcony. They were slightly open, allowing the breeze to flutter the sheer curtains. She was on the second floor of the old hotel, and her room looked out over a beautiful garden.

Slipping a robe over her short cotton nightshirt, she walked out onto the balcony and into a night that smelled of saltwater and unfamiliar spices. She’d asked the concierge in the hotel about the scent, and he’d told her it was tumeric and cumin, spices that had once been like gold in the East-West trade market.

She went to the railing and placed her hands on it, allowing her eyes to close and her body to fill with the scents and sounds around her. Alexandria. Jewel of the Mediterranean. The city had been a cultural and trading center of the Greek and Roman empires. Cleopatra had reigned from here, and had loved both Julius Caesar and Mark Antony.

She walked to the end of the balcony and almost screamed when a black shadow darted out of a chair. “Cat,” she said, a hand at her throat. “You frightened the life out of me.” A big black cat, he looked exactly like the one that had been on the bus with her. But there were a million cats in Egypt, and a lot of them were black. Surely it wasn’t the same one.

“Meow.”

The cat didn’t seem in an apologetic mood, but then, cats never apologized.

“You could at least pretend,” she said, taking the seat the cat had vacated.

To her surprise, the cat flopped over on his back at her feet, a low, pleading meow escaping his throat.

“Well, okay, you’re forgiven,” she said, feeling only a little foolish for talking to the cat.

As if he understood, the cat jumped onto her lap with a quickness and agility that was truly amazing. She stroked his head and was rewarded with a purr.

“I guess cats aren’t so bad,” she said, tickling him under the chin. “But don’t you belong to someone?”

He continued to purr, settling on her lap as she stroked him. Beyond the wall of the garden were the sounds of a large city.

Beth settled back into the chair. Having the cat on her lap gave her a sense of contentment. She was completely in darkness while around her the city pulsed with life. This was the role she knew so well, the one she’d played most of her life, that of observer. In her work she examined the artifacts of the past and from them wove the pattern of daily life. She knew the routine of the Indian women of the Southwest, the day-today struggle to feed a family and maintain life in an arid climate.

By examining those ancient remains, she could reconstruct a world that no longer existed. And it was a world often richer and more real than her own world. In the shards of pottery, she found evidence of wedding feasts and the celebration of everyday life. The long-dead people she studied were filled with emotion and the visible bonds of family. So far, other than the Corbets, she hadn’t found any of those emotional links.

She knew she should go back to bed, but the remnants of the bad dream kept her from attempting to go back to sleep.

She heard the outer gate of the garden creak open, and she leaned forward to catch a glimpse of the person coming in so late at night. A lone man walked into the garden with purpose and caught her attention even when she didn’t intend to stare. Halfway across the garden, he stopped.

He wore the flowing robes of the desert, and even in the semidarkness she could see that he stood tall and proud. Something about him was vaguely familiar, and she felt a strange increase in her pulse.

She couldn’t see his features, but she was certain she’d seen him before.

The guide! It was Omar Dukhan. He was standing in the garden looking up at her room.

Beth eased back into the chair so that she would be completely hidden from his view. The cat slipped from her lap and walked to the balcony railing. He stood with his tail twitching slightly, as if he, too, knew the identity of the man in the garden.

Beth watched in fascination as Omar continued toward the hotel, disappearing beneath her balcony as he approached the entrance. He was obviously staying in the hotel, too.

She started to call the cat to her when she heard a noise on the balcony next to her. The sound came from John Gilmore’s room, and she leaned out over the balcony to see what was going on.

John stood at the railing, watching as Omar entered the hotel. He remained a moment longer and then went back inside his room.

The cat ran into her room and began scratching at the door to the hall. She moved to the door and listened carefully before opening it a crack. John stepped from his room into the hallway, turned his head in both directions and then hurried toward the stairs that led to the first floor.

Even though she wore her nightgown and robe, Beth slipped into the hallway and began to follow John. The cat was at her side and gave her a sense of security that she knew was silly. He was only a cat, but his presence did help.

