Since getting back into the house the way I came was out of the question, I inched along in the dark with only one thought: pulling Blake's
brain out of his head through his nasal passages, like the Egyptians used to do with dead Pharaohs. Only I wouldn't kill him first. I wanted him alive so I could enjoy it more. I was mad at Blake. Nothing to
worry about, he told me. Easy job, he said. Ha! There I was, in the middle of a suspected terrorist's lair, trapped underground in a secret passage and armed only with a worthless little flashlight. I couldn't believe
I'd let him get me into this, especially after so many of his schemes had already landed me on the chief's carpet. Just the thought of all those rug dances made me bristle. But I guess that was good in a way -- I could
feel my resolve strengthening. And no matter what happened, I knew I'd be OK because I'm made of the right stuff. No terrorist would get the best of me -- not even an army of terrorists could do me in. No, my
number wasn't up yet. I would make it out for one reason and one reason only: I wanted a crack at Blake.
Come to think of it, I couldn't pull Blake's brain out through his nose because it was patently
obvious he didn't have one. A brain, I mean, not a nose. Maybe I'd come up with something new, a unique kind of torture just for him. The thought cheered me up a bit. In fact, I was so caught up in devising
unpleasantness for my good old buddy that I almost didn't catch the voices coming toward me, echoing through the corridor.
Now, I wasn't exactly a whiz at science, but there's one thing I know: Rats don't talk.
Or at least in a language I understand. So the voices had to be coming from people. People who were in the corridor. The same corridor I was in. That was a big uh-oh. I nearly panicked. After all, an underground passage
didn't leave much wiggle room. I decided to return to the staircase. If I was caught, at least I could claim I was just trying to get back inside.
Stumbling and using my flashlight as little as possible I
doubled back until I reached the base of the staircase. I couldn't hear the voices any longer. Perhaps whoever it was had turned back. I didn't want to gamble on that, so I climbed the steps as fast as I could, back up
to the landing outside my room. I ran my flashlight around where the door should be, but couldn't find any way to get back in. There was no doorknob, no catch, nothing. I felt around the door, again without success.
Then I heard the voices again, too far away for me to understand, yet close enough to scare me to death. And they were coming closer. I turned off the flashlight and tried to make myself inconspicuous. Maybe
they wouldn't see me. I huddled into the smallest ball I could, made a mental note to give up Twinkies and waited.
The voices came closer. I could hear them better now. There were two of them, both male. Man
number one was saying something about meeting man number two somewhere. I could hear the blood rushing in my ears.
There was a flashlight beam. I prayed they wouldn't get a wild hair and decide to shine it up
on the ceiling. If they did, it would mean the end of my career as a spy, and probably my life. I categorically did not want to end up being peeled like a shrimp. For one thing, that meant I'd be naked, a state I
try to avoid where strangers are concerned.
The voices were close enough for me to follow the conversation now. I could see the men as they walked along, pausing almost directly below me.
Oh no, I
thought. What if they were planning on climbing the staircase? I held my breath as they spoke.
First man: "So everything's ready?"
Second man: "Yes, it's all done."
First man: "There'd better be no slip-ups. The boss doesn't like to fail."
Second man: "Yes, I know. I remember Habib."
First man: "Well, I can tell you I don't intend to end up as dog food. And
I'm holding you personally responsible if there's any mistakes. Do you understand?"
Second man: "I told you. Everything's set. The tomb's been prepared. The formula's been delivered. Nothing has been left to
chance."
First man: "When's Chandler's expedition due to arrive?"
Second man: "Tomorrow morning, Cairo time. He's so excited he'll probably go straight to the site as soon as the officials are through
with him."
First man: "We have that covered?"
Second man: "Yes, of course. Plenty of baksheesh has been spread around."
First man: "Good. The boss is planning to fly there himself. He's not going
to leave anything to chance. This is much too important. If anything goes wrong, well, don't forget what happened to Habib."
Second man: "I assure you, everything is under control. I will stake my life on it."
First man: "So did Habib."
There was a short silence, then the two men moved on. I caught one more word as they passed me by and continued walking.
"Razzack," one of them said. Razzack, as in Abdul Razzack, the terrorist.
Although I didn't know what Razzack's role in this affair was, I now had proof he was involved with my employer. I also knew
there was something fishy going on in Egypt and there was a formula of some sort, a guy named Chandler and a tomb involved.
That sounded like enough information for me to just pretty much get the heck out
and let someone else, like Blake, or Agnes the red-hot nanny, take it from there. Heck, what did I know about Egyptian tombs? I can't even find the back of my own closet.
I still didn't know what the corridor
was for. I considered going back down, but decided against it. My luck couldn't hold forever. If I could get back inside without anyone seeing me and contact Blake, who knows? Maybe I could go home, skin and all.
I tried to get into my room again but the door still wouldn't budge. It appeared there was some secret to this and I wasn't in on it. I checked the floor below and, to my surprise, found what appeared to be the
outline of another door. I put my ear to it and listened, but heard nothing. I pushed against it, but still nothing. There was no way to open it from the outside.
It looked as if I would have to follow the
corridor to the end after all. I started down the staircase, when -- quite without warning -- light flooded into the shaft. I instinctively shrank back from the brightness of the light and fear of discovery. All I
could think about was poor Habib. Habib, who -- from what I overheard -- was now in some St. Bernard's bowl. It looked like the two of us were getting ready to have a lot in common.
"What are you doing in there?" a voice asked.
I was right. I'd been busted.
