The Amulet of Power (5 page)

6

“How long before we reach Aswan?” asked Lara as the late-afternoon sun cast long shadows on the deck.

“My guess is that it’ll be two or three in the morning,” answered Mason.

She nodded. “That gives us plenty of time to get off.”

“Get off?” he repeated incredulously. “I paid our fare into the Sudan! We’ll never make it there on foot.”

“Oh, we’ll take the
Amenhotep
to the Sudan,” said Lara. “But we won’t be on it when it reaches Aswan. Too many probing eyes.”

“If you have some plan in mind, I wish you’d share it with me.”

“I saw a pair of lifeboats hanging over the side, just before the stern. We’ll borrow one after dark, row past the High Dam south of Aswan, and come back aboard tomorrow morning when the
Amenhotep
has gone through one of those channels to the west of the dam and emerged onto Lake Nasser.”

Mason considered it. “It might work,” he admitted. “It all depends on you.”

“On me?”

“We’ll be paddling upriver, against the current. Forty-eight hours ago I didn’t even know if you’d still be alive today. Are you up to it?”

“If inspectors or police come aboard at Aswan, what are our chances of hiding from them?” she asked.

“Zero.”

“Then what choice do we have?”

“None,” he admitted.

She looked up at the sky. “The sun doesn’t just set in Africa,” she noted. “It plummets. I’d say it’ll be dark in ninety minutes.”

“All right,” replied Mason. “I’ll meet you here in, shall we say, two hours?”

She shook her head. “You will meet me here in, shall we say, seven hours.”

It was his turn to frown. “Seven? Are you sure?”

“Well, you can show up in two hours if you want, but we won’t lower the lifeboat for seven.”

“Why not?”

“Why row for miles if we don’t have to?” said Lara. “We’ll be passing Elephantine Island a couple of miles before the Old Dam at Aswan. When we see it, we’ll know it’s time to get into the lifeboat.”

“It makes sense at that,” he admitted.

“It may even afford us an easier way of getting past Aswan,” she continued. “Elephantine Island is a tourist attraction that houses a beautifully kept botanical garden. There just might be a motorboat or two parked there that we can borrow.”

“There might also be an armed guard or three,” suggested Mason.

“There might—but it will be dark, and the lifeboat will be silent. They won’t know we’re there until we’re well away from the island, and even if they know it then, how are they going to follow us?”

“In another motorboat.”

“At three in the morning?” she said. “I think they’d rather report the theft and claim the insurance.”

“You can’t be sure of that.”

“The only thing I’m sure of is that we’re going over the side in seven hours,” said Lara. “We’ll play it by ear from that point on.”

“You’re taking a lot of the decision-making upon yourself,” he said, trying not to sound petulant.

“Why not?” she shot back. “I’m the one they’re after.”

He was about to reply, then changed his mind. “What the hell,” he said. “When you’re right, you’re right.” He checked his watch. “It’s almost five o’clock. I’ll see you at midnight.”

“Don’t oversleep.”

“I’m not recovering from a concussion,” he said with a smile. “Don’t
you
oversleep.”

“I’ve had enough sleep the past two days,” Lara assured him. “I won’t be sleeping at all.”

“I’ll see you then,” he said, walking off to the cabin next to hers. He pushed the door open, entered, and closed the door behind him.

Lara decided she was getting hungry again, and walked over to the small restaurant. There were six tables. Three of them were occupied by eight men, all wearing robes of varying types. They stared at her silently as she entered and approached the farthest table. There were half a dozen insects fighting over some crumbs that were left over from lunchtime, and she quickly chose a different table.

A small man with a drooping black mustache emerged from the kitchen and crossed over to her.

“What have you got?” she asked him.

“We do not serve unescorted ladies,” said the man.

An instant later he found himself staring down the barrels of her Black Demon .32s.

“Allow me to introduce my escorts,” said Lara.

“Those are fine escorts,” he said quickly as his knees started to shake.

“I repeat: What’s on the menu?”

“Lamb.”

“What else?”

“The rest of the lamb.”

“That being the case, I’ll have lamb,” said Lara. “What’s to drink?”

“Water.”

“Bring me some water.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the waiter, turning to leave.

“Just a moment,” she said sharply. He froze in his tracks, then turned to her. “I know better than to drink from the Nile if there’s any alternative. I want you to boil the water, then pour some in a cup and put a tea bag in it.”

“We don’t have any tea bags.”

She cocked the pistol. “You’ll find one.”

He gulped. “I will find one.”

“How very thoughtful of you,” she said, twirling the gun and replacing it in her holsters.

The waiter scurried off to the kitchen, and Lara turned to look at the men who had been observing the little scene. Six of them glared at her with undisguised contempt. The two at the table nearest the door, a pair of big burly men, seemed amused. “How’s the lamb?” she asked.

“The best that can be said for it is that it is dead,” replied one of the burly men.

“Probably,” added the other.

“It’s probably dead, or that’s probably the best that can be said for it?” she asked with a smile.

“Yes,” he said, returning her smile.

She laughed, and then the waiter returned with an unappetizing piece of meat on a dirty plate.

“I’m glad to see you didn’t risk getting burned,” she said dryly.

“I do not understand,” said the waiter.

“I like my meat cooked,” she said. “Take it back and cook it properly.”

“It
is
cooked.”

“Are we going to go through all this again?” she said with a weary sigh. Suddenly he was facing her pistols again. “Take it back and cook it.”

“I will take it back and cook it!” he shouted, practically running back into the kitchen.

One of the bearded men uttered an offended curse, got up, and stalked out of the restaurant.

“Pay no attention,” said the larger of the two men who had spoken to her. “He was finished anyway.”