The hotel hallway was empty, filled with the silence of early morning. She started down the stairs and felt something tug at her gown. Surprised, she turned around to find the cat hooking his right paw into the lace of her nightshirt and holding firm.

As soon as she stopped, he darted in front of her and took the lead, stopping at the bottom of the stairs and peeking around the corner. He was acting as if he knew what they were doing—spying on John Gilmore and the intense Omar Dukhan.

The cat gave a low growl, which Beth took to mean that she should be very quiet. She eased up beside him and immediately saw the two men in conversation in the empty lobby.

The look on Omar’s face was inscrutable. He listened as John talked with great passion. Beth was too far away from the men to hear what they were saying. She glanced around the room, searching for a place that would conceal her while still allowing her to eavesdrop. There was nothing except a sofa near the men. She’d have to cross fifty feet of open floor to get to it. Impossible.

The cat patted her knee once with his paw and then darted across the room. He made a beeline for the sofa and slipped beneath it without either man noticing him.

Great! The cat could hear the conversation, but since he didn’t talk, he couldn’t relay what had been said. Beth fumed as she hid at the foot of the stairs. She didn’t like the idea of John Gilmore and Omar Dukhan meeting in secret.

Well, not exactly in secret, but pretty darn close. It was three in the morning. John had obviously been waiting on the balcony for Omar to return. Their meeting appeared to have had been prearranged. And that didn’t sit well with Beth.

Watching the two men, she saw that whatever Omar Dukhan might be feeling, he didn’t show a thing. He only listened and gave the occasional monosyllabic reply.

John, on the other hand, was red-faced, his hands gesticulating wildly. John’s temper was one of his most serious drawbacks as a leader. When a crew member messed up, that was the time he or she needed the most support. John’s response was always biting anger and cruel remarks, which destroyed a crew’s desire to work.

It seemed that John was angry with Omar, but about what? Beth felt her skin tingle and dance. The idea that there was some sort of pact between the two was unnerving. She didn’t trust either of them. That was what it boiled down to. A total lack of trust.

John abruptly turned away from Omar and started toward the stairs. Beth, caught unprepared, scampered back up the stairs and barely made it into her room before she heard John’s step in the second-floor hallway. But she was panting more with emotion than exertion as she sat down on her bed.

John walked past her room, entered his own and closed the door. Beth heard a faint scratching at her door and opened it. The black cat stood there, tail twitching. He brushed past her and leaped onto the bed, settling in among the pillows.

“Meow,” he said softly, curling around again in an invitation for her to come to bed.

“Okay,” she said. There was nothing else she could do. As much as she wanted to charge into John’s room and demand to know what he was up to, she knew he wouldn’t tell her. The only thing to do was bide her time and figure it out later. But figure it out she would. Until then, she’d double-check every arrangement Omar Dukhan made on her behalf.

And search for another guide.

I ONLY CAUGHT the tail end of the conversation between Desert Hawk and John Gilmore, but it wasn’t a happy exchange. Obviously John had accused Hawk of something, Hawk had denied it, and then hot words had flown. All from the mouth of John. Hawkman hardly said a word.

I’m wondering if John was huffy about Omar’s failing to meet them in the airport, or if he’s already discovered that his air tank has been tampered with. Or maybe there’s something else going on. How did John know that Omar would be coming in through the garden gate? Did they have a rendezvous time arranged?

There are many questions to be answered, but right now this kitty needs some shut-eye. Dinner at the Abbula was a little too rich. Eleanor ordered for me, and then allowed me to sample all the goodies they had left over. Women! They know that the way to a cat’s heart is through his stomach. But mine is a little bloated. Ah, I remember the good old days when I could eat five platefuls of food and never have a moment of regret.

This aging business is getting to be a little annoying. If I’m going to keep my svelte feline figure, I’m going to have to cut down on the rich food or beef up the old exercise regime.

For now, though, I’m in bed with a very sexy little anthropologist. I’ll bet she would be excellent at some under-the-sheet explorations. Ah, some man is going to be very, very lucky when she finally settles on him.

Until tomorrow!