The Laughter of Dead Kings Read Online Free PDF

trouble, and Suzi had screwed up. It wasn’t entirely her fault, and most of my fury had been directed at her bosses, whoever they were. Anonymous. I hate those people—FBI, CIA, all of them. They are so obsessed with security, it supersedes everything else, including the welfare of the people they are supposed to be protecting. They don’t even talk to one another.
    Whatever Suzi’s precise affiliation might be, it had to have something to do with art and antiquities fraud, otherwise she wouldn’t have been on that cruise. “Sir John Smythe” was still a subject of interest to several European governments, not to mention Interpol. My connection with that notorious crook was well documented. Suzi might not know that Smythe and John Tregarth, respectable dealer in legitimate antiquities, were one and the same, but at the very end of that interview she had said something…No, she hadn’t actually said anything, she had just looked as if…
    Catching the notorious Sir John Smythe would be a feather in any agent’s cap. Was Suzi trying to get to John through me and to me through Schmidt? Or was I reading too much into a look, an imagined hint? Why couldn’t she have taken a fancy to Schmidt? I couldn’t visualize him as anything but my cute little, crazy little roly-poly pal, but that was no reason to suppose he wouldn’t appeal romantically to a woman. Chacun à son goût . He was funny, charming, brilliant, and, bless his heart, starving himself into relative—I said relative—fitness. Losing a little weight certainly wouldn’t do him any harm. But if Suzi broke his susceptible heart I would murder her.
    What with eating and drinking and listening to Schmidt babble on about fitness we got through the evening. I kept trying to think of ways to draw Suzi out about her work without indicating why I had a personal interest. “Any unusual cases lately?” (a question that made John bite his lip and roll his eyes heavenward) elicited only a toothier grin and a bland “Nothing I can talk about.”
    As a rule I have to kick Schmidt out while he’s still chattering, or put him to bed on the sofa if he has had too much to drink. That night he was the one who announced it was time to end our delightful evening. The look he gave Suzi was, as they say, meaningful. She gave him one back, and rose obediently to her feet. They did not linger over their farewells.
    I stood by the door until I heard Schmidt gun the engine and roar away. Then I turned very slowly to face John.
    “I need something,” I croaked. “I don’t know what, but I need it bad.”
    “You’ve had enough to drink, smoking is unhealthy, and we’ve no time for—what was the word?—distraction.”
    “Damn it, I think you’re actually enjoying this!”
    “I am enjoying the fact that thus far no one has tried to shoot me, stab me, or hit me. Let’s get Feisal…Ah, there he is.”
    “I watched from the window, saw them leave.” Feisal edged cautiously down the stairs. “Who was the woman?”
    John and I exchanged glances. “That isn’t immediately relevant,” John said. “I expect Feisal is hungry. He hasn’t dined.”
    “Nor lunched, nor, as far as I can recall, breakfasted,” Feisal said.
    We settled down around the kitchen table and the remains of Schmidt’s bounty. Though he had stuck strictly to his diet, he hadn’t stinted the rest of us; Feisal tucked into a sandwich of goose pâté and dark bread.
    “So what do we do now?” he asked. His eyes, big and soft and brown, were fixed on John with a look of touching hope.
    “Well…” John loves being appealed to. He leaned back, steepling his fingers like Sherlock Holmes. “The first step is damage control. You did all you could to prevent discovery, but you had better get back to Luxor as soon as possible and make sure Ali doesn’t crack under pressure. Keep the tomb closed. You have the authority to do that, I presume.”
    “Unless I’m overruled by a direct order from the