“Then I guess I won’t have to suffer from the guilt after all,” she replied. This time neither man laughed, and she assumed that their English and her wry humor didn’t quite mesh.

The waiter returned and laid the plate before her. She inspected the meat, and nodded her approval.

“Don’t forget the tea,” she said as he began retreating.

The tea arrived just as she was chewing her first mouthful of lamb, which she had already decided was going to be her last mouthful of lamb. She’d encountered strange diets in her travels, eaten foods that would have revolted most of her countrymen, but she couldn’t for the life of her figure out how anyone survived on the cuisine of the
Amenhotep
.

She drank her weak tea, then stood up.

“You are finished?” asked the waiter, who had been watching her from the kitchen door, and now gingerly approached her table again.

“I am finished,” she said. “I would throw the lamb into the Nile, but why kill innocent fish?”

This time the two large men chuckled, but the waiter stared at her uncomprehendingly. She considered going into the kitchen and grabbing a piece of the melon she’d had earlier in the day, but she didn’t relish the thought of having shared it with every insect on the boat, so she simply pushed her chair back and walked out onto the deck.

The sun was low in the sky, but it wasn’t appreciably cooler. Once night came it would drop a quick thirty degrees or more, but it would stay warm for at least another hour.

She couldn’t bear the thought of returning to her tiny, airless room, so she walked to the back of the boat. All three chairs were taken, and she received another round of surly glares. Then it occurred to her that she could kill two birds with one stone: get a little breeze and prepare anyone who might be wandering the deck after midnight for the fact that there was nothing unusual about seeing the crazy Englishwoman in one of the lifeboats.

She went to the less unseaworthy of the lifeboats and made quite a production of slinging a leg over the railing and climbing into it. She made enough noise that all three men seated on the chairs noticed her, and so did a fourth man who was emerging from his cabin.

Lara lay back on the lifeboat and closed her eyes. She hadn’t planned to sleep, but when she opened them again it was because she had suddenly become quite chilly. She sat up, looked at the brilliant full moon, and estimated from its position that it was close to eleven o’clock.

She looked out across the Nile, but couldn’t make out anything large enough to be Elephantine Island.

Oh, well.
She shrugged and stretched.
We’ll be up and traveling all night. At least now I won’t get sleepy. I hope.

She sat in the lifeboat, adjusting to the cold night breeze, for almost an hour. Then she heard Mason’s voice.

“Lara,” he whispered. “Are you on deck?”

“Over here,” she said softly.

“Over where?”

“In the lifeboat.”

Then he was leaning over the rail, looking at her. “Am I late?”

“No. I was a little early.”

“Did anyone see you?” he asked.

“No,” she said. It was easier than explaining it to him.

He climbed over the rail and into the boat, then began working the pulley that held it in place. A moment later the boat touched down gently in the Nile, and he cut the ropes loose.

He began rowing, then looked back at the
Amenhotep
.

“Oh, crap!” he muttered.

Lara turned to see what had distressed him. It was the waiter from the restaurant, staring curiously at them.

“The disadvantages of a full moon,” said Lara.

“I suppose we could go into a romantic clinch and make him think we just wanted to be alone,” suggested Mason.

“We have our cabins if we wanted a tryst,” she said. “You keep rowing. I’ll take care of this.”

She pulled out a pistol and pointed it at the waiter. With her other hand, she held a forefinger to her lips.

He understood immediately, and mimicked her gesture, then placed his hand to his heart to show his sincerity.

“That’s it?” asked Mason dubiously. “Can you trust the little bugger?”

“For ten or fifteen minutes,” answered Lara. “Until he knows we’re not coming back.”

“Then what?”

“That ought to be enough time. You’ve already paid our way to the Sudan. Do you really think the captain is going to divert the
Amenhotep
simply to recover a broken-down lifeboat?”

Mason uttered a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m an archaeologist. I’m all right in a fight, I suppose, but I’m not very good at doping out this hugger-mugger, cloak-and-dagger stuff.”

“You were good enough at it to save my life,” she said. “That’s more than sufficient for me.”

They came to Elephantine Island half an hour later, and pulled the boat onto the shore.

“Thank goodness!” said Mason. “I’m going to be pulling slivers out of my hands for the next week.”

“Maybe longer,” said Lara. “It all depends on whether we can find a speedboat.”

He looked up and down the shore. “Where do you suppose we’re likely to find one?”

She put her hands on her hips and peered into the darkness. “See that building about five hundred yards away, with the single light in the window?”

“Yes.”

“If there’s a light on, it means there’s someone there. Maybe a guard, maybe some other employee. It stands to reason if he’s got a boat he wouldn’t leave it too far away. Besides,” she added, “the island’s only a little more than a mile long. If we just walk in that direction along the shore, we’re bound to come to a boat sooner or later. Let’s just hope that it’s not a rowboat or a
felluca
.”

They walked along the damp shore that was half sand and half mud, and after a quarter mile Mason felt Lara’s hand reach out and squeeze his arm.

“There it is!” she whispered.

He looked where she was pointing and saw a small boat, floating in the water and tethered to a palm tree.

“I don’t see a mast or any oars!” he whispered excitedly. “I think we’ve hit paydirt!”

They raced up to the boat and saw the moonlight glint off the outboard motor.

“Let’s hope it has petrol,” said Mason.

“Of course it does,” said Lara. “There isn’t any fueling station on the island. Whoever owns the boat plans to get home, so its tanks won’t be empty.”

She began working on the rope, untying the knot that held the boat to the tree in a matter of seconds, then looked around for a long stick. She found one and stuck it into the sand right next to the boat.

“What are you doing?” asked Mason.

“Thanking our benefactor,” she whispered, pulling out some British pounds and impaling them on the spear. “Now climb in.”