Kate watched in horror as the heavy oak door exploded into a shower of splinters, and Jonathan Carnahan was thrown forward onto the tile floor. Bullets embedded themselves into the dark paneling on the opposite side of the hall, whizzing past her head. She threw herself to the ground.
And ended up face to face, again, with the one person she really had hoped to avoid while on this story. Why oh why did this have to happen to her? Carnahan wasn’t moving – and this was probably in some way related to the blood trickling down his forehead. She patted his cheek urgently. “Mr. Carnahan? Mr. Carnahan!” He didn’t even twitch. “Wake up! Oh…oh heck….” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the turbaned attacker fully recovered and wielding a nasty looking machine gun. He looked left, then right, then down at the two prone figures at his feet. A truly evil smile spread across his face, and he stepped through the destroyed door…
…And directly into someone’s fist. He fell like a log, right on top of the prone Englishman.
Kate scrambled to her feet to greet her rescuer, seeking the comfort of height against possible further danger. The man was ruggedly handsome, blond, with intense blue eyes… This description along with the revolvers that were rather obviously concealed beneath a light linen jacket all led to the same horrifying conclusion. She’d just been rescued from certain death by Richard O’Connell.
Swell. She rose to her full height of five feet, four inches, and tried to smile charmingly at the man who towered over her. Best to get on his good side now, because once he found out what she was doing in Cairo, he was obviously physically capable of picking her up and throwing her anywhere he chose. Like down a flight of stairs.
Before she could say anything, a crowd began to gather around them and Carnahan started to come to. “Get off me, Sarah,” he muttered weakly, shoving at the turbaned man. Kate grabbed his attacker by the neck of his robe. As she tugged, she made sure to accidentally drop his head on the floor, several times, before turning back to the man laying face first on the marble tile. He cracked open one hazel eye. “Bloody mutt…”
O’Connell shook his brother-in-law once before impatiently slapping him across the face. The darker man opened his eyes. “Ow! What the hell do you think you’re…oh. It’s you.”
Rick grinned ferally at him, and helped him to his feet. “Yeah, it’s me. Do you mind telling me what the hell you’ve done this time, Jonathan?”
Jonathan raised a hand and gingerly tested the back of his head. “Ow. Thanks very bloody much for your concern, brother-of-mine.”
“Don’t think Evelyn’s going to get you out of this one. Now what. Have. You. Done?” Kate watched Rick accentuate each word with a sharp jab to the chest. Jonathan winced and sucked in a breath. Then he drew himself up and tried to look offended. The effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that he was refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.
“I haven’t done anything! I swear!” he insisted.
“Well someone seems to think you did,” Rick growled. “Evelyn nearly fell off a ladder when she heard the gunfire. You scared her half to death.”
“I didn’t ask them to shoot me!” he said, offended. “And what are you doing letting Evie on a ladder for, in her condition?”
“I can’t exactly tell her ‘no’, can I?” Suddenly, O’Connell seemed to realize exactly how many ears were listening in on their little argument. He smiled unconvincingly at the crowd. “Thanks, folks. Our next show’s at five. Oh – you there!” he directed toward three burly-looking museum guards. “Wanna clean this up? Take these two guys away? Thanks.”
Once the crowd dispersed and the two groggy assailants were led away, Rick clapped a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder. “Now. Let’s go talk to your sister, huh?”
The gesture caused Jonathan to wince again, and suddenly Kate couldn’t contain herself any longer. It was bad enough that he seemed to have disregarded her existence – actually, considering her size, she was rather used to that. But it was obvious that his brother-in-law was in a fair amount of pain. “Hey! Lay off him, will you?” she asked, pushing O’Connell’s hand away. The man turned to her with raised eyebrows. “Can’t get any answers out of him if he’s unconscious,” she added rather lamely. O’Connell continued to stare. What the heck, she thought. In for a penny, in for a pound. “I think he’s got broken ribs.”
Jonathan decided that today’s little adventure hadn’t helped matters any, but he still seemed relatively intact. “Nonsense – just a bit of bruising, is all,” he replied, staring with positively scientific intent at a cow statue displayed on a nearby pedestal. Rick looked between them suspiciously.
“Okay Jonathan – who’s the skirt?”
“Skirt?!”
Jonathan smiled at her response and looked her in the eye for the first time since the door exploded. “I rather think she’s my guardian angel. You certainly look like one,” he added with a charm completely at odds with his appearance.
Kate tried to scowl. Was there a big sign on her forehead that said ‘Feed me a line – I’m a sucker’? She knew enough about Jonathan Carnahan and his ilk through sources and her own experience. The fact that he was obviously suffering from the after-effects of a recent beating only served to support the warning issued by McNally. T-R-O-U-B-L-E. And yet she found herself blushing at the ridiculous compliment, anyway.
“My name’s Kate Pennington, Mr. O’Connell. Oh, and thanks for the, you know-“ she made a little punching gesture, and felt immediately silly.
