Star of Egypt (19 page)

Her last shot was of the bristling Maggie, in the grip of the Secret Service.

During a varied, if dull, supper, conversation hubbed on whatever needed to be clarified, in ascending order.

Slayton had considered lying to Shauna Ramsey, telling her she had been removed and taken to the Secret Service car for her
own protection… but that held no water at all when one considered that he had allowed the President to waltz right into bomb
range. Long before he walked out of the disorder in the exhibit hall, he had decided to tell her the truth and leave judgment
to her.

A sophisticated electronic triggering device had been found in Maggie Leiber’s bag, as she was searched. She had known instantly
that Slayton had deactivated the directional bombs in the coffin case, and had brought her backup system into play with no
delay or fumbling. For Slayton, the key to Rashid Haman lay exclusively in the concept of boxes-within-boxes, or, in her case,
backup systems for backup systems. As Haman, she covered each of her plans so well, that by reverse reasoning, one might be
able to predict her actions—within limits.

But you never could figure all the angles, he thought.

The long session in Shauna’s hotel bathtub—the one to be found in her
third
suite in as many days in Washington—had stripped the layers of the ordeal from Slayton’s hide. He felt physically clean and
psychically purged. Not only was the spectre of Rashid Haman now resolved into a real person, subject to the laws governing
real things as opposed to legends, but the wraith that had bookmarked itself in the back of Slayton’s mind as an unsettled
score—the ghost of his former buddy, Barney Kaufman—was finally laid to rest.

“I suppose you could never be accused of what we might call sex discrimination when it comes to terrorists,” Shauna finally
said. “Not only Maggie, but me. We both turned out to be viable.”

“Shauna, you couldn’t have been set up more professionally,” Slayton said. “I overstepped my own specialty. I had the interests
of the assignment at heart.” He realized that that sounded wrong. “What I mean is—”

“Did you?” she said, searching his eyes for an answer. “I think maybe you lusted to nail Haman too much. You were so crazy
to get him—or her—that everybody became a suspect. You lacked faith in me just a little, don’t you think?”

“Shauna,” he said finally, aware of the handling required. “Listen. I was sure. And I was wrong. If you could see the documentation,
the files, you’d realize that it was better to proceed this way, even though it meant trampling a few egos in the process.
We came out safe. I won’t argue on this score; I think you know the importance of what I’m saying.

“I fell into more than one trap along this investigation. Pegging you was just another defect of my logic. Haman—or Maggie—was
never in the habit of leaving a surfeit of clues. I got myself manipulated. And I turned out to be wrong. But we’re both still
here. What I’m more concerned about than anything right now is whether you think this is all bullshit.”

Slayton knew he was prompting a long, meditative silence there in the close bathroom. He sank deeper into the steaming tub.
He had nothing more to say if Shauna was determined to hate him for doing his job. Perhaps the worst thing about it was that
it would not have been the first time such a judgment had been passed on him.

“Okay,” she said. “This time, you’ve made
your
speech. And whether you blew it or not is largely irrelevant. But I’m going to make one stipulation, here.” She was totally
serious. “I want to see everything on Rashid Haman, or Maggie Leiber. Everything.” Her tone suggested that she already found
the task unattractive. “I spent nearly a year living with her, working with her—do you have any idea how hard all this is
to accept on a rational level?”

“My point exactly,” said Slayton. “The first broad stroke—in fact, an ideal starting point—for concealing your identity is
misdirection. And perhaps the greatest, and therefore the most effective, misdirection is to make the enemy think you’re the
opposite sex. Saves a lot of trouble when it comes down to the other particulars, which are all artifice anyway. If you could
succeed where she succeeded, the frostings on such a misdirection are fairly simple.”

He knew he was still speechmaking. Perhaps he needed to get it all off his chest—though he would have hated to admit it in
those terms. He broke the silence by adding, “And yes, Shauna, I’ll show you everything you want to know. If anyone is entitled,
you are.”

She touched the lump on his head, gently. “You look like hell,” she said.

Slayton said, “No, I’m okay.” Whereupon he let his eyes roll up and sank beneath the surface of the water with a gurgle and
a theatrical show of bubbles.

“I ought to hold your head under,” she said, mostly to the bathroom.

