The Cairo Code (5 page)

“Maybe, but now we're immortal.” Jack smiled. “Just like our princess. Years from now, people will come here and perhaps, just perhaps, they'll wonder who we were. We're part of the mystery of the pyramids.”

Rachel touched his arm fondly. “You know something? I'm glad you chiseled our initials. We've had such a special time here, it somehow seems appropriate. Don't you think so, Harry?”

“At least there'll be something to remember us by, long after we're dead.” Weaver raised his beer. “I'd like to propose a toast. To us. And to Sakkara.”

“To us. And to Sakkara.”

They chorused the toast and laughed, then talked for a while, as they watched the lights burning all over Cairo in the dark distance, until finally Rachel stood and dusted down her trousers. “And now, I'd really better get to bed. I'm so looking forward to the party tomorrow night. You'd better both promise me a dance.” She kissed them each on the cheek, with genuine tenderness. “Goodnight, Jack. Goodnight, Harry. Sleep well, my loves.”

“Don't you want us to guide you back with the lamp?”

“No, stay and finish your beer. I'll be fine in the moonlight.” She walked towards the tents, and for a long time Weaver watched her go in the dim silver light as she faded like a ghost, until he looked across and saw that Halder was watching her too, almost in a trance.

“Are you thinking what I'm thinking?”

“I don't know, Jack. Tell me.”

“That she's the prettiest, most wonderful woman either of us has ever met.”

“You've read my mind, as always.”

“Let's be honest here, Harry. The truth of it is, we're both infatuated with Rachel. So why don't we cut out all that manly garbage of not showing our feelings and both say how we feel? It's something we've avoided talking about.”

“You want me to be truthful about how I feel?”

“Very. Cards on the table. Promise I'll do the same.”

Weaver looked away, towards darkened Cairo. “I couldn't sleep last night thinking about her, especially knowing that these were the last days I'd spend in her company. And not a day's gone by since I've met her that I haven't thought about her, wanted to be with her. Even just to see her face. To hear her voice. She's the first real woman I've ever fallen in love with.”

Halder was solemn. ‘That bad, eh?”

“I guess so. And it won't seem to go away.”

“But you never told her even vaguely how you felt, did you?”

“You know I didn't. And that's the crazy thing about it. Something's always held me back. Fear of being rejected, maybe, or of losing her friendship if she didn't feel the same way and my admission complicated things.” Weaver shrugged. “Or maybe it was something else. I'm not really sure. So, what about you?”

For a moment, Halder looked very young, like a little boy, uncomfortable confessing a secret, but then the moment passed. “I'd like to tell you something first. Something I haven't ever told anyone. When my mother was finally dying, she didn't allow my father to see her, to say his last good-bye. Not because she didn't love him, but for the very opposite reason. She loved him so much. Saying good-bye would have been too painful, too final for them both, and she knew that.” He turned to Weaver. “Theirs was a great love, Harry. And in a way I've always wanted the same kind of thing. Truly deep, full of honest passion.”

“And how do you feel about Rachel? Be honest.”

“Sometimes—often—I'd lie awake, restless, imagining all the things I'd like to happen between her and me. I'd picture us together. I'd picture her pregnant with my child, and happy that she was my wife. I'd picture making love to her—not just sex, but real, honest-to-God love. The kind of tenderness a man should feel for a woman he truly loves. And so many times I really wanted to tell her.” Halder looked at his friend. “You know how foolhardy and impetuous I usually am, and I can't say I wasn't tempted to tell her such things. But like you, I just couldn't.”

“Why not?”

“Probably for the same reason as you. I really didn't want to upset the apple cart.”

“What do you mean?”

Halder placed a hand fondly on Weaver's shoulder. “There's another kind of love—not physical, but brotherly, or deep friendship, call it what you will, and it's just as important. You always were the best friend I've ever had. Maybe if one of us had made a pass, it would have ruined everything. I don't just mean between us, because I honestly think our camaraderie is stronger than that, but I mean the friendship we've all had this summer. And I didn't want that to happen.”

