Wraiths of Time (2 page)

Nye opened his eyes wide then in a long stare turned on her, as if he could unlock her thoughts by merely looking at her intently. The girl lifted her chin a fraction of an inch and met his gaze with one as steady.

“All right,” he decided. “And I want to see this ‘rod' of yours into the bargain. But not right now. We've got to think about who planted this—
here
. Robbins, you go with her …” He glanced at the watch on his wrist.

“It's nearly closing time for the museum, I take it. Better make it fast—we don't want any action which can be noted as out of the ordinary, not if this thing has any political overtones.”

He had brought out a briefcase, snapped it open. To Tallahassee's surprise the interior had been metal lined. Now Nye produced a pair of tongs from the inner cover of the case and used them to slide the box into it. As Tallahassee stood up, Nye handed the case to Robbins.

“Yes, it's lead-lined, Miss Mitford. We're taking no chances about the radiation, even if it is a new one to us. Robbins had better carry this. When does Carey get in?”

“He should be there already.”

“Good enough. Ask him to call this number”—Nye scrawled some figures on a card and pushed it to her—“as soon as he can. And thank you, Miss Mitford. Put the case and its contents in the safe. Robbins will drive you.”

He turned to pick up a phone as if Tallahassee had already dissolved into thin air. The girl waited until the door of the office had closed behind them before she spoke again.

“Who's that playing James Bond?”

Jason shook his head. “Don't ask me, girl. All I know is that the Big Chief himself couldn't get better service if he showed his face in these parts. I'm small fry, but I got asked in 'cause somewhere along the line since that was found yesterday somebody said, ‘Oh, my, now just maybe that's African!' I guess then somebody went and asked the computer who locally could tell them the truth and I got punched out. But I saw it wasn't modern—so I called you.”

“Jason, do you really think this
is
political? I know that finding the rod in the sarcophagus was odd, and it does make some sense about it being a ‘soul' burial. But this thing …”

“It was you, Tally, my dear, who tied this to your rod, remember?”

“Because there is something alike in them”—she watched him stow the heavy case in the car—“only I can't just put a finger to it. It's more a feeling than anything else.” She bit her lip. There she went again, one of her hunches. Someday she was going to be proved very wrong, and when she was—

“One of those feelings of yours, eh?” Jason's left eyebrow slid up. “Still having them?”

“Well, a lot of times they've paid off!” Tallahassee retorted. “You know they have.”

“You've been lucky,” was Jason's verdict as he edged the car into the heavy traffic of the beginning rush hour. “Will we make it before they close up that repository of dead knowledge for the night?”

“They close to the public at four, but the back door is for staff and I have a key. The alarms won't go on until Hawes has made sure everyone is out of the offices and that those are shut for the night. Dr. Carey should be there.”

Jason concentrated on his driving, Tallahassee was content to sit quietly. She tried to understand the odd emotion inside of her which she had been aware of ever since she had gotten into the car. Twice she had actually turned her head to glance into the narrow back seat of Jason's bug. No one there. Yet the sensation of another presence was growing so acute it made her nervous, and she had to exert more and more control not to squirm around again and again.

The thought was strong in her now that what they carried was important Not, she believed, exactly for the reasons that the mysterious Mr. Nye might think, but for some other reason. That was probably her “hunch” busy working overtime, and she tried to dismiss all thought of what they carried, of the museum even. Her vacation—it started next Monday. She had had to wait for the coming of Dr. Carey …

Not that it was a real vacation and she was going to utterly escape her job. But to fly to Egypt and join the Matraki party! Egypt–Meroë … She could not keep her thoughts on vacation plans. That nagging feeling persisted. But she was not going to give in to it!

The traffic was lighter now as Jason swung off the expressway and started through the series of streets to get to the museum. It was darker than usual—a lot of clouds piling up—maybe a storm later on.

When the car pulled into the narrow back way used by delivery trucks, Tallahassee got out quickly. She had fitted in her key and had the door open when Jason followed her, his arm dragged down under the weight of the case.

