Читать книгу Desert Rogue - Erin Yorke - Страница 6

Though Ali had moved off quickly in pursuit of the American through the narrow winding streets of the medina, he had lost his quarry. He refused to give up, however, and began a methodical search of the Arab Quarter, a hunter stalking his prey.

Twice he had found himself tossed out into the street for daring to demand information, but the man seemed to have disappeared. Ali could think of only one place to look for him, the brothel district.

Determined to see justice done, he directed his steps to this neighborhood and set up a vigil, telling himself that if he did not catch sight of the man he sought within the hour, he would go home to Fatima.

Suddenly, a hundred yards ahead of him, the lanky foreigner appeared, turning unsteadily into Nadir’s brothel.

Ali hesitated outside in the alleyway. If Fatima ever learned that he had visited a house of pleasure, she would leave him and return to her father’s house. Still, there was the matter of the five thousand piasters he was owed, nearly a month’s income from the shop. He could not afford to forsake such a fee, regardless of Fatima’s disapproval of his methods. With any luck whatsoever, his beloved wife would never learn the details of this evening’s activities. It would be enough to go home and show her the American’s money.

Dismissing the doubts that plagued him, Ali lowered his head to his chest, intending to remain temporarily unnoticed while he surveyed the brothel. When no eruption followed the American’s entrance, Ali decided it was safe to pursue him inside.

A deep breath calmed his racing heart as he crossed the threshold into the shadowy recesses of Nadir’s front room. Looking around surreptitiously, he spied the villain already moving up the stairs to the small cubicles above.

“No, no, you cannot go up to the girls without paying,” protested an overweight Egyptian behind the table, holding up a paunchy hand as Ali started for the staircase. “It is not permitted.”

“I am not here for pleasure. I am with the American,” lied Ali, sidestepping the proprietor and beginning the upward climb. “I stand outside his door to guard his privacy while he enjoys the sweet treats you provide.”

“Oh, room six, then,” agreed Nadir, not wanting any trouble. The American had already paid for the girl’s services. “Just stay in the hall. The girls get more money with an audience.”

Room six was the last in the corridor and Ali stood quietly outside. He would give the man a few minutes to become so involved that flight would be the furthest thing from his mind.

Then it was time for a quick tap on the door, followed by a pause and another staccato tattoo.

“I bring message,” he called. “Urgent message.”

The flimsy door opened abruptly and Ali pushed his way into the shadowy room, its only light provided by a few half-burned candles. A slender, half-clothed Egyptian girl stood by the door while the bare-chested American lay sprawled on the rumpled pile of cushions on the floor, a bottle of whiskey in one hand. Taking a long swallow, he held it out as if to offer it to Ali and nodded casually.

“Here, have a snort and tell me your message. Another job waiting, I suppose, though heaven only knows how you found me.”

“It is simple, sir. You owe me five thousand piasters for the damage you did to my shop,” announced Ali solemnly. “Pay me at once and I’ll leave.”

“Oh, it’s you, you filthy dog,” Jed growled, trying to make his eyes focus. “The brass merchant from the bazaar! It seems your merchandise isn’t the only thing that’s made out of brass. Get the hell out of here!”

“What? I do not understand.”

“You interrupt my pleasure to present me with a bill?” yelled Jed, struggling to his feet to confront the Egyptian. “I was never in your shop. It was the fool polecat I tossed against the wall who did the damage.”

“Your memory fails you because of the drink. I told you he had no money,” Ali explained rationally, refusing to be intimidated. “You must pay.”

“Pay nothing,” bellowed Jed. “Woman, get out of my way. I’m going to toss this ragged shopkeeper out on his ear and then we can get back to business.”

Ali, however, was lighter on his feet and swifter than the drunken Jed and he effortlessly sidestepped the other’s lunging motion. Extending his arms to harness the American’s momentum, Ali used it to propel his opponent headfirst into the corridor, where Jed made contact with the wall and slid to the floor.

In an instant, though, the American was back on his feet, spoiling for a real fight. No one had ever knocked Jed Kincaid to the ground so that he stayed there, and no scrawny Egyptian peddler was going to succeed now. Uttering a screaming war cry, Jed lowered his head and ran at Ali, butting him in the stomach and thrusting him into the adjoining door.

The impact of two flying bodies crashed the thin panel without warning. Suddenly Ali and Jed found themselves on an already-occupied mattress, its occupants none too happy.

