Thieves Fall Out (23 page)

“You drive?” he whispered. She nodded. In a low tense voice he explained to her what he would try to do. It was dangerous, but if she was frightened she did not show it.

They separated then. She moved down the arcade to the opposite corner while he crossed the street a half block above the point where the jeep was parked. The searchlight was trained on the second floor of a building across the street, leaving enough darkness to cover him. The men by the jeep, four of them, were still arguing.

He waited until he was sure Anna was within a few yards of the jeep; then he opened fire on the men, aiming just above their heads. His first bullet ricocheted with a whine into the street. The men, startled, fell back against the wall and returned the fire with their carbines. Pete retreated. They followed, creeping with bellies against the walls of buildings, pausing in occasional doorways to fire. When he had got them a dozen yards from their jeep, he made a break for it.

He ran the remaining few feet of the arcade with the chilling noise of bullets around him, like deadly bees. Then he ducked into the side street that he had noticed from the other side. Praying that it would double around the way he had calculated, he ran with all possible speed down the dark tunnel-like street, stumbling over the uneven pavement. He was closely pursued; they had taken the bait. He was thankful for the darkness of the night and the narrowness of the street. No starlight lessened the gloom; visibility did not extend more than a few yards. He was invisible to his pursuers and they to him except when the red flash of a carbine shattered the darkness behind him.

The break in the street came at about the point he had expected, a block and a half below the place where the jeep had been parked. Panting, his shirt clammy with sweat and his lungs burning, he ran into the boulevard just as Anna passed him in the jeep. He shouted to her, a noise more like an animal’s than a man’s.

She stopped and began to back up. With two long strides and a jump he was in the seat beside her. She was shifting gears with a screech as the soldiers came out onto the boulevard. One opened fire but his aim was wild and the jeep had turned the corner on two wheels before the others had got the range.

They traded positions and Pete drove according to her directions.

They kept to deserted streets as much as possible, moving toward the river, away from the fighting and the burning hotel.

They encountered no police until they came to the bridge that crossed the Nile. As Pete had feared, a dozen men held the bridge, checking all traffic.

He made a lightning decision. His only alternatives were both risky: either to stop and bluff his way across or to drive straight through the cordon of men. He stopped.

“Who’s in charge here?” he shouted in a loud bullying voice. The two policemen who were closing in on the jeep fell back, confused, not understanding English but recognizing the tone of authority,

“I am in charge, sir,” said a voice in English, and out of the shadows stepped Mohammed Ali. He was as startled as Pete. Inadvertently he shied back when he saw the American, his hand leaping to his holster.

“I’m taking Miss Mueller to Mena House, where she’ll be safe. They’ve set fire to Shepheard’s.” Pete knew his bluff was doomed from the start.

“I’ll be happy to escort her, Mr. Wells,” said Mohammed Ali and he turned to Anna. “Please get down.” The moment the Inspector turned his glance away from him, Pete shifted into first, his foot pressed hard on the clutch. Before Mohammed Ali had time to notice what he had done, Pete said, “They gave us this jeep at Shepheard’s. I have an authorization.” Mohammed Ali looked startled; the revolver he had had trained on Pete wavered. “Where is your driver, then?”

“They weren’t able to give us one. Too much going on. I was told to take her across the river.” Pete spoke quickly.

“I should be very interested in seeing the authorization,” said the Inspector. He grinned slyly as he released the safety catch on his revolver.

“I’ve got it right here,” said Pete, reaching into his coat. Then, in one instant, synchronizing his foot on the clutch with his hand on his pistol, he fired through his coat at the Inspector and drove the jeep straight through the line of policemen, who ran, yelling, for cover. Mohammed Ali spun and fell face downward on the bridge. The jeep was halfway across the bridge when the police started firing.

Pete shoved Anna to the floor; then, crouched over the wheel, expecting death at any minute, he drove at top speed across the bridge and onto the main highway beyond. A sharp retort told him that one of his rear tires had been shot. But he drove on, the tire flapping against the pavement until only the metal rim was left.

Luckily, there was neither fighting nor police on this side of the river. The streets were empty in the gray dawn. The police on the bridge did not follow. They drove on into the desert toward Giza.

A few miles beyond the last suburb, they saw the plane parked on the side of the road. “Thank God, he’s still there,” murmured Anna.

The pilot was relieved too. “I thought it was bad news,” he said as he helped Anna out of the jeep. “We start now, before daylight.”

While he revved up the engines, Pete and Anna got into the plane. Anna immediately took up the earphones and switched on the radio while Pete pulled out the jewel box and pried it open with his pocket knife.

There, among the diamonds and sapphires of Hélène de Rastignac, was the necklace of Queen Tiy, intricate and magnificent, its single ruby gleaming like firelight. Anna saw it, too, her attention diverted from the radio, her eyes wide with wonder.

“What is this?” she asked.

Pete told her, told her how much it was worth and what it would mean to them. She touched it curiously. “And the rest of these things?”

“A present to me from Hélène.”

“You stole them?”

“No. I took them in exchange for services rendered. I expect I got them as honestly as she did.” And, as well as he could above the plane’s roar, he told her about the conspiracy to get the necklace out of Egypt with himself as decoy and fall guy. But before he had finished, she had pushed the earphones back over her ears. He could tell by her face that the news was not good.

“Do you think they’ll catch Le Mouche?” he asked when she had switched off the radio.

She shook her head. “No, he will disappear into the old quarter of the city, until the next time.”

“You think there’ll be a next time?”

“Oh, yes. The Farouks never last long, even in countries like Egypt.”

“A place we’ll never see again.”

She smiled at last. “Is it so wonderful, really, your country?”

“You’ll see.” The plane had now taxied into the wind and was taking off. The last stars of the night were burning out in the gray sky.

“I’m so tired,” she murmured, and he took her in his arms.

“It’s all over,” he said soothingly, “it’s all over.” She fell asleep then, her head against his chest, unaware that a new white sun had risen, striking silver on the land before them.