“Who's there?” There was a light only at the far end of the hall, and it seemed twice as dark as usual.

Then the upper lights flashed on, and she could see the chief guard.

“Oh, you, Miss Mitford. 'Bout ready to lock up.”

“We have something for the safe, Mr. Hawes. This is my cousin, Mr. Robbins. He's with the FBI here.”

“Saw your picture, Mr. Robbins, in the paper last week. That sure was a good haul you fellows made, pickin' up all them drug smugglers.”

Jason smiled. “The boss says just routine. But I'm glad that the public appreciates our efforts now and then.”

“Did Dr. Carey come?” Tallahassee wanted to get rid of that case, put the building and this day out of her life for now.

“Yes, ma'am. He's in that extra office of Dr. Greenley's, fifth floor. The back elevator's on, faster for you than the stairs.”

“I left my car just out there,” Jason pointed. “Be back as quick as I can.”

“That's all right, Mr. Robbins. Nobody'll bother it there.”

Tallahassee hurried around a corner and into an elevator. Jason had to take long strides to keep up with her.

“You're in a rush all of a sudden,” he commented.

“I want to get that in the safe,” she said with an emphasis she regretted a moment later when again his left eyebrow arose in question.

“Well,” she added in her own defense, “I can't help what I feel. There—there's something wrong.”

She saw the eyes in Jason's brown face go suddenly sober.

“All right. I'll accept your hunch as real. This has been a queer one from the start. Where's this safe?”

“In Dr. Greenley's office.”

“There's one thing—don't forget to tell this Carey about Nye wanting to hear from him.”

She had almost forgotten Nye; now she hoped she could find that card in her purse. The urgency that gripped her had absolutely no base in anything but her nerves. But she felt if she did not manage to get rid of the case and out of here something dreadful
was
going to happen. And so acute was that feeling she dared not let Jason know the force of it. He would think she had lost her mind.

In the fifth floor the hall lights were still on, and their footsteps on the marble floor were audible. But Tallahassee found herself straining to pick up another sound, perhaps a third set of heel taps. That belief—no, it could not be a belief—that they had an invisible companion was intensifying. Tallahassee caught her lower lip between her teeth and held it so, using all her self-control to keep her eyes straight ahead, refusing to look over her shoulder where nothing could possibly be.

She reached the door of the director's office with a sigh of relief and pulled it open, her hand reaching out to snap on the light switch. Before that gesture was completed she gave a little cry. Then a burst of light filled the room to display how silly she had been. Of course no one had passed her. There was no one here but herself and Jason, who was now closing the door behind them.

“What is it?” he demanded.

Tallahassee forced a laugh. “I guess it is all this secret business. I thought I saw a shadow move …”

“Only the Shadow knows …” intoned Jason solemnly. “You
are
nervy tonight, Tally. Get your work done, and I'll take you out for dinner.”

“Some place cheerful,” she found herself saying, “with lots of lights—”

“I beg your pardon.”

With another gasp Tallahassee swung around. The inside door between this and the neighboring office had opened. A slender man who must be at least an inch or so shorter than herself—which was not unusual: when a girl stands five-eleven-and-a-half shoeless, she does not look up to many males—was eyeing her in manifest disapproval.

He was thin featured, his nose sharp-pointed, his mouth turning down with a sour twist. And his sandy hair had been combed back with care over a pink scalp, which showed only too readily through those thin strands, to touch his collar in the back.

“I believe this is Dr. Greenley's office—” His thin lips shaped each word as if he broke them off as he spoke them.

“I am Tallahassee Mitford, Dr. Greenley's assistant in the African division.”

He surveyed her, Tallahassee realized, with actual distaste, and she could sense his resentment. Was he one of those who disliked and downgraded any woman with a pretense of knowledge in their own field? She had met several of that ilk.

“You are quite young,” he commented in a way which made the observation vaguely offensive. “But surely you are aware that this place is not a proper one for social contacts.”