“What is the meaning of this intrusion?” demanded the man on the bed as his companion sought to cover herself.

“He struck me without cause,” protested Ali, moving quickly to his feet, preparing to strike back at Jed. But as fast as he regained his stance and swung, so did the American.

Unfortunately, however, while Ali’s fist swung wide and hit only air, Jed’s connected soundly with the stranger’s jaw, at the same instant Ali spied the jacket of the Egyptian police slung casually over a chair. Groaning, he turned hurriedly toward the door, hoping to escape even as their victim rose to tower over them. Muttering angrily to himself, the officer snatched up the manacles intended for another purpose and grabbed Ali’s wrists while calling his men from nearby rooms to block Jed’s escape.

“Constable, it wasn’t my fault,” the shopkeeper protested, already dreading the scene to come. “I apologize that we disturbed you, but—”

“Constable?” echoed Jed, a dull pain beginning between his eyes. Somehow he doubted the manacles were a good omen, especially when a second set appeared and clamped his own wrists together. “I can explain everything. I was simply having myself a good time next door when this wild man interrupted—much the same way he, ah, we barged in on you—”

“Enough,” the policeman snapped, donning his uniform jacket. His evening’s pleasure had already been lost, but he might as well get credit for an arrest or two, he decided, herding the prisoners toward the stairs.

Disturbing the peace, disorderly conduct, attacking a constable, and probably another charge or two to begin with, he mused gleefully until it dawned on him that the foreigner had been speaking to his Egyptian opponent in English. How could he arrest someone who was possibly a subject of the British Crown? Giving in to such folly without consulting the English authorities could put him in jeopardy of never being able to patronize Nadir’s again.

With a heartfelt sigh he adjusted his uniform and ordered the felons to be taken to the office of the consul general.

* * *

Grace Shaw had lost count of the number of circuits she had made of Cameron’s study, pacing to and fro, but feeling somehow closer to her husband in this room though he was miles away. She had endured dinner alone when Victoria hadn’t returned, stubbornly refusing to send the servants after her errant daughter. But when darkness fell, the worried mother capitulated and dispatched the household in search of her. Yet Victoria was nowhere on the grounds and Grace was very frightened.

What would Cameron do? she wondered as the clock struck midnight. If she worried Hayden and it turned out Victoria had merely slipped away to visit a friend in order to avoid addressing those blasted invitations, the Englishman would think ill of his fiancée. Still, if she didn’t tell him and Victoria was in trouble, he would think her a fool or worse.

It was more than four hours since she had left Victoria on the riverbank, where the old gardener had found her hat. But the girl was impulsive. Many was the time Grace had seen her toss her bonnet aside because she found it bothersome in one activity or another.

If only Cameron were here, fluttered the anxious mother. He would know how to avoid scandal, and the longer Victoria was gone, alone and unchaperoned, the more likely it appeared that would be necessary. Perhaps if she sent a note to Hayden, deploring the hour and asking him to escort Victoria home? That was it. She would dispatch a message as if nothing were wrong and the girl had planned to visit him tonight. If Hayden sent word that he hadn’t seen Victoria, then Grace would have garnered his assistance without directly asking for help.

Relieved at having made a decision, she sat at her husband’s desk to compose the note, only to be interrupted by the houseman.

“This was just delivered, Mrs. Shaw. The boy said it was urgent or I would have left it until morning,” he explained, handing over a heavy envelope sealed with wax that bore no imprint.

“Thank you, Ahmet. I shall need you to take a message to Mr. Reed for me shortly. I will ring when it is ready.” Her hand shook only slightly as she slit the packet, her unacknowledged fear finally taking hold. Victoria was missing, a young white woman in uncivilized Egypt. What else could this be but a monetary demand to guarantee her safety?

With icy fingers, she turned the envelope upside down, spilling out a crudely drawn map, a page of irregular print and the brooch Victoria had worn that evening. Her fears were confirmed.

Scanning the poorly spelled missive, Grace Shaw expelled a slow breath and, leaning back in Cameron’s chair, uttered a prayer.

“Oh, Lord, I don’t often ask favors of you, but please take care of my dear girl. I vow I’ll get the money these devils lust after, but let them be satisfied with that,” murmured Grace. “Surely if I do as they say, they won’t harm her. Hayden will know how to handle them. He’s good at problems and he cares for Victoria. I know he’ll see the ransom paid if I give him the money. And then Victoria will be home safe and sound.”

