Barbara Silkstone - Wendy Darlin 03 - Cairo Caper (20 page)

The chef cleared his throat but that didn’t clear the slur out of his voice. “I am preparing a dinner like no other. A tribute to this wonderful country.”

I wouldn’t eat a thing he served if I couldn’t first check it out with a Geiger counter and two tasters. Russian oligarchs and radioactive poison went together like borscht and sour cream.

Borgia smiled as he made eye contact around the table. He hiccupped. “It is with great pleasure I prepare this meal for Mister Sputum’s honored guests.”

Sputum’s patience wore thin. He ran his finger across his neck in the universal cut-it-off motion.

Borgia double-hiccupped. “Yes, Mister Sputum. Our first course will be hearts of palm salad with camel toe dressing, followed by camel meatballs, braised shank of camel with hollandaise sauce and to complete your dining experience, camel mousse with caramel sauce.”

That made rubber chicken and ball-bearing peas seem positively Paul Prudhomme-ish.

The chef excused himself and scurried to the dumbwaiter, which I presumed, in addition to connecting with the bar, was the interface with the holodeck.

Sydney was the first to speak. “While I am quite famished, I must refrain. I’m a few pounds overweight so my doctor has me on a strict diet. To make matters worse, I lost my self-control this afternoon and had a gargantuan lunch.”

“Aren’t gargantuans out of season?” I said.

Everybody winced. At least I was drawing people together. Maybe we could sing a chorus or two of Kumbaya.

Dork pushed away from the table. “I cannot intrude on your meal. I was not expected. And, like Sir Sydney, my doctor has me on a diet, a strict diet. My meals are jetted to me from my very own personal chef and only my personal chef, Wolfgang Cluck.”

Sputum shrugged and rolled his palms up. “A pity that you would offend me by refusing my hospitality. At the end of the dinner, I’m going to unveil the medallion. But leave if you must. You’ll never possess the medallion but you would have been able to fondle it once before it disappears forever. I’ll have Tyson take a picture of it with his phone and send it to you so you’ll have a memento.”

I wasn’t sure what Sputum had up his sleeve, but I knew we shouldn’t interfere, for our sakes and Fiona’s, so I kicked Roger and Petri in the shins just like I was playing bridge, only with two partners. I didn’t want Petri’s on-the-edge anger to erupt or my favorite blabbermouth Roger to… blabbermouth. I held my breath when I remembered we were sitting at a glass table, not a bridge table. But nobody noticed my footwork except my targets. Thankfully, they got it and kept their mouths shut.

The gears grinding in Sydney’s and Dorkovsky’s heads were almost audible. It was their only chance at the medallion. And they didn’t want to miss a meal. What to do? What to do?

Neither of them left the table. The lure of the medallion won. And there we were in no man’s land with Sputum on one side and Dorkovsky on the other. Caught in the middle of dueling oligarchs.

Chapter Thirty-six

Sputum smiled. “I am pleased you are staying. I assure you this will be a most memorable evening.”

The chef returned via the dumbwaiter with a huge serving bowl of salad and a pitcher of dressing. He set them on the table. “Mister Sputum has requested that dinner be served family style for the comfort and confidence of the guests.”

He wobbled to the dumbwaiter.
Sputum
had come out Shputum. I didn’t see how Chef Luca Borgia could last the meal.

Tatiana took a stack of salad bowls from the serving sideboard and with a mini-skirted bow placed one in front of each of us.

When nobody made a move, Sputum said, “Allow me to start in order to put your minds at ease.” He filled his plate then poured on a generous portion of the camel toe dressing.

Tatiana passed five empty seats to get to Petri. After he took a small amount of salad and dressing, she proceeded past five more empty seats to Sydney at the foot of the table.

He took a penlight from his jacket. “Hope you don’t mind, old boy.” He pushed the button on the end but it didn’t light up. He waved it over the salad and dressing. “A pocket Geiger counter. With all the unfortunate contamination of salad dressing by nuclear waste these days, one can’t be too careful. I believe it was last month that a young family discovered the hard way that their Thousand Island dressing would have been more accurately labeled Three Mile Island dressing.”

Satisfied that the food was radiation-free, Sidney heaped his bowl with salad and drowned it in camel toe dressing.

