Familiar Mirage. Caroline Burnes
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walked to the bed and began to unpack a bag. She was behaving like a fool. So she felt desire for Omar Dukhan. Big deal. He was a handsome man. That wasn’t what was really bothering her.
She thought back to the conversation. Although he was a hired hand, he had treated her as if he was in charge. That bothered her.
There was something else, though. She thought about it as she laid out her sleeveless blouses and shorts. There had been an edge of danger about the man. For everything that he said, there were a million things unsaid. She realized, smiling at her imagination, that she could easily view him as a spy.
“Bond. James Bond,” she said out loud, mocking herself.
Her ability to laugh at herself helped ease the disquiet she felt. She went to the telephone and sat, knowing that patience would be required to get a call through to the United States.
She’d left Arizona without a word to Amelia Corbet or Amelia’s parents, Luther and Susan. The Corbets had been Beth’s family for the past fifteen years, and she wanted to make sure they knew where she was and that she was safe. She hadn’t called them because she was afraid that, in their attempt to protect her, they might fuel her own self-doubt in her ability to bring off this expedition. The Corbets had supported her in every aspect of her work, but they also felt a duty to shelter her from danger and disappointment. Now, though, Beth was too deeply engaged in the trip to pull back. It was time to let them know where she was.
As she dialed Amelia’s number in New York, she felt once again the thrill of her undertaking. She was actually on an adventure. She was doing something that Amelia would do.
To her disappointment, when the call finally went through, she got Amelia’s answering machine. According to the message, Beth’s best friend and “sister” was out of town for a few days to meet with a client in Tokyo.
Amelia worked for a high-powered public-relations firm, and her work took her all over the globe and into the most interesting situations.
Beth hung up without leaving a message. She wanted to tell Amelia about her expedition, not her machine. She wanted the satisfaction of hearing Amelia’s gasp of surprise when she told her she was in Alexandria, Egypt, on a trip that could gain her the kind of recognition in her field that many only dreamed about.
Glancing at her watch, she stood up. She was due to meet her team in the dining room. She’d organized an early dinner, a bit of walking around, then an early bedtime. Tomorrow would be a long, grueling day, even for those who were not diving. For herself, John and four others, it was going to be an exhausting day.
She went downstairs and entered the hotel restaurant. At the happy looks on the faces of her co-workers, she felt her shoulders relax. Everything was going to be fine. They were all going to receive the recognition for which they had worked so hard.
SO, MISS EXPLORER enters the dining room. I can’t hang around for long. I have a very important date with something fresh and delicious from the Mediterranean and Peter and Eleanor. Besides, everything looks fine here.
The guy at the airport was obviously her guide. He didn’t make his presence known because he wanted to check out her party before he decided to take them into the desert. I can see his point—I wouldn’t want to be stranded in the sand with a herd of whiners. On the other hand, I don’t really think that lurking behind a pillar and spying on someone is the way to behave, either.
There’s something about this Omar Dukhan that makes me want to keep him under close surveillance. But this isn’t my case. I’m not here to work. I’m on vacation. Even I need a break from the pressures of solving mysteries every now and again.
Beth Bradshaw has everything under control. I think I can safely head for the Abbula Hotel and my reserved room. I’ll just make a quick sweep of the hotel rooms here while all the scientists are in the dining room. One last quick check before I trundle out into the night.
Mauve’s room seems fine. A little trip down the hall, and the other three rooms are good. Silent as tombs, no pun intended.
Now back to John’s room, right beside Beth’s. I’ll creep in for just a moment. I’m a little curious about him, too. If he’s such a worrywart, why’d he come on this trip?
Wait. What’s that? Someone is in his room. Listen. What’s that noise? It sounds like a gas valve or air or—someone is letting the air out of his diving tank.
I’ll put an end to this. Wham! My body slamming into the door has frightened him. He’s running across the room and out the window into the night. He’s fast, whoever he is. Before I can even get to the window, he’s cleared the wall around the hotel garden and disappeared.
Now why would someone break into a room to let the air out of a diving tank?
Maybe Miss Explorer could use a few more hours of watching. I’m not sure what’s going on here, but I’m getting a really bad feeling. Cats have always had psychic abilities. That, too, is a little-known fact. We’re very attuned to use of the sixth sense. In all the best ways, of course. And my intuition is telling me to stay close to Miss Explorer tonight.
Criminy. I guess I’ll have to rush over to the Abbula Hotel, eat a bite with Peter and Eleanor, and then get back over here to make sure no one bothers Beth.
OMAR FOUND HIMSELF standing in front of the high-rise building that contained his brother’s development firm. Dukhan Enterprises was one of Egypt’s most prestigious firms. Known for innovative architecture and global outlook, the company was a big part of the changing face of Egypt.
Omar thought of his brother, and his mouth tightened. Harad Dukhan insisted he was leading Egypt forward into the future. A brighter future. Omar wasn’t so sure.
He looked up at the high rise. It was a beautiful building, all white limestone and glass. In any other city it would have been a marvel.
In Alexandria, it was an eyesore.
He squared his shoulders and went to the main door, where an armed security guard looked at him with a wary eye.
“Can I help you, sir?”
Omar knew that his desert robes had aroused the guard’s suspicions. Many of the nomadic desert people in Egypt were opposed to what they considered westernization. Like Omar, some viewed Harad Dukhan as a man who’d climbed into bed with the capitalists. Unlike Omar, these people didn’t love Harad Dukhan. Some of them wanted to kill him.
“Is Harad still at work? I’m his brother.”
The guard spoke into a telephone, and in a moment pushed buttons to open the door electronically. “Tenth floor,” he said.
Omar nodded. It had been at least five years since he’d stepped foot on his brother’s property. Five years since he’d seen his brother. He rode the elevator up and stepped into an elaborate office. Against the wall, backlit by the beauty of the city, his brother sat at a desk. Very slowly he leaned forward.
“Omar,” Harad said with some surprise. “You haven’t been to Alexandria in over five years. What’s wrong?”
“I need a favor,” Omar said. He gave no indication how glad he was to see his brother or how much it cost him to ask for help. They had parted bitterly, with harsh words on both sides. To his relief, he saw that Harad was not going to mention the argument that had caused such a rift between them.
“What can I do?” Harad asked.
“There’s an expedition set up to search for the City of Con.” He saw his brother flinch. So Harad still, at least, had some affection for his desert roots, for the things his nomadic people held close. For the place where their mother had been buried.
“There have been other expeditions. None of them have succeeded,” Harad said carefully.
“This woman, Beth Bradshaw, she’s different.”
Instead of questioning Omar, Harad simply nodded. “What can I do to help