But after she had been abducted would Hayden Reed still wish to claim Victoria for his bride? With a strenuous effort, Grace concentrated on the matter at hand. There would be time enough to worry about that later; until then, emotionless efficiency must be her goal. First the message to John Thomas, Cameron’s assistant at the bank, asking him to discreetly release the funds to Hayden. Then the letter to Hayden himself.

* * *

Hayden Reed, consular agent, finished buttoning his trousers and passed the back of his hand across his sleep-laden eyes. Struggling to attach his shirt’s stiff collar, he wondered what emergency it was that would call him from his bed at two o’clock in the morning. He hoped that whatever it was, it had nothing to do with him and his work. Yet no matter the situation, the tall, slim Englishman vowed he would handle it. With unperturbed movements that belied his nervousness, he applied pomade to his hair, and a few swift strokes of his silver-backed brush soon had every golden strand impeccably in place.

He rinsed his hands and wiped them fastidiously, then checked his appearance in the mirror. Should the matter now demanding his attention call for the appraisal of his immediate supervisor, Hayden wanted to look every inch the proper British government servant. And if it was, indeed, his superior who had summoned him for questioning, a flawless appearance would not be amiss.

Easing into his expensively tailored suit jacket, and gently tugging the end of each sleeve so that not too much shirt cuff was exposed, he opened the door between his temporary bachelor rooms and the long hallway that led to the government offices at the other end of the building.

His inordinately fine leather shoes softly tapped out his progress as he trod along the corridor, happy that marrying Victoria Shaw meant he could leave his rather Spartan quarters behind and move into a house in a fashionable area of Cairo. A private residence would be so much more useful to a man in his line of work, and he looked forward to taking possession of it two days hence, a full three months before his wedding day.

When he reached the door that led to the office, Hayden straightened his tie and shoulders before making his entrance, his left eyebrow cocked to a suitably inquisitive yet critical degree.

Prepared for just about any crisis, the tall, wiry Englishman had never expected a sight the likes of which greeted him. It caused him to breathe easier. There standing on the costly, intricately handwoven carpet before his desk were two of the most bedraggled human beings Hayden had ever seen in the company of a common Egyptian constable, who appeared to be tempering his own irritation toward the pair with obsequious apologies for disturbing him at such an odd hour.

The unlikely duo was a study in contrasts. One was Egyptian, of obvious Bedouin stock, yet his demeanor and clothing, shredded though it was, proclaimed him to be a man of business rather than a nomad. But it was the other man who commanded Hayden’s attention. A Caucasian, the fellow was nonetheless one of the scruffiest-looking specimens Hayden had encountered in quite some time. Dressed in the sort of well-worn kit one might don on an archaeological dig, the man sported a heavy brown stubble of beard and, judging from his arrogant grin, an attitude that struck Hayden as even more prickly.

“What’s all this, then?” Hayden asked condescendingly. The question had been directed to the police official, the two men apparently in custody being, of course, beneath his notice.

“Most honored sir,” the constable began, “a small problem has arisen.”

“If it is so trifling, why bother me with it?” Hayden inquired, not troubling to offer the policeman a seat. This was merely a civil matter and not his own actions being called to task.

“Please hear me out. You are aware, of course, that the Egyptian constabulary is autonomous,” the officer began, his spine straightening and his chest puffing out with importance. “It is only as a favor to you that I bring these two men here, and certainly not because we are subordinate to Britain.”

“Yes, yes, get on with it,” Hayden brusquely commanded with a wave of his hand, knowing as well as the uniformed Egyptian that the police force was independent in name only.

“My presence tonight concerns these two,” the policeman stated with a nod, his tones made more deferential by Hayden’s obvious impatience.

Hayden studied the pair in question, noting the apprehension in the Bedouin’s eyes and the casual nonchalance of the other man. The one was obviously contrite about his part in whatever had occurred, while his companion appeared to be merely amused, a sentiment Hayden did not share as he thought of his comfortable bed at the opposite end of the corridor and the upset he had felt when he had been awakened.

“These criminals were involved in a most dreadful altercation, mudir. But since I suspected that fellow there might be a countryman of yours,” the constable said as he gestured toward Jed Kincaid, “and despite the fact reports show this is the third fight the fellow has been involved in today, I thought it best to learn your wishes in the matter before I placed him and his opponent in jail.”

“I tried to tell him I’m an American and not English,” came a casual drawl from across the room, forcing Hayden’s attention.