He had looked beyond her at Jason. And if he was implying what she thought he was—Tallahassee had to subdue her flaring temper with every bit of control she could muster. After all, she would have to work with this man (whether either of them liked it or not) until the Brooke collection was catalogued.

“We have something to put in the safe.” She hated herself for even explaining that much, but she knew she had to. “And—” She opened her purse. For once luck was with her. That card was right on top, and she did not have to waste any time delving around in sometimes jumbled floating contents to find it. “I was given this. It is for you to call as soon as possible.”

She laid the card down on the edge of Dr. Greenley's overflowing desk and did not look at the man again as she went to the safe. As long as Hawes had not yet snapped on the night alarms she could open it.

Jason, his mouth set in a way she well knew (he had his own temper, even if he had learned long ago how to keep it under), came around the other side of the desk with the case ready. She did not know nor care at the moment whether Dr. Carey had his precious phone number or not. As the door came open at her pull Jason slipped the case in. Tallahassee slammed the door, spun the dial. Still ignoring Dr. Carey, she walked to the phone and punched the number of Dr. Greenley's home.

“Is Dr. Joe in?” she asked as she heard Mrs. Greenley's deep, pleasant voice. “Yes, it's Tally. Oh. Well, when he comes in, tell him there's something in the safe. It was picked up—by the FBI.”

She had Jason's nod to reassure her that she could keep to that story.

“Yes. They want an opinion on it. They'll contact him tomorrow. No, I don't know much more. But it's terribly important. No, I'm not going home right away—Jason's in town and we're going to eat out. Thank you. I'll ask him. Good-bye.”

She set the phone down and smiled with angry brightness at Jason. “Mrs. Greenley says if you have time before you leave, do stop in and see her. Now”—she swung back to the man who had made no attempt not to listen in—“you have the reason for my being here, Dr. Carey. If you care to check on me, you need only call the Greenleys.”

“Not so fast,” he said, as she turned away. “As you have been working on the Brooke files, I want you here the first thing in the morning. They must be completely rechecked, of course.”

“Oh course,” Tallahassee said softly. “You have your own methods of working—”

“I certainly do!” he snapped.

It came to her that he was watching her with a kind of outrage—as if the mere fact that she existed and must be a part of his daily round in the future was an insult which he found hard to bear. And his hostility was so patent that she began to lose her own control, but also grew curious at what had so forcibly triggered this seemingly instant dislike for her.

As she and Jason went down in the elevator she was aware of something else. That feeling of a third person was gone, even her queer hunch was fading. Maybe she had left it all back in the safe and, if it did have any effect, let it bother Dr. Carey—it might do him some good.

Tallahassee sighed contentedly and Jason laughed.

“For a black chick you sure do put away a Chinese dinner in a competent manner,” he commented.

“I like Foo Kong's, I like sweet-sour pork, I like—”

“Fortune cookies?” He broke open one and unrolled the paper slip inside with the air of a judge about to pronounce sentence.

“Well, well, this is apt enough. ‘Food cures hunger, study cures ignorance.' What weighty thought lies in yours?”

Tallahassee produced her own. “That's odd …”

“What's odd? They put the bill for this feast in yours, Tally?”

“No,” she answered a little absently and read: “Dragon begets Dragon, Phoenix begets Phoenix.”

“I don't see anything odd about that. Just another way of saying ‘like begets like.'”

“It could have another meaning, too. The dragon was the Emperor's symbol—no one else dared use it. And the phoenix was that of the Empress. It could mean that royalty begets only royalty.”

“Which is just what I said, isn't it?” queried Jason, watching her intently.

“I don't know—oh, I guess it is.” But why had she had that odd momentary feeling that the message of a fortune cookie, which was simply some old proverb, had a special significance for her?

“Look here, I didn't say anything because I had a hunch you didn't want to talk about it.” Jason broke across her thought. “But what are you going to do about this Carey. It's plain he's going to make a brute of himself if he can. I wonder why?”