He Shall Thunder in the Sky (17 page)

     As David approached I wondered how two men could look so much alike as he and Ramses, and yet look so different! He was wearing Ramses’s clothes, and his pith helmet shadowed his face, and their outlines were almost identical — long legs and narrow waists and broad shoulders — but I could have told one from the other just by the way they moved.

     “A few of the local lads turned up,” David explained.

     “I suppose one ought to have expected that. They are always anxious for work, and extremely curious.”

     “It’s all to the good, really. More unobservant and uncritical witnesses.”

     “What are you going to do with them?”

     David grinned. “Start them clearing away sand. There’s plenty of it. Perhaps you’d care to interrogate them about the illicit digging while I stalk about scribbling notes and looking enigmatic.”

     “Was there illicit digging?”

     “There always is.”

     There always was. Under my expert questioning, one of the villagers broke down and admitted he and a few friends had found and cleared a small mastaba over the past summer. I demanded he show me the place and made a great fuss about it, though if he had not lied to me (which was entirely possible), the tomb was not likely to have contained anything of value, being one of the smaller and poorer variety. We had found very little ourselves, even in the larger tombs.

     I was forced to wait until midday, when the men went off to eat and rest, before I could have a private conversation with David. There was no shelter, not even a patch of shade, so I put up my useful parasol and we made ourselves as comfortable as we could with our backs up against the pyramid, and got out the sandwiches and tea David had brought with him.

     “Now,” I said. “Tell me everything.”

     “That’s rather a tall order, Aunt Amelia.”

     “Take all the time you like.”

     “How much has Ramses told you?”

     “Nothing. He was too ill. Now, see here, David, I fully intend to get it out of you, and if Ramses does not like it, that is too damned — er — too bad.”

     He choked on the tea he was drinking. I patted him on the back. “I am glad to see you, even under these circumstances,” I said affectionately. “I presume Ramses has kept you informed about our loved ones back in England. Lia is doing splendidly.”

     “No, she’s not.” He bowed his head, and I saw there were lines in his face that had not been there before. “She’s lonely and worried and frightened — and so am I, for her. I should be with her.”

     “I know, my dear. Perhaps you can be soon.”

     “I hope so. A few more weeks will tell the tale. By then we will have succeeded or failed.”

     “That is a relief,” I said, trying not to think about the second alternative. “Now, David, start at the beginning.”

     David hesitated, looked at me, and sighed. “Oh, well, I’ve never been able to keep anything from you, have I? Ramses has been playing the role of a certain person —”

     “Kamil el-Wardani? Aha, I thought I must be right. But why?”

     “The Germans and the Turks are hoping to provoke an uprising in Cairo, to coincide with their attack on the Canal. If any man could bring such a thing off, it is Wardani. They approached him first last April. Oh, yes, they knew war was imminent, and they knew Turkey would come in; there was a secret treaty signed in early August. They think ahead, these Germans. I got wind of the plan from Wardani himself, so of course I told Ramses.”

     “It must have been difficult, betraying the confidence of a friend.” I added quickly, “You were absolutely right to do so, of course.”

     “Ramses is more than my friend. He is my brother. And there were other reasons. For all his rhetorical bombast, Wardani was not a believer in violent revolution when I joined the movement. He had changed. He kept talking about blood being necessary to water the tree of liberty. . . . It made me sick to hear him. A revolt could not have succeeded, but before it was put down, hundreds, perhaps thousands, of deluded patriots and innocent bystanders would have been slaughtered. I want independence for my country, Aunt Amelia, but not at that price.”

     I had long admired David’s strength of character; now, as I studied his thin brown face and sensitive but resolute lips, I was so moved I took his hand and gave it a little squeeze. “My dear,” I said. “You learned of Lia’s expectations, so greatly desired by you both, in September. You could have withdrawn from the scheme then. No one would have blamed you.”

     “Ramses urged me to do so. We had quite an argument about it, in fact. He didn’t give in until I threatened to tell Lia the whole story and ask her to make the decision. He knew she’d insist I stand by him. He’s walking a tightrope, Aunt Amelia; there’s a river filled with crocodiles under it, and vultures hovering overhead, and now it looks as if somebody is sawing at the rope.”