“Your nationality is quite evident,” the British official replied in clipped tones. The man, with his sun-burnished skin and raw strength, was all too primitive for Hayden’s taste. There was very little that was civilized about him, from his clothing to his manner. Dismissing him, Hayden pointedly turned to the portly constable once more. “As far as I am concerned, you can throw them both in jail for as long as you wish.”

“No, most respected sir,” the Egyptian in custody protested, his concern for Fatima overcoming his natural cautiousness in dealing with British officials. “I am not to blame. I was merely trying to recover money from this villain for the damages he did to my humble shop during one of his rampages. I asked him for payment, and that is when he set upon and attacked me.”

“And with good reason,” Jed growled, remembering the dark eyes and soft femininity of the woman employed at Nadir’s establishment.

“There was nothing to excuse your assaulting me,” interrupted the constable, his pride as bruised as his jaw.

“I wouldn’t have had a chance to hit you if you hadn’t been in that brothel,” Jed replied, his low, husky voice ripe with insinuation.

“I—I was merely con-conducting an investigation,” sputtered the squat, little police official.

“Yeah? Maybe you should ask him just what it was he was investigating,” Jed muttered skeptically to Hayden Reed.

“Never mind that! Let’s get back to the original issue. Why did you attack this Egyptian?” snapped Hayden with a nod in Ali’s direction.

“He asked for it. Besides, he deserved a good pounding for retreating into his shop when those other three jumped me. Is that what the shopkeepers in the medina do when an innocent man is beset by cutthroats?”

“I am nothing if not a law-abiding citizen. I do not become involved in common street brawls,” objected Ali. Never, in all his years in Cairo, had he called himself to the attention of the police or the English authorities.

“All that effort to recover a few piasters for some cheap tin and copper? I doubt that. It could be that you’re associated with the men who tried to rob and kill me. Maybe it was your job to see that I didn’t get away,” bluffed Jed coolly. He’d be damned if he was going to spend a night behind bars while the fellow who had interrupted his pleasure went free.

“My only quarrel with you was to recover the price of the goods you had ruined. By Allah, I swear it,” Ali maintained, casting a nervous glance in Hayden’s direction. One never knew what these foreigners would believe.

“This doesn’t concern me,” Hayden stated with the exasperation of one of the upper class forced to deal with inferiors. “Though I thank you, Constable, for your intention of allowing me to help decide the fate of one of my countrymen, what you do with these two is your concern. For all I care, you can lock them up and lose the key.”

“Whoa, one minute, Mr. Hayden Reed!” Jed shouted over Ali’s moan of despair. “I happen to know Great Britain runs the show here, and if you think you can turn your back on this Yank and wash your hands of me, you people are going to have another damn revolution on your hands!”

When Hayden replied, his ice blue eyes had turned frostier. “Is that a threat, Mr....?”

“Kincaid. Jed Kincaid.” He’d dealt with men like this before, Jed thought, long-suppressed images of his stepfather coming to mind after so many years. And he’d see himself in hell before he surrendered to propriety and played by this stuffy Englishman’s absurd rules. “And it’s no threat, Reed. It’s a reality.”

“See here, you colonial clod, your blustering has no effect on me,” Hayden retorted with disdain, half wishing that he had grounds to order this upstart American’s execution. Looking at the restless energy of the man before him, he doubted many jail cells had been built that could contain this powerful thug for very long. To imprison him and then have him escape would only feed the American’s already considerable ego as well as give the consul general cause to reassess his junior aide’s performance. The possibility made Hayden decide he should settle this matter—thoroughly frighten the man and then extract a promise from the bloody bounder to leave Cairo immediately and not return. As for the merchant, he would lecture him, as well. It wouldn’t do to have the natives think they could do whatever they pleased.

“I will tend to this problem,” Hayden began, waving the policeman out the door. Then he turned to Jed Kincaid. “Someone has to teach you proper respect for authority.”

“Many a man has tried,” Jed retorted, a dangerous glint lighting his emerald eyes, “and not one of them has succeeded.”

“Obviously,” Hayden replied dryly. “But now it is my turn.”

Concerned with their confrontation, both the American and Briton had forgotten Ali, standing quietly in the corner, viewing the escalating tension with growing anxiety. Hayden was determined to bend Jed Kincaid’s will to his own, and the American was just as resolved not to comply. As the two proud males squared off against each other, Ali feared that no matter who won, he would ultimately emerge as the loser.

But before either man could take any action, the door to the office burst open and one of the fellaheen entered quickly, carrying a message for the person in charge at the moment.

