Sands of Time (Out of Time #6) Read online

“Agreed,” Simon said. He checked his watch. “Time to meet Whiteside.”

  Reluctantly, she allowed him to pull her away from the exhibit. She could have spent hours and hours in the museum, but this wasn’t a vacation. They went downstairs to the rotunda where they’d arranged to meet the Professor.

  They found him standing near the front door talking to a tall, dark haired man in an impeccable and very expensive suit. He was handsome by any standards and a hot-damn by hers. Not that she noticed that sort of stuff. Whiteside waved them over.

  “I was just finishing up with Henri here,” he said. “I hope we can come to agreeable terms.”

  Henri bowed his head in acknowledgement to Simon and when his eyes shifted to Elizabeth, a smile lit his face. He waited patiently for an introduction.

  “Your manners, Arthur,” Henri said in a sublime French accent.

  “Oh, of course, head in the clouds,” Whiteside said. “Mr. and Mrs. Cross, may I present, Henri Jouvet.”

  Henri ignored Simon and took Elizabeth’s hand and raised it to his lips. “Enchanté.”

  Elizabeth barely repressed her giggle. He was so movie star suave, genuinely so, she felt like a schoolgirl. Her husband was less amused.

  “Yes,” Simon said, his displeasure clear in his clipped tone, “Well…”

  “The Crosses are friends of George Mason,” Whiteside said, oblivious to Simon’s crankiness.

  “George?” Henri said, but it sounded like “Zhorzh.”

  Elizabeth repeated it without thinking, then added quickly, “Yes, we’re friends. You knew him? I mean know him?”

  Faux pas committed, she cast a quick nervous glance at Simon, who was apparently too busy glaring at Henri to notice.

  “Yes. We were not well-acquainted,” Henri said and his eyes shifted almost imperceptibly to Whiteside. “But rather business associates.”

  “What business exactly are you in?” Simon asked.

  Henri was not the least bit cowed by Simon’s tone. “What else?” he said, raising his hands and gesturing around the museum. “These things, they do not pop into the museum by themselves.”

  “An archaeologist?” Elizabeth asked.

  He bowed in acknowledgment.

  Well, that was interesting. What would Mason want with an archaeologist?

  “They may not pop in, but they do seem to be popping out,” Whiteside said. “A very rare aegis, a sort of broad collar, for the goddess Bastet disappeared last month.”

  “And a mirror of Hathor this week as well,” Henri said with a shrug. “It is not the first time. Items sometimes have a way of walking out in the night,” he said and then added with a look to Whiteside, “Do they not?”

  Whiteside cleared his throat. “Yes, well. Why don’t we circle back through, unless you’ve had your fill and would like to go somewhere else?”

  “Well,” Elizabeth said. “Maybe you can show us some of George’s favorites and we can surprise him with our exhaustive knowledge when he returns?”

  Whiteside beamed at the idea.

  “I shall not keep you then,” Henri said with a bow. “Perhaps we will see each other again?”

  Whiteside turned to Henri. “Why not tonight? Drinks at Shepheard’s? I hear Diana’s talked the Long Bar into allowing women for the week. That should make it more enticing for a man like you, eh, Henri?” he added with a chuckle.

  Elizabeth could hear Simon grinding his teeth.

  Henri demurred the comment. “If you will be there,” he said to Elizabeth, before turning to include Simon. “Both of you, of course.”

  Before Simon could say no, she said they would.

  “Enjoy your day,” Henri said with a final small bow. “I shall see what I can do regarding your papyrus, Arthur. It is no small task.”

  Whiteside spluttered his grateful understanding. “Yes, needle in a haystack and all that.”

  “Until tonight.” Henri smiled at Elizabeth once more and then left.

  “Well,” Whiteside said rubbing his hands together. “How does a little stroll through Middle Kingdom canopic jars sound?”

  “Perfect,” Elizabeth said. “After you.”

  Whiteside started ahead while she and Simon lingered a little way behind.

  “You can roll your tongue back into your head now,” Simon said tartly.