Tatiana moved to Dorkovsky. He produced a gadget that could have been an electric razor with a pig’s snout attached. He flipped a switch and circled it over the food. It buzzed and snorted then shut itself off. “A contaminant detector. Sniffs out everything from heavy metals to pesticides. So much of the food supply contains such things, but this is safe.”

He put a small amount of salad in his bowl then poured on the camel toe dressing until it looked like a bowl of soup.

Tatiana stepped next to my chair, bent over, and said softly, “That pig just emptied the pitcher. I’ll see if Luca has more.”

“Thank you but don’t bother. I feel too queasy to eat anything.” Which was the truth. The thought of food, with or without nuclear waste, made my stomach do somersaults. “And Roger doesn’t want any salad.”

She studied my face. “Are you with child?”

That didn’t help my queasiness. I shook my head emphatically. “No, absolutely not. I think it’s just a reaction to all the locust guts.”

Tatiana hung out by the sideboard waiting for the salads to be eaten. Dorkovsky and Sydney inhaled theirs. Sputum ate about half of his then pushed it aside. Petri left his untouched.

Borgia lurched out of the dumbwaiter toting a silver platter of camel meatballs. They rolled to the left. They rolled to the right. They rolled all about while Borgia settled down to a mild waver. “Tatiana, please see to the plates. I will serve these personally.”

It appeared she was going to argue but smiled instead and went around the table removing salad bowls and placing dinner plates.

The chef was now taking one step sideways for every two forward. The camel meatballs would avalanche side to side and back and forth as Borgia stutter-stepped around the room. Miraculously, none rolled off the plate. If those half-pound camel balls were as hard as the one I’d tried in the desert, they could have done some damage to a foot or at the least, a big toe.

Sputum took two and, after performing their safety rituals, Sydney four, and Dork eight. Needless to say, Petri, Roger, and I passed. When Roger, the last of us to be offered the dish declined, Borgia drew himself up indignantly. The meatballs finally lost their will to stay on the plate and crashed into Borgia’s chest knocking him flat on his back.

The servings of the braised shank of camel with hollandaise sauce and the camel mousse with caramel sauce weren’t nearly as interesting since they weren’t round. But Borgia was drunker with each course and, after serving the dessert, passed out with his head in the dumbwaiter and his feet on the sideboard.

The meal was over and nobody was dead. Amazing. What was Sputum’s plan? I caught him looking at me with the hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth, like he was reading my mind.

He returned his attention to Sydney and Dork and said, “Now that we’ve broken bread, maybe we can reach an accord. There’s no reason for us to work against each other.”

Sydney and Dork both nodded, obviously not rejecting Sputum’s bold-faced lies out of hand. They both seemed a little slow. Had they been drugged, after all? Then I got it. Sputum slowed them down and dulled their senses through their gluttony. They were as sluggish as anacondas that had swallowed goats.

Tatiana walked past the table.

Sputum barked, “Where do you think you’re going?”

She spun on her spiked heels at the top of the stairs and barked back. “Anyplace you aren’t. But after my brother is done with you, that will be everywhere.”

Oh no, I was panicky. I couldn’t handle another oligarch. “Who’s your brother?”

“You know him as Mustafa.” She snapped her forefinger at Sputum. “And you, as Vladimir. Did you think you could screw the Dark Force without consequences?”

She turned her back on Sputum and walked down the stairs.

He jumped out of his chair and leaped toward the stairs while sliding his hand under his jacket.

A distinctive voice rumbled up the stairs. “Not a good idea, boss, or should I say, ex-boss.”

Tyson stood near the exit, gripping his Glock with a green laser spot centered on Sputum’s black heart.

Tatiana reached the exit. “You will pay the price for those you have disrespected… the Dark Force, Tyson, and me.”

She stuck her hand in Tyson’s jacket pocket and, similar to Little Jack Horner, pulled out a plum, in this case the iPod controller. She tapped it with her finger, the door whooshed open, and a can of soda flipped in. That’s what it appeared to be from my vantage point on the second level. It wasn’t Coke or Sprite or any soda I’d ever seen, but I
was
in Egypt.

Tatiana tapped Tyson on the shoulder. He stepped out of the bus but the laser dot never left Sputum’s heart. The soda can popped open and a cloud of gas spewed out.