“Put it on the desk and then get out,” Hayden Reed ordered brusquely, not sparing the native Cairene a glance.

“But, mudir, it is most important!” the fellow protested vehemently. “This is from Mrs. Shaw.”

“There’s nothing so important that Mrs. Shaw would feel compelled to send me a missive at this time of night,” Hayden replied, the servant’s insistence filling him with uneasiness all the same. Then a possibility emerged, ladening him with dread. Could Cameron Shaw have died, gone to his Maker before he could use his influence to procure a title for his future son-in-law? Reed paled at the thought, forgot the disturbers of the peace and whirled around to confront the Shaws’ employee. “Nothing has happened to Mr. Shaw, has it?” he demanded anxiously, “or to Miss Victoria?”

“It is the young miss, to be sure,” the servant replied while Hayden tore open the seal and scanned the letter addressed to him.

Its contents all but undid the consular agent’s practiced reserve, and he sank into his seat, an upset and bitter man. Life’s greatest treasure had been stolen from him. Yes, of course he was worried about Victoria, she was everything he could want in a wife, and he had grown fond of her. But along with his fiancée, it was his own rise to power and social position that had, it would seem, been abducted. He slumped down further into his seat. Wondering if it was Victoria’s link to him and his own profession that had precipitated so tragic an event, he threw Grace Shaw’s letter onto the desk and rested his throbbing head in his hands.

Sensing that he and Ali had been forgotten, and curious as to what could visibly move a man of Reed’s reserve, Jed drew closer to the desk to read the decidedly feminine scrawl on the proper, watermarked stationery. The first few lines caused his lips to curl in a grim smile. It would seem Hayden Reed was in for a long night.

“Is this Victoria anything special to you?” Jed asked the benumbed British official.

“Miss Shaw is my fiancée, and I will thank you to refrain from mentioning her name. It should not be uttered by a man of your ilk,” Reed snapped before turning back to the servant. “Five thousand pounds! I can’t possibly raise such a sum in time.”

“The money is no problem, mudir. The mistress has sent someone to Mr. Shaw’s bank to fetch it.”

“But even given that, do you think we can get it to the oasis south of Wadi Halfa in five days’ time?” fretted Hayden.

“Wait a minute!” interrupted Kincaid. “I can’t be hearing right. You aren’t planning on paying the ransom for this girl’s return, are you?”

“What we do is none of your affair, Kincaid,” growled Reed.

“But why don’t you just ride out and get your woman back?” a truly puzzled Jed asked.

“Don’t be ridiculous, man! Difficult as it might be for you to comprehend, I can’t even begin to consider such a tactic,” Hayden protested. “The bastards are taking her to a wadi in the Sudan outside the realm of British authority. If I took it upon myself to send troops out after her, I could set off an incident that might cost thousands of innocent people their lives.”

“Oh, I can understand that part, all right, Reed,” Jed said, a taunting smile playing around his mouth. “What I can’t understand is why you don’t go after her yourself. If it was my fiancée, no one would be able to keep me here. It makes a man question your devotion to the lady.”

“I’m an official of the British government! I can’t be caught doing anything of the sort.” Perspiration was beading on Hayden’s brow. “It might very well involve my country in an intolerable situation that would only result in international confrontation. As for devotion, how dare you speak to me of my feelings for Miss Shaw? What does an uncivilized clod like you know about real love? After all, the constable did find you in a brothel!”

“I might not be on a first-name basis with true love, I’ll grant you,” Jed said with a chuckle, “but before this idiot interrupted me the lady I was with was loving every minute of it.”

“Uncouth lout! This is not the time for such crude bragging.”

“But, sir, what could you expect of a man like this?” Ali ventured to say. He had no wish for Kincaid’s reference to the circumstances of their arrest to remind Hayden Reed that he still had two lawbreakers with whom he must deal. Now more than ever, Ali Sharouk wanted to disassociate himself from the troublesome Jed Kincaid. And so, he went on to say more. “Unfortunately, I have become acquainted with his temper. However, he and I are quite different. He is a drifter, whereas I am a family man, a businessman of good standing in this city. My people have lived here for generations, and recently I have been fortunate enough to wed the daughter of a rich man who has no sons. I have ties to this community, while this ruffian has none. I care about the consequences of any action against the Sudan, though he does not. Do not listen to his goading. You can send a messenger and expect him to arrive at the oasis within the appointed time, if he makes use of the Nile.”