  “Oh, come on. It wasn’t that bad and besides, I was just playing my part.”

  “Of my soon-to-be ex-wife?”

  She looked up and could see the humor behind the jibe, but also the worry. “We need to know what he knows. And, anyway, he’s just flirty.”

  “He’s French,” Simon said the word with distaste.

  Simon had an unreasonable dislike for the French, which was balanced by her adoration for them. She slipped her arm into his. “You don’t have anything to worry to about. I belong to one man…Hassan.”

  In spite of himself, Simon laughed and struggled to make his frown reappear, but he was Simon and managed.

  She looked at him sympathetically, but held firm. “We knew we might have to do or say things we wouldn’t normally do.”

  “Within reason,” he reminded her.

  “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you didn’t trust me.”

  She meant it as a joke, but Simon was quite serious when he looked down at her. “Of course, I do. It’s just…You are my wife,” he said simply. “I will never like it when I see another man want you.”

  Elizabeth felt a warmth in her chest. “Even when we’re old and gray, and living in the senior center?”

  “Walkers at dawn if one of them so much as looks at you,” he said with a smile. Finally, he sighed. “Just don’t get carried away with your role, Ms. Garbo.”

  She squeezed his arm and gave him a reassuring smile.

  “Come along,” Whiteside called from across the room. “This one held the intestines!”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The Grand Bazaar at Khan El-Khahili may have been less than a mile away from Shepheard’s Hotel, but it was worlds away. The hotel was an oasis of European civility for the weary and wealthy traveler. This, Jack thought, was Cairo—both grand and bizarre.

  Once they left the enormous courtyard, they entered the main bazaar which was made up of confusing and intersecting narrow streets and alleys.

  Christina didn’t hesitate and made a beeline for the entrance to the left. Jack made sure not to let her get too far ahead. He had an obligation to look after her. Although, judging from the way she maneuvered through the crowd, she was an old hand at this. For the bookish sort, she deftly waved aside the over-eager shopkeeper or beggar. Occasionally, she’d stop to admire things, leaving compliments and a small baksheesh in her wake.

  She skimmed along the stalls, each piled high from ground to awning with whatever they had for sale. Fruits, cushions, paintings, hats, jewelry…if it was in Egypt, it was for sale in the bazaar.

  Following behind her, Jack was more than content to linger with Diana. She was a puzzle, and one he’d like to spend a few evenings trying to solve.

  She must have felt him watching her, and turned to meet his gaze steadily. Instead of being embarrassed by his attention, she just arched an amused eyebrow and offered him a confident smile.

  “So,” she said. “This is your first time in Egypt?”

  “Yup.”

  She slipped her arm through his. “Well, let’s see if I can’t make it a memorable stay, Mr. Wells.”

  That sounded like innuendo. He liked innuendo.

  “I have little doubt of that.”

  She laughed lightly and easily.

  Jack could definitely get used to this.

  As they turned from one alley to another, the stalls shifted from copper to textiles. It was chaos, but there was a sort of organization to it if you squinted. No matter what the wares were, the shopkeepers stepped into your path to try to lure you to their stall. No one in Egypt had apparently ever heard the term soft sell.

  It was loud and noisy
, and filled with exotic sounds and aromas. One corridor would smell of spices and incense, the next, meats cooking and freshly brewed coffee. The smell of smoke from the water pipes men puffed on was all along the route. They passed a man sitting cross-legged near the doorway to his shop. The tip of a long hose rested in his mouth. He took a few draws and a cloud of smoke rose up to meet them as they passed. Jack inhaled the surprisingly sweet scent of the smoke and raised a brow.

  “The mu’assel, the tobacco, it’s mixed with honey or fruit,” Diana explained. “Smoking a shisha is as common as breathing here. Not bad, really. You can try some at a little cafe I know.”

  “You certainly know the lay of the land.”

  “My business takes me many places,” she said noncommittally. “Although, I do have a soft spot for Egypt.”

  Not one to be put off, Jack pressed the issue. “And what is your business?”

