3

“Damn!” muttered Mason as they raced out of the city and into the desert.

“What now?” asked Lara.

“I can’t outrun them.” He glanced at the rearview mirror again. “They’re not gaining on us, but I’m not putting any more distance between us . . . and I have to. There’s nothing between here and Luxor, and I don’t have enough petrol to get us there.”

“Where are the police?”

“Maybe they’ve been bribed. Maybe they stop at the city limits. Maybe they just don’t expect people to be racing down the highway at three in the morning. Whatever the reason, I haven’t seen one since we left the hospital.”

“Then we’ll have to make a fight of it.”

He grimaced. “There are six or seven men in those cars, maybe more—and you’re in no condition to fight.”

“You worry about the driving,” said Lara. “I’ll worry about the fighting.”

“Lara . . .” he began.

“Just drive,” she said. She turned in her seat, steadied her hand against the headrest, aimed her Black Demon out the gaping hole where the back window had been, and heard a click as the hammer fell on an empty chamber. She pulled the trigger twice more. Two more clicks.

“Kevin?”

“Yes, Lara?”

“Where are my bullets?”

“That’s what I was trying to tell you.” He reached into a pocket and tossed a handful of sleek narrow clips to her. “I emptied them for your own good,” he explained. “I knew I might have to take you out of hospital tonight, and I knew you would want your guns, but I didn’t want you firing them. In your condition, you’re as likely to shoot me or yourself as an enemy.”

“Let me worry about my condition,” she said furiously, ignoring the pain in her head and loading the clips into the weapons. “And don’t ever mess with my pistols again.”

He was about to answer when a bullet smacked into the dash between them. Mason cursed and resumed swerving as the speedometer crept up to 110 miles an hour.

Lara tried to focus her eyes on the pursuing vehicles. It seemed to get blurrier and darker, and the next thing she knew, Mason’s hand was on her shoulder and he was shaking her awake.

“Are you all right?” he asked. “You passed out.”

“We’ve stopped!” she exclaimed.

“For the moment.”

She began blinking her eyes furiously. “How long have I been out?”

“Perhaps an hour, perhaps a little more.”

She looked around. “Where are the bad guys?”

“Probably hunting for us in Luxor by now. At least, I hope so.”

“I don’t understand.”

“We’re in a village of sorts. I suppose it has a name, but it’s not on any map I’ve ever seen. Most of these small villages aren’t. The road began twisting and turning for a few miles, and once I was out of their line of sight I pulled in behind a couple of buildings. They went past and never gave us a look.”

“What now?”

“I’ve only got about two gallons of petrol, if that much. I can’t get us to Luxor and I can’t go back to Cairo—and I’ve been up and down this road often enough to know that there aren’t any petrol stations within fifty miles.”

“Then I repeat: What now?”

“A few of the locals stopped by to see who we were, and I’ve made an arrangement with them,” said Mason. “We’ll take a small dhow to Luxor and then hop one of the bigger cruise boats going south.”

“That could take hours,” said Lara. “Why not drive toward Luxor until we’re out of petrol and then go the rest of the way on the Nile?”

“You’re still not thinking clearly,” said Mason.

“See how well you think after a temple falls down on you!”

“Point taken,” said Mason. “I’m assuming our friends are searching for us in Luxor—but there’s always a chance they’ll figure out they passed us, and I’d prefer not to meet them head-on as they come back looking for us.”

“Let’s get on with it before I start passing out again,” she said. “How far do we have to go?”

“The river’s only about forty yards away, and the dhow’s right there. Do you think you can make it?”

She was about to nod her head, but some instinct told her not to. Instead she merely grunted a “Yes,” climbed out of the Land Rover, and began walking, Mason at her side. Once they reached the river, he helped her into the boat, fixed the sail, pushed off from shore, and jumped in.

“Nice dhow,” he said.

“It’s called a felluca on the Nile,” she corrected him absently.

“Whatever,” said Mason with a shrug. “The fellow who rented me the dhow—er, felluca—has a ham radio. He was able to find out what tour boats are in Luxor now.”

“Is there one in particular that you want?”

“The least popular, of course,” answered Mason. “There’s a grubby little boat, only twenty cabins, called the Amenhotep, privately owned, and it’s due to leave an hour after sunrise. The owner is the captain, and there’s no office. He picks up any passengers who happen to be handy and takes off, so if we can get there in time to board it, there’ll be no way to trace us.” He smiled. “If we don’t die of food poisoning, I think we’ll be safe.”

“For how long?” asked Lara.

“For as long as it takes.”

She was getting tired of half-answers. “As long as what takes?” she demanded angrily—and the anger and tension sent bolts of pain shooting through her skull again.

“Careful!” said Mason, reaching over and steadying her by the shoulder. “I know the Nile’s not very deep, but we don’t want you falling overboard anyway.”

She tried to answer him, found she couldn’t speak, and lay back, allowing consciousness to float away on the warm Egyptian breeze.