“Lord knows where I’ll find a reliable, experienced man,” Reed reflected aloud as his long fingers tapped out a perfect rhythm on the polished surface of his desk.

“Look, if you insist on going through with this ransom business, and I hope you realize that payment is no guarantee you’ll ever see Victoria Shaw alive again, I can offer a simple solution,” Jed said, recognizing the fact that trouble had found him once again, though he was willing to concede he had gone halfway to meet it. “I’ll take the money there for you.”

“You!” Hayden snorted in surprise. “You can’t go anywhere. You’re under arrest.”

“Then release me,” Jed persisted. Though he didn’t know her, he wouldn’t feel right walking away and leaving the woman’s safe return in the incompetent hands of Hayden Reed. If nothing else, Abigail Kincaid Bradshaw had raised her boys always to help a lady in distress, and it sounded as if the Shaw woman needed all the aid she could get.

“If you do let me go,” he continued, “I’ll track down the men who stole Vicky and get her back for you.”

“It’s Miss Shaw to you. And I would never allow such a thing as you are proposing to occur. You would only make a muck of it. Miss Shaw would be killed before you ever came near her abductors.”

“Really? Maybe you don’t realize you’re talking to the man who recovered Sheik Abdul Nabar’s stolen amulet, the symbol of his sovereignty over his people. Tell me, who else could have done such a thing and returned to tell about it?”

“You? You’re the one who went after the amulet and helped avert a tribal war among the Bedouins?” Hayden asked, cocking his head to one side and studying Jed Kincaid anew.

“One and the same,” Jed asserted to Ali’s dismay. Stories of the amulet’s savior had circulated through the bazaar, celebrating the man’s ruthless cunning. The idea that he had unknowingly tangled with him did not sit well with the tall Egyptian.

“You almost make your harebrained plot sound workable,” Hayden stated wistfully, his hopes for the future once more taking flight. “Still, I’m not willing to put Miss Shaw’s fate in your hands.”

“But you can’t sit by and do nothing,” Jed said with derision. “You’ve said you can’t undertake your fiancée’s rescue, and neither can anyone else in your department without putting Vicky’s life at stake or chancing this international incident. Me, I’m an American. If something happens, you can write me off as lost.”

“You and the five thousand pounds,” muttered Ali.

“What! Are you casting doubts on my honor?” a hotheaded Jed shouted, ready to begin a fight with the Egyptian all over again.

“Stop it! The two of you!” commanded Hayden Reed, coming to stand between the two men, the Egyptian’s words echoing in his head. “You had better start being civil to each other, because you’re going with Kincaid to the wadi.”

“By Allah, no!” the Egyptian objected vigorously.

“Like hell he is,” Jed growled simultaneously.

“There’s no question about it,” Hayden replied.

“But we hate each other,” Jed grumbled.

“We would kill each other,” Ali added hopefully.

“There will be no discussion on the matter,” Hayden Reed reiterated. “You may have the ability to get the job done, Kincaid, but I am not such a fool as to trust a man of your caliber with five thousand pounds, when Miss Shaw’s life depends on every shilling of the sum involved. As for you, your claim of indissolvable ties to the Cairo community and your family assures me that you will not run off with the ransom. You are going to see that Kincaid does as instructed. And that means merely delivering the money, with no dabbling in heroics.”

“And what makes you think I’ll allow Ali to go along?” Jed asked, his voice as bellicose as his tightly drawn features.

“Quite simply put, Kincaid, you are a man who needs his freedom. Refuse me, and I’ll turn you back over to that constable and see to it that you are put in a cell and forgotten.”

“How do you know I won’t agree to your plans and then get the hell out of Egypt?”

“Because Ali will not allow you to abscond with the funds when I am holding him personally responsible for your actions. Should you disappoint me, his family will learn just how bad business can be in Cairo.”

“And if I decline to become involved?” Ali inquired.

“Then we take you home and tell your wife that we found you tonight brawling in a whorehouse. Will she be pleased by those circumstances? I doubt it,” said Hayden in an incongruously pleasant tone of voice. “There’s really no need to think about it, gentlemen. You have no other alternative.”

Jed scowled in Ali’s direction, visions of the Egyptian’s constant carping in the otherwise silent desert almost more than he could bear. His only consolation was that the shopkeeper appeared no more pleased than he was. Damnation! Jed swore silently before nodding his head in assent. This was going to be the most difficult job he had ever undertaken.