“I guess I know what you mean. Besides, when you add it up, the three of us had a great time. And maybe that's what's really important.”

“Still, Harry, we've both got it bad. And there has to be a practical solution.” Halder allowed himself a playful smile. “Friendship aside, what if there's the remotest chance that
Rachel
might be in love with one of us?”

“What do you mean?”

“If it were so, wouldn't it be a shame that we didn't let nature take its course? Otherwise, we could
both
spend the rest of our lives regretting that we didn't tell her how we felt before she leaves. At least one of us could be happy. And Rachel, too. It would be fair all round. How do you feel about that?”

“You really think she might be in love with one of us?”

Halder smiled again. “Either way, tomorrow's our last chance to find out.”

The American ambassador's residence was packed with international dignitaries, the cream of Egyptian and European expatriate society, everyone from movie stars to diplomats, senior military officers to academics. The party was in full swing, everyone in good spirits, and as Weaver made his way through the dance-floor crowds, he acknowledged the handshakes from the other members of the team saying their good-byes. The press had been invited, and a trestle table was erected in the foyer, two Egyptian policemen standing guard over some of the valuables the dig had uncovered: gem necklaces, scarabs, gold amulets, and stone cartouches.

As Weaver thanked his well-wishers politely, others pressed in on him, and he had a desperate urge to be alone. “Would you excuse me, please? I need some fresh air.”

He made his way through the throng, crossed to a French window, and stepped out onto a balcony. It was cool outside, lotus and bougainvillea scenting the night air, the window boxes full of flowers. The residency gardens were magnificent, a wooden pavilion in the grounds was lit up with colored lights, and the majestic Nile lay beyond the walls. But that night there seemed an incredible stillness about the city, the usual traffic noise the merest whisper.

As he stood there, enjoying the solitude and the perfumed air, the door opened and Rachel appeared, wearing a simple black dress that hugged her figure, Jack Halder behind her. He wore a linen suit and held a bottle of ice-cold champagne and three glasses. As he handed a glass across, he smiled. “Quite a party, isn't it? But you look like you've had enough dancing for one evening, Harry. We thought we might find you somewhere quiet. Have another drink.”

“Why not.” Weaver took the champagne, and when Rachel was handed hers she placed it on the balcony, untouched, a sudden exhaustion showing in her face.

“Tired?” Weaver asked.

She smiled. “I'm afraid you and Jack have worn me off my feet.”

Halder said, “By the way, before I forget, there's a few important people who'd like to meet you, Rachel.”

“Who?”

“The ambassador wants to pay his respects, and a fellow named Kemal Assan. He's the son of an Egyptian dignitary who's an acquaintance of my father's. There's also a visiting professor from the British Museum who's had far too much to drink and speaks like this—” Halder pinched his nose in a mock gesture and imitated a perfect upper-class English accent. “They're a boring lot, my dear, so I told the ruddy chaps you're tired and they can't keep you long. Shall I fetch them in?”

Rachel giggled. ‘Thanks, Jack.”

He went out and Rachel said, “So, this is our last evening together, Harry. I'll miss you.”

“You mean that?”

“Of course.” She looked into his face. “You know what's strange? I know so little of your background. Jack's is an open book. An American mother and a wealthy Prussian father who's a well-known collector of Egyptian artifacts. Languages and the classics at Heidelberg, and a year at Oxford in between.” She laughed. “You can tell—he does that funny, upper-class English accent so well. But you've never spoken much about your past, except for the few things you've told me about. You graduated in engineering in New York, and you and Jack have been friends since childhood.” She smiled. “There has to be much more, unless you're keeping secrets. Tell me how you both met. I'd love to know.”