O’Connell raised an eyebrow.
Meanwhile, Jonathan was considering his options. The fact that this woman had happened to arrive in the nick of time to save him from what was undoubtedly going to be a nasty pounding was very odd. Odd enough to make him wonder if she wasn’t somehow involved – that would explain the sense of familiarity he’d felt earlier in the bazaar. She may have been watching him at the nightclub. It probably wouldn’t hurt to see what tidbits of information he charm out of her. At the very worst, she was an (Jonathan checked for a handbag or bulky clothing, and seeing none, relaxed considerably) unarmed associate of El-Bassim; at best, she was a lovely woman with whom it would do his pride well to be seen.
On the other hand, he could remain behind and suffer through another one of his sister’s lectures.
Inevitably, the young lady before him won out.
“Miss Pennington?” he asked, offering his arm. “I wonder if I might have the honor of escorting you back to your hotel?”
She gave him a long look with those remarkable green eyes of hers, and then took his arm. “Thank you, Mr. Carnahan. Mr. O’Connell, wonderful meeting you. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
Together, they swept out of the museum, and into the warm dusty air of the Maydin El Tahrir. Once outside, Kate withdrew her arm. Jonathan chose not to comment, instead beginning to shake the splinters from his now bloodied linen jacket.
“Little buggers get in the most uncomfortable places,” he explained, catching her amused look when he started to flap around like a chicken. “Although it’s as much my fault as anything. I wonder where he hid the Tommy? Did you see it?”
“No,” Kate said. “Maybe he was hiding it under his turban.”
He chuckled and then realized that Katherine was not smiling. In fact, her eyes were narrowed furiously. Jonathan had just enough time to duck out of the way before she took a swing at him. “They nearly killed me because of you! How can you be so lackadaisical about that? You were almost shot! A lot! Do the words ‘Swiss cheese’ mean anything to you?” she shouted up at him.
“Um…only very unpleasant things, I must admit. And I *did* apologize for putting you in the line of fire like that, but then I really had no idea that they were going to shoot through it—“
“No, you didn’t.”
Jonathan stopped mid-babble. “Eh?”
“Apologize. You didn’t.”
“Oh!” He blinked. “Well! I’m very sorry then, Miss Pennington.”
“No need to apologize, Mr. Carnahan.” Kate sniffed gentiley. “It wasn’t really your fault.”
“But…then why…?”
“Because I’m still ticked about the *other* time someone nearly killed me today!” She gestured to her clothes in one angry downward sweep of her arms. “Do you think I look like this all the time? Someone attacked me only fifteen minutes after you *stepped* on me in the bazaar! And I want to know why!”
He looked at her closely as if attempting to judge her sincerity. What he saw was a disheveled, shaken but truthful young woman. Jonathan decided to trust her. For a while, at least. “Perhaps, Miss Pennington, this is not the best place to discuss this…” he muttered, taking her elbow and guiding her across the street.
“So you do know what I’m talking about!”
“I’ve absolutely no idea,” he lied smoothly. “But you’re quite obviously distressed, which is perfectly natural, and—“
Kate silenced him with a glare. His shoulders slumped. “All right, all right. I might have an inkling of what is going on. But not here. I think we could both use a stiff drink.”
His companion nodded cautiously, but said, “Make it a cola and you have a deal, Mr. Carnahan.”
Jonathan sat with his back to the wall of Shepheard’s ornate front lobby. This type of behavior was much more characteristic of his rough-and-ready brother-in-law than himself. Being well aware of his shortcomings, Jonathan was just as aware that if someone ever got it into their head to kill him they could do it just as easily face-to-face as from behind. Certainly not the most cheerful bit of wisdom, but one acquired honestly during his thirty-seven year career of upsetting entirely the wrong people.
This time wasn’t any different. El-Bassim wasn’t any high-hat tourist or native hoodlum he’d out-witted at the local kasbah. He was the leader of a crime ring that was rumored to extend across the entire Middle East. He was just as deadly in prison as out – and even the “in prison” bit was bound to expire within the next couple days. The man had connections. And if Jonathan hadn’t been so intent on the card game, he would have put two and two together, and realized that fat merchants named Mohammed didn’t usually have body guards.
Unfortunately, between the drinks and the thrill of winning, intelligence hadn’t made much of a showing three nights ago. So now Jonathan had a rather weighty problem on his hands. Unless he was going daft, last night’s beating hadn’t been the end of his association with the crime lord, because he was almost certain he and Miss Pennington had been followed to the hotel. And if this was indeed the case, he certainly didn’t trust any of El-Bassim’s henchmen to kill him cleanly.
Hence, the back to the wall.
Although the Englishman was ardently hoping that his death, clean or otherwise, wouldn’t enter into it.
A native waiter wearing a tuxedo and a fez arrived with their drinks, breaking the tension-filled silence. Over the rim of his glass of whiskey, Jonathan watched Miss Pennington in a brown study of her own. She felt his gaze and looked up.