     “Poetic but uninformative, my dear,” I said uneasily. “Precisely who is after him?”

     “Everybody. Except for the few people who are in on the secret, every police officer in Cairo is trying to arrest Wardani. The Germans and the Turks are using him for their own ends; they’d do away with him in an instant if they thought he was playing a double game. Then there are the hotheads in the movement itself. He has to keep them inactive without arousing their suspicions. If they believed he had softened toward the British they would — they would find another leader.”

     “Kill him, you mean.”

     “They would call it an execution. And of course if they ever learned his real identity, that would be the end of him.”

     “And of you. David,” I cried, “it is insane for you and Ramses to take these risks! You said yourself that Wardani is the only man who could lead a successful revolt. Let it be known that he has been captured. His followers will be left leaderless and ineffectual, Ramses will be safe, and you can sail at once for England, and Lia. A pardon or amnesty can be arranged —”

     “That is what will happen eventually. But it can’t be done just yet.”

     “Why not?”

     “The enemy has begun supplying Wardani with arms — rifles, pistols, grenades, possibly machine guns. We must hang on until we get those weapons into our hands, and find out how and by whom they are being brought into Cairo.”

     I caught my breath. “Of course! I ought to have realized.”

     “Well, yes, you ought,” David said, with an affectionate smile. “Without arms there can’t be a revolution, only a few hysterical students preaching jihad, and Ramses is doing his best to prevent even that. He doesn’t like seeing people hurt, you know.”

     “I know.”

     “If we act too soon, the Turks will find other supply routes and other recipients. Ramses thinks that one of his own lieutenants is trying to supplant him, and Farouk is not the only ambitious revolutionary in Cairo. The first delivery — two hundred rifles and the ammunition to go with them — was supposed to take place last night.”

     “And Ramses was there?”

     “Yes, ma’am. At least I assume he was. You see, Ramses took Mrs. Fortescue to dinner at Shepheard’s last night. The idea was . . . I told him it wouldn’t work, but he . . .” David gave me a sidelong look from under his lashes. “I don’t think I had better tell you this part.”

     “I think you
had
better.”

     “Well, he had to leave at eleven in order to be at the rendezvous. Obviously I couldn’t take his place with Mrs. Fortescue. A substitution at such close quarters . . . er. So the idea was that he would offend the lady by making — er — rude advances, so she would storm out and leave him — me, that is — to sulk silently but visibly in the bar. Unfortunately she . . .”

     “Was not offended? David, how can you laugh when the situation is so desperate? Confound it, I believe you and Ramses actually enjoy these machinations!”

     David got himself under control. “I’m sorry, Aunt Amelia. I suppose in a way we do. The situation is so damned — excuse me — deuced desperate, we have to find what humor we can in it. Someday you must get him to tell you about the time he turned up at a meeting disguised as himself.”

     “With that gang of cutthroats? He didn’t!”

     “Oh, yes, he did. Gave them a lecture on the art of disguise while he was about it.”

     “I do not know what is the matter with that boy! So how did he get away from her? You need not go into detail,” I added quickly.

     “You’ll have to ask him. He was late meeting me and in a hurry, and in no mood to answer questions.” The glint in David’s dark eyes reminded me that, for all his admirable qualities, David was, after all, a man.

     “Hmmm,” I said. “It is probable then, that he reached the rendezvous unscathed. Dear me, this is confusing! Did the individual who shot him believe he was shooting at Wardani or at Ramses?”

     David pushed his hat back and wiped his perspiring forehead with the back of his hand — a good touch, that, I thought approvingly. Ramses never has a handkerchief.

     “That’s the question, isn’t it? Apparently Ramses fears the latter may be the case, or rather, that the fellow suspected Wardani was . . . shall we say, not himself? The truth about Wardani’s present whereabouts is a closely guarded secret, but no secret is one hundred percent secure. If word got out that Wardani was interned in India, people wouldn’t wonder for long who had taken his place. Ramses’s talents are too well known. That’s why I have appeared in public as Ramses on several occasions when Wardani was conspicuously elsewhere.”