  She just smiled at him and left his side to see the small statuette Christina was holding up. Jack joined them in front of a stall piled high with “genuine” relics.

  “Are they all fakes?” Christina asked as she put the statuette of a cat back in its place.

  “These? Yes,” Diana said as she picked up one of the pieces. “And not very good ones. See the seam here?”

  Jack leaned in to get a closer look. The seam was there, but very, very fine. Diana knew her stuff.

  “These are for the tourists,” she said. “The good stuff’s probably in back. If you know just how to ask for it.”

  “Black market?”

  Diana grinned.

  The shop owner came outside to greet them and promptly got into an argument with Diana. He was quite insulted, apparently, took the piece from Diana’s hand and waved them away from his shop before laying siege to a new, unsuspecting group of tourists.

  “And what is your business in Cairo, Mr. Wells?” Diana asked as they fell back into step behind Christina again.

  “Jack, please,” he said.

  Diana smiled. “You know, you remind me a little of George. Cagey.”

  “Mason?”

  Diana nodded. “Don’t tell me you’re obsessed with Arthur’s papyrus, too?”

  Before he could ask her what she meant, he felt the familiar prickle of what Elizabeth had called his Spidey-sense. They were being followed. “Just a tourist,” he added distractedly.

  He walked another twenty feet before easing over to a booth selling tarbooshes. He slipped one onto his head and turned to show Diana, but his eyes were busy scanning the crowd. There, leaning against a wall, making a show of inspecting a small pot. Small, jet-black hair, pencil mustache and dark gray fedora. He’d seen that man twice before, once near the gates and again near a rug shop. Considering the twists and turns they’d taken so far, twice would be a helluva coincidence, but three times was trouble.

  Jack put the tarboosh back into the pile and thanked the store owner, ignoring his pleas.

  He put his hand on the small of Diana’s back and urged her to close the gap between them and Christina. He quickly scanned the area ahead and formulated a plan. When they caught up with Christina, Jack grabbed her arm and said, “This way.”

  “But, he—,” Christina protested. “The shop I’m looking for isn’t—”

  Jack ignored her and tugged her back a few steps and into a nearby shop.

  Diana followed. “What’s going on?”

  “This way,” Jack said. He’d noticed that the shop was on a corner and had two doors. He led them quickly through it and out into the other alley and then into another shop just as quickly.

  He brought them to what he hoped was a safe spot and peered through the doorway. Sure enough, the little man appeared in the alley.

  “Wait here,” Jack said firmly. “Don’t leave.”

  Christina looked up nervously at Diana, who put a comforting arm around her shoulders.

  Jack edged his way back to the doorway. He could have just given him the slip and taken the girls somewhere safe, but he doubted he’d get a more secure chance to find out just what the hell was going on.

  He waited until the man had turned his back and then stepped out of the doorway, grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him face-first up against a wall.

  “What are you doing?” the man cried out with a thick Italian accent.

  Jack spun him around and grabbed him by the lapels. He pressed him back up against the stone wall. “Why are you following us?”

  The man shook his head. “I am not,” he said, trying to wriggle out of Jack’s grasp. “You are mistaken.”

  He held out his hands in surrender and looked plaintively to the few passersby who gave them any notice.

  “Who are you?”

  “Nico,” Diana said in mild disgust from over Jack’s shoulder.

  The man smiled weakly. “Miss Trent.” He nodded his head at Jack. “Would you please…”

  “You can let him go,” Diana said. “He’s mostly harmless.”

  Jack hesitated, but eased back and finally let go of the little man who tried to smooth out his crumpled lapels.

  “You know this guy?” Jack asked.

  Diana ignored Jack and stepped closer to the little man. “Nico,” she said in a voice rich with disappointment as though she were scolding a small child.

  He smiled nervously and shrugged. “You cannot blame a man for trying.”

  Diana shook her head. “This isn’t Palermo.”

  He straightened his hat and shrugged.

  “And besides,” she continued, “you’re getting clumsy in your old age.”

  “I was not expecting your brute,” he said with a nod toward Jack.