After more frothing, Slayton’s mouth surfaced and he said, “I only go down once, not three times, you know, so if you’re going
to save my ass, don’t wait. Glurg!” It left ripples behind when it sank.

“Nut.” She nodded her head in sober judgment. And then she climbed into the tub, overflowing it, straddling the surprised
Slayton. She was fully clothed.

Arms came out of the water and pulled her down to his waiting mouth.

She had intended to catch a bath before dinner anyhow.

The table consisted of Shauna and Professor Willis, Ben Slayton and Wilma Christian, who managed to keep her mouth shut and
be civil to Shauna.

“The pivotal element was the American trainees,” said Slayton. “They were all under Maggie’s orders, of course, but I attributed
stunts to her that were accomplished by them. I didn’t consider it until you showed me the pictures taken on the dock, Wilma.”

“What ‘stunts,’ Mr. Rade—I mean, Mr. Slayton?” Willis had long since washed away his shock at Maggie’s true identity with
his more characteristic curiosity.

“The stunt with the forklift, for example,” he replied. “It was pulled off by a man from the very next section of the warehouse,
entering and leaving through a door concealed by all the junk. That door—” (which had turned out to be located directly beyond
the position of the cart upon which Slayton had leaped to safety) “—was the reason he could get away without being seen. It
was also a beautiful implication of the workers in the warehouse, since we never suspected the rooms were linked.”

“An intricate sensibility for plans with many layers,” Wilma said.

“Like the coffin boxes,” said Shauna. “One inside the other.”

“Right. If everything had turned into the disaster it was supposed to, later, she knew I’d remember lots of little details
and damn myself for not figuring it out sooner. Part of her game—and, of course, one does such things only when one is confident
of winning.” He punctuated this with a sip of his wine, a passable Rhineskeller.

“Haman implicated Bassam, whose only value was being an available victim,” Shauna said. “As soon as he got actually involved—by
handling the cobra and planting it, under her orders—he was useless as a diversion. So she eliminated him in a manner designed
to cause the most confusion and get the most things done in one fell swoop: she primed him, with threats of revealing his
identity and her leverage as Haman, and then pointed him at Ben. His coming after Ben provided a new scapegoat—namely me,
since I was the one who suggested he consult Maggie on the Arab work crew in the first place.”

“And when I suspected Shauna,” said Slayton, “the first person I tried to probe was Maggie. Direction was easy after that.
A plant in Shauna’s room—if I had
really
had it together about Egyptology, Professor, I would have known the statuette was a phony, and that would have discounted
Shauna. But I didn’t think. Everything on the tour, every artifact, had to be accounted for, which meant anything that expendable
had to be fake. And since you found the fourth Canopic jar, we have to assume the one I tossed out the window was fake, too.
I’m afraid that despite all this violence, Egypt’s heritage is intact—and not much good as a propaganda victory.”

Wilma snickered, across the table.

“The other connection I missed was even more obvious. And it shows a conflict of intention as well, but perhaps only in retrospect.”

“A bomb was planted in Ben’s car immediately after Maggie sought him out and spoke to him directly for the first time. She
sounded him out. And the attack in the hotel suite followed another consultation. Ben’s nosing about upset her enough to react
immediately. “ Shauna paused. Wilma was still covering a smile with her napkin.

“Okay, out with it,” said Slayton.

“It’s not relevant,” she said. “It’s the Chevy.”

“Oh, god, yes. Two explosions. When I heaved the Canopic jar out the window, it smashed through the front window of a parked
car and blew the Car up. It belonged to Groth—the Sparta security guard.”

“The one who was abusing everybody?” said Willis, and Slayton nodded. This time the laughter rang around the table.

“Talk about a grand slam, though,” said Wilma. “When I think about that bomb setup, Ben, I think you’re right. How arrogant
and ostentatious could you get? That’s a mind that knows the true value of media.”

There was a renewed silence, which Slayton finally broke by saying, “Now, Wilma, about your story…”

“Hold it!” she said. “Exclusive rights, remember? Unemcumbered access to details. I’ve already talked this over with Mr. Winship.”
She lagged for the benefit of the punchline. “You’re just going to have to have faith, Ben, because right now your life is
in the hands of the fourth estate.”

Slayton groaned.