“Well?” she asked. He was fiddling with his glass and looking perfectly calm, almost bored. At her prompting he gave her a confused glance and took another drink. Fine. If he wanted to be like that…she took a deep breath and folded her hands on her lap. Then she began.
Kate ordered a coca-cola after watching McNally depart, but never got a chance to drink it. Because as she sat there attempting to put all the pieces together, a weedy man walked in through the front door of the café, picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, and walked out through the kitchens. Kate was so surprised she didn’t even put up a struggle.
The street alternated between rushing at her face and pulling away sickeningly as the man ran down the alley at a rapid pace. The blood rushing to her head was making her feel a little woozy when her abductor halted abruptly and twitched his shoulder. Kate flew from it and landed on her backside. Dust rose up around her in a cloud.
Her attacker was almost stunningly ugly. But, Kate reflected as he pulled out a long knife from his robes, most criminals don’t become criminals because they look like Clark Gable.
“Stay,” he ordered, waving the knife in a threatening manner. Keeping his eyes – and the knife – on her, he reached forward and snatched her handbag off her arm. By some miracle it hadn’t fallen off during their crazy exit of the coffee shop. The man fumbled one-handedly with the clasp for a moment before using the knife-blade to neatly slash through the cloth at the bottom. For such a weedy, creepy little guy, he obviously knew how to use his weapon. It wasn’t an encouraging concept. Kate scurried backwards like a crab until she hit the wall of the ally, and stood, ready to run.
The weedy guy shook the now ruined bag and allowed its contents to fall to the ground. Passport, notebook, pencils, bill-fold, a map, the Baedeker’s Guide, lipstick, and various slips of paper all fell into the dirt. He kicked at them with his foot. He appeared to be looking for something – and not her money, either. “La!” He shouted angrily, and began to approach Kate where she stood flattened against the wall. She got an earful of furious, incomprehensible Arabic. She did catch one thing, however. A name.
He continued to approach. “The words! Where have you the words!” he shouted. With effort she managed to raise her eyes from the knife to her attacker’s face, hoping that a little reason could avoid any violence. She allowed her face to crumple and tried to look helpless. It didn’t take a whole lot of effort.
His eyes were nearly black, she noted – and rather bloodshot. As they locked with hers, Kate attempted to convey a ‘Please, don’t hurt me, go ahead and take all my money instead’ kind of message with her whimpering face, because there really wasn’t enough time for her to attempt to hurdle the language barrier. Besides, ‘Don’t kill me’ wasn’t likely to be listed in Baedeker’s in the ‘Commonly Used Phrases’ chapter. If it was, she had obviously rather optimistically over-looked it.
His eyes widened to an almost comical degree, staring at her for a long, confusing moment. “Mish momken,” he whispered, reverently. Then he dropped to his knees before her.
Kate stared at his bowing form with horrified fascination. He was actually petting her feet. “What the heck…?” she muttered and tried to move her feet away. “Stop that!”
The man ignored her and continued his bizarre behavior, chanting something over and over. Not one to let opportunity pass her by, she grabbed a small wooden crate from a nearby stack and smashed it over his shoulders. He collapsed in the dirt, unconscious.
“Words? What words? What the heck is he talking about?” she muttered, quickly stepping over him to collect her things. Her handbag was ruined, so she had to settle for tucking them in the pockets of her skirt. The result was a somewhat lumpy figure, but considering how the rest of her probably looked, it didn’t really matter. She snatched up the Baedeker’s Guide, dusted it off, and then jumped when her abductor began to move again. She turned and ran out of the alley without looking back.
“And from that encounter you managed to deduce that I was involved?” Jonathan asked when she finished, looked impressed.
“He said your name – Carnahan. And after I’d just been warned—um…it rang a few bells, that’s all.”
Jonathan frowned at the slip-up, but didn’t comment. Had tour guides finally started incorporating a warning against him in their lectures? Well, wouldn’t Evie be impressed when she heard. “How did you time your rescue so well? Arriving not a moment too late to save my face from being pounded in – quite the trick, that.”
“I knew that your sister was Evelyn O’Connell, and than she was at the museum, and so I just figured that would be a good place to start looking. As for saving you…complete accident.” She smiled, then looked slightly stricken as she replayed her words. “Not that I wouldn’t have tried to stop those men, but I didn’t—“
“Quite alright. I understand,” he said, waving it off.
Kate thought he looked rather sad for a moment, and suddenly had a great amount of difficulty in finding the infamous playboy in the man across from her.
Not that she would let that get in the way of figuring out what exactly was going on. She waited a moment before shooting him an expectant look, and he sighed. “Are you certain you don’t want something stronger,” he asked her, signaling to the waiter. “Because you really may need it.”
“No thanks. I’m still drinking this,” she answered sedately. He fidgeted in his chair, and Kate prepared herself for a story she knew without a doubt she wouldn’t like.
End Chapter 2