  Jack looked back and forth between them. “Would someone mind telling me what the heck is going on?”

  Diana smiled. “Nico Tortetti, Jack Wells.”

  Nico stuck out his thin hand, but Jack had no intention of shaking it. The man let it hang in the air before slipping it into his pocket.

  “Who is he?” Jack asked her.

  “Nico is a common thief.”

  “Ohhh,” Nico protested at the characterization. “I am an excellent thief.”

  Diana’s lips curved into an amused smile. “Debatable.”

  Nico held up Jack’s pocket watch, formerly Mason’s, with a grin. Jack felt his neck burn with embarrassment. He should have caught that. Dear God, he had to be more careful with that thing. He snatched the watch from Nico’s hand and quickly patted the man down in search of anything else he might have pickpocketed.

  “That is all,” Nico said with a grin. “Today.”

  Jack frowned and stepped away. “Why was he following us?”

  “Because he’s lazy,” Diana said and Nico acted wounded. “Now, run along, Nico. You might as well go back to Rome.”

  Nico smiled and took a few steps away. “I think I shall stay. You have not found it yet. Perhaps I will find the prize first this time.”

  With that he tipped his hat to Diana, sneered as best he could at Jack and left.

  “What the hell was all that?” Jack asked.

  Diana sighed, resigned to something. “We are both looking for the same…valuable.”

  Jack stuffed Mason’s watch deep into the inner pocket of his jacket. For a brief moment, he wondered if she were after the missing watch too, but neither of them had batted an eyelash when Nico had held up Mason’s.

  “What sort of valuable?”

  Diana smiled. “The sort you can retire to the Riveria on.”

  Jack didn’t know what to make of that, or make of her. The entire thing had left him with more questions than answers. But he would have to pursue them later. He stepped into the shop to find Christina and convince her they needed to go back to the Hotel.

  Christina, however, wasn’t where he left her.

  “Damn.”

  He felt his adrenaline begin to pump again and looked hurriedly around the shop. Diana appeared at his side.

  “She’s gone,” he said, his mind racin
g. He really was off his game. If this girl suffered for it…

  “Don’t worry,” Diana assured him. “I know where she is.”

  Of course, he thought. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

  His heart still pounding, he followed Diana out of the side door and down a block until they saw a store with silk scarves. Standing at the entrance, admiring one with hieroglyphics printed on it, was Christina. Unharmed.

  Jack let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God.”

  He started toward her, but Diana’s hand on his arm stopped him. He turned and then followed her gaze. A young man appeared next to Christina and said something to her. She turned and threw her arms around his neck. He hugged her briefly before pulling away and looking around nervously.

  Christina tossed the scarf back onto the pile and the young couple secreted away to a semi-secluded doorway.

  “Her boyfriend,” Diana said. “They’ve been meeting here for over a year.”

  “You knew?”

  “Poor girl doesn’t have many confidants,” Diana said with a sad smile and then added, “And…young love.”

  “Who is he?” Jack asked as he quickly took stock of the young man. He looked to be in his early twenties, handsome and well-dressed. Although he appeared to be Egyptian, his clothes were western.

  “Ahmed Kassem,” Diana said. “He’s an attaché with the Cairo museum. And despite being handsome, wealthy and well-educated, her father would not approve.”

  Jack nodded. From the little he’d seen of Whiteside, that wasn’t a surprise. Even though it wasn’t any of his business, Jack still felt responsible for the girl and kept a close eye on the couple as they talked.

  Jack pretended to be admiring the same scarves Christina had, but kept his focus on the doorway. After the business with Nico, his guard would remain up.

  “Don’t worry,” Diana said.

  Jack grunted and turned back to her. “This wasn’t the way I saw this day going.”

  Diana laughed. “Nothing ever goes according to plan in Cairo.” Her smile faded. “And speaking of…”

  She walked toward Christina, who was alone now and crying. The young man looked back over his shoulder as he walked away. His expression resolute, but glum.

  Jack walked over to Diana and Christina.