     “And on at least one occasion you appeared as Wardani while Ramses was conspicuously elsewhere. Really,” I said, in considerable chagrin, “I cannot imagine how I could have been so easily fooled!”

     “You had never met Wardani,” David said consolingly.

     “That is true. I did sense something out of the way — something oddly familiar about him. My instincts were correct, as usual, but I was misled by — er — well, that is now irrelevant. One of these days I will give myself the pleasure of a little conversation with Thomas Russell. He has been laughing up his sleeve at me the whole time!”

     “I assure you, Aunt Amelia, he’s not laughing now. I was supposed to have reported to him early this morning, after I had heard from Ramses. He must be badly worried.”

     “You must have been worried too, when Ramses failed to meet you.”

     “I was beginning to be when the Professor turned up — scaring me half out of my wits, I might add! Ramses and I always try to meet after these exchanges, if only to bring one another up-to-date; there was one time, I remember, when I had to pretend to be drunk and incoherent in order to avoid a conversation with Mr. Woolley. Lawrence was with him, and I was afraid one of them would demand an explanation next time they saw him.”

     “By the time this is over, no respectable person in Cairo will be speaking to Ramses,” I said with a heartfelt sigh. “Do not mistake me, David; if nothing worse than that happens I will be heartily grateful. So he was supposed to have gone to you last night before returning to the house?”

     David nodded. His arms rested on his raised knees and his lashes, long and thick like those of my son, veiled his eyes. “I doubt he was in condition to think very clearly. He must have headed blindly for home.”

     “Yes.” I took out my handkerchief and dabbed at my eyes. “Good gracious, there is a great deal of sand blowing about today. Well, David, it looks as if we must play this same game again tomorrow. The following day is Christmas Eve; Ramses should be on the mend by then, and we can have a quiet few days at home. All of us except you, my dear. Oh, I wish . . .”

     “So do I.”

     “Don’t kiss me, Ramses never does,” I said, sniffing.

     He kissed me anyhow. “Now,” he said, “have you given any thought as to how I am going to put on a show for the general populace this afternoon without Nefret getting a close look at me?”

     “It is going to be horribly difficult, but that isn’t the only reason I wish Nefret could be told. David, he won’t see a doctor, and I did the best I could, but I am not qualified to treat injuries like those, and she is, and she would never —”

     “Aunt Amelia.” He took my hand. “I knew this was going to come up. In fact, I had meant to raise the subject myself if you didn’t. Ramses told me he was afraid he had failed to convince you that she mustn’t know the truth. There are two excellent reasons why that is impossible. One is a simple matter of arithmetic: the more people who know a secret, the greater the chance that someone will inadvertently let it slip. The other reason is a little more complicated. I don’t know that I can make you understand, but I have to try.

     “You see, there’s a bizarre sort of gentleman’s code in this strange business of espionage. It applies only to gentlemen, of course.” His finely cut lips tightened. “The poor devils who take most of the risks aren’t included in the bargain. But the men who run the show keep hands off the families and friends of their counterparts on the other side. They have to, or risk retaliation in kind. If Ramses and I were suspected, they wouldn’t use you to get at us, but if it were known that you, or the Professor, or Nefret, or anyone else, were taking an active part in the business, you’d be fair game. That’s why he didn’t want you to find out, and that is why Nefret mustn’t find out. Good God, Aunt Amelia, you know how she is! Do you suppose she wouldn’t insist on taking a hand if she thought we were in danger?”

     “She would, of course,” I murmured.

     “I know you’re worried about him,” David said gently. “So am I. And he’s worried about you. He’d never have brought you into it if he’d had a choice, and he’s feeling horribly guilty for endangering you and the Professor. Don’t make it harder for him.”

* * *

I have always said that timing is all-important in these matters. When we returned to Giza the sun was low enough to cast useful shadows; the tourists had begun to disperse, but there were still a number of people ready to turn and stare. As well they might! Draped dramatically across the saddle and supported by David’s arms, my loosened hair streaming out in the wind, I rested my head against his shoulder and said, under my breath, “This is a cursed uncomfortable position, David. Let us not linger any longer than is absolutely necessary.”