“… which needs some TLC from me at the moment if I’m to meet my deadline. We all have our bosses; mine happens to be a clock
tonight. I hate to do this, but you guys will have to get along without me—I’ve got to go.” She was looking at Ben directly,
and she knew what she was saying. The friendly argument was due for another time.

“Don’t forget,” she added, nailing Slayton. “Coat of Arms. Your treat.” With that, she was gone. Slayton watched her leave,
thankful for the escape hatch she had smoothly offered him.

“I’m afraid I must opt out soon, myself,” said Willis. “Without—you know—there’s that much more to be done and the schedule
has not gotten any lighter for us.” He seemed to be dealing pragmatically with the whole circumstance. “And as Ms. Christian
has graciously offered to drop me at the hotel, and since she in all probability does not want to wait forever for me out
front, I suppose I should bid you both good night and thank you, sir, for the excellent dinner. Although I think the name
Rademacher suits you, young man, gross fabrication or no.”

“More German and disciplined, perhaps?” suggested Shauna. Willis seemed to consider it as he left.

Once again the two were alone and in silence.

“Ben, tell me something else. That thing with Bassam, the Arab worker, and poor Ahmed—” she trailed off.

“Bassam,” he said. “Poor little son of a bitch. He was running scared all the way, and the damned irony of it is that he left
Egypt to get away from the terrorism there.” He seemed to take a tangent of his own. “It’ll be that way everywhere, if someone
doesn’t crack down.”

The anger started to boil up again when he considered the boisterous, lively Ahmed, killed in his own hospital room by the
same sorts that attacked him in the suite. Everyone was under orders. The protection the police provided in the hospital was
not as dependable as that afforded by the Sparta men. Then he said, “That’s not really what’s bothering you.”

“I want to know what’s going to happen to—”

“You want the flowery version, or you want the truth?”

She said nothing, meeting his gaze levelly.

“Alright. She’s probably arranged for the local contingent to attempt to spring her within a specified time. But we wanted
her too badly for us to fool around now that we’ve got her. Her location will be a secret. There’s probably ten fake leads
an hour coming directly from Winship’s office. She’s an international criminal. So many different agencies want her that dividing
her up will be the hardest part. And there will be a long time—mentally long—in which she will realize her cavalry isn’t going
to show, after which she will do her best to kill herself.”

“Oh.” Her voice had become small and clipped.

“That’s it,” he continued. “Shauna, when I was thinking of her in terms of Haman the terrorist, I wanted to break her neck
myself. Bare hands. But in the exhibit hall, just for a second, I was able to see past her eyes, directly into her soul, like
a flash of lightning. She’s locked into the life she chose years ago, and she knew it was a life that offered no recriminations
and no compromises if things were to go wrong. Entropy pulls you along after enough time. She could never be anything else;
it permeated her life the way the smell of fluoric acid and plastique stayed on her hands when I caught a whiff of it.”

“The smell clued you in?”

“Together with her eyes, yes. And after that second, I didn’t want to kill her, I just wanted her neutralized—and now she’ll
neutralize herself, in a matter of days… and don’t shake your head at me, because I know whereof I speak. I’d do the same
thing, and we’re not unalike. It’s true. I don’t wish to forget it since there’s too much to be learned. But I would like
to stop thinking about it for a while.”

“Me too,” she said, making a helpless sort of shrug. “It will take a lot of time, though. You’re right… she wasn’t exactly
a bosom friend, but I—”

“I know,” Slayton said, closing the topic.

“Remember the nine components of man? The Egyptian parts?” she said. “Somehow I seemed to divine that that last part, the
ren
, wasn’t right with you. Your name.” She sipped. “And you missed your chance to find out about the other parts. Forgive me
a question, Ben, but why are you even alive now?”

“Scapegoat,” he said, recalling the intimations of Chalmers, in the basement dungeon of a faceless apartment complex somewhere
across town. “The whole setup was very obviously designed to make me look negligent as hell: dead President, destroyed exhibit,
film at ten. I owe the nonrealization of that rather bleak scenario to a fellow nobody knows, named Buck Fuller. Henry Fuller.
Vietnam vet, just like myself, and probably just like some of Haman’s sinister trainees. There are guys like Chalmers, who
are responsible for a lot of the strife in this country… and then there are guys like Buck Fuller.