Weaver sipped his champagne, looked out over the balcony. “There isn't much to tell. When I was five, my father became the caretaker on the estate belonging to the family of Jack's mother. It's a big, rambling old place in upstate New York. We were the only two children, both only sons, and I guess it was natural we'd either become rivals or friends. But we became friends, right from the very start. Whenever we were together, we'd spend our time getting up to mischief on the estate. The Troublesome Two, his father called us. Sure, his family were wealthy, and mine were just ordinary folks, but Franz Halder always treated us with respect, no matter that we came from different sides of the tracks. He was never a snob and he made sure his son wasn't one, either. Even as a small boy, Jack was always good fun to be with, and a great companion. There isn't a pretentious bone in his body.”

“What drew you to Egypt?”

“After I graduated last year, I went to work for a civil engineering firm in New York. But to tell the truth, after a couple of months I was beginning to find it boring. Jack's father liked to keep some of his collection at the estate. As children we'd see the kind of exotic things you'd come across only in books or museums—scarabs, ancient jewelry—and it was all so wondrous we'd spend hours looking at them. When Jack wrote and told me he was coming to Egypt to help with the dig, he asked if I'd like to come along. We'd hardly seen each other in almost six months, he'd been so busy helping his father with family business interests in Germany, and besides, I was ready to jump at the chance to get away from a stuffy Manhattan office. It seemed like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. So I decided to scrape together what few dollars I'd saved, quit my job, and take up the offer.”

“No girlfriends left behind?”

“No one worth talking about.”

“And no regrets about what you've done?”

“Not one. The only trouble is, it's kind of spoiled me. I don't think I can go back to the kind of career I had before. At least not until my money runs out. It's been more fun putting my engineering skills to work on a dig like this, instead of building roads in New York.”

“You know what surprises me? That Jack never became an archeologist.”

“I think he's too restless to commit himself to any one thing. He says himself he'll always be just a fanatical amateur, like his father. He brought him here on visits as a child, but I guess you know that. And for as long as I've known him he's been in love with this country, fascinated by it, and not only its history, but everything about it—its culture, its people. I guess the fascination's sort of rubbed off on me.”

“You like Jack very much, don't you?”

“We've always been best friends,” Weaver answered honestly. “He's like the brother I never had. And I'm grateful for his friendship. Besides, if it wasn't for his father, I probably never would have gone to college.”

“What do you mean?”

“Franz Halder paid for my education. My own father could never have afforded it, though all he had to do in return was to make sure he kept the estate gardens filled with white lilies, the kind Jack's late mother loved so much.”

Rachel hesitated. “Is that why you didn't talk about your past? Did you feel beholden to Jack and his family?”

“Not a bit,” Weaver said with conviction. “They were simply good people who wanted to help me get a proper education. And I'll always be grateful. But Jack's father isn't the kind to make you feel under an obligation. And nothing like that would spoil the friendship between Jack and me, I'm sure of it. In fact, nothing at all ever has. We've always got on like a house on fire.”

“You've never fallen out?”

“Not ever. I guess that's kind of remarkable. Sure, we've had our differences, but nothing we couldn't agree to disagree about.”

Rachel looked at him, and said honestly, “You know something? I think you're both lucky. To have met each other. To have become such good friends. I thought that from the very start, when I first met you both. It's such a rare thing. Something to be cherished. And I hope nothing ever comes between you.” She smiled then, looked into his eyes, but with an inexplicable sadness in her own, and on impulse took a flower from one of the window boxes and placed it in his buttonhole, before leaning over and kissing him gently on the lips. “A small gift from me. Something far less than a college education, but sincerely meant. I'm just so happy you came to help on the dig, Harry. I can't imagine what it would have been like without you and Jack.”

Weaver looked back at her, at the striking blue eyes and pretty face. “I'll miss you, too, Rachel.”

“Will you, honestly?”

“More than I can tell. But I'm worried.”

“About what?”

“We hear all this talk about what's happening to the Jews in Germany. If you ever go back—”