“I’m sorry that you all will die,” Tatiana said as she backed out, pointing her hand at Sputum. “But he would have killed you anyway. Up with his bullshit we will not put!”

“However, if any of you survive and need a little help with awkward situations, google Dark Force. We have reasonable rates and guarantee results.” She took the final step outside and tapped the iPod, closing the door and sealing us in without a controller.

Perfect. If I didn’t die because of Sputum at the hands of the Dark Force, I could hire the Dark Force to kill Sputum if he survived the gas spewing into the bus. Circular homicide.

Sputum worked his gun out of his shoulder holster. Sydney and Dork hit the floor. Roger and Petri squatted beneath the table.

I dumped my water glass on my linen napkin and wrapped it, cold and dripping, over my face like an unimaginative bandit. I had to get to Fiona, still out cold and sitting next to the canister.

Chapter Thirty-seven

I soaked a napkin for Fiona as the cloud swirled through the first floor and twisted its way up to the dining room. The air was heavy with the smell of tar and taffy. The Campoos! I snatched my purse and folded the flap, hoping the little guys had enough air. I put the strap over my head and across my shoulder.

Roger and Petri wrapped their faces. Roger motioned me to the floor. We crawled to the stairs. The gas was our immediate danger but we still had two oligarchs and the oh-so-slimy Sir Sidney to worry about. Roger motioned for me to go down. I took a deep breath. Roger and Petri had my back as they guarded the top of the stairs, for whatever that was worth without weapons.

I slithered down the steps on my belly wondering if I’d ever see Roger again. My eyes watered and my throat slammed shut. What would it have been like without the wet napkin over my face? I ka-thumped to the bottom and low-crawled to Fiona. Pulse strong, still unconscious. I put the wet napkin over her face and unraveled her from the chair. I eased her to the floor and elevated her feet, wishing I had a blanket.

Bam! Bam! Heavy pounding on the door. I nearly jumped out of my Ferragamo-Converse custom designed footwear.

What the hell was that racket? Was Habib alive and here with the army? Or was it the Dark Force? Or a wayward camel?

The hydraulic door burst open with a crunch followed by a feeble whoosh. I recognized the designer shoe coming through the door at waist level. Darcy Bone! Dead but not defeated, dripping blue ooze, but with not a hair out of place. The woman deserved her own mini-series. She had more lives than a Seinfeld re-run.

“Antony! Antony! Wherefore art thou?” she screamed.

In serious need of brushing up on her Shakespeare, she stood spread-legged in the entrance, arms locked at her sides, fists balled, implacable as the fat lady in the opera. Obviously out of her gourd… again, if she was ever in her gourd. The embalming pool bath probably didn’t help.

I huddled over Fiona screening her with my body and hiding my face from Darcy. This was not the time for another Darlin-Bone tussle.

Darcy wildly scanned the first and second levels. “Antony, I’ve found our medallion! You complete me.”

Bonkers. Totally bonkers. I was sure Antony’s half of the medallion was in Roger’s left-left shoe. But maybe she’d found Cleopatra’s half, which drove her into a Cleopatra hallucination.

At the top of the stairs Sputum holstered his gun then struck a pose, hand in the air, beseeching her, “Cleopatra. Cleopatra. Up here, my love.” His opportunistic delivery was marred by the choking effect the gas was having on his voice.

“Antony. Antony. Therefore art thou.” She stepped forward, tripped, and slammed into the wall. An air recirculation system kicked in with a gulping sound. Evidently Tatiana disabled it with the controller and Darcy enabled it with a body slam. Size matters.

The gas swirled into vents throughout the bus. The air cleared in a matter of seconds. Sputum grinned like the cat that swallowed the canary, in this case the coalmine early-warning canary.

Darcy walked by me, smelling like the Mummy’s sister. I wondered if there was a vaccine against her. I released Fiona. Her breathing stayed steady. I opened my bag to check on the Camapoos. They were tumbled together in their box, but alive. I left the flap open to let in the purified air.

I stood and followed Darcy. I had to see if she had the Isis side of the medallion.

She climbed the stairs slowly with an exaggerated hip motion. Didn’t she know you can only make an entrance when descending stairs? Sputum waited at the top. They embraced.

“Cleopatra, my lovely Cleopatra. Tis I, your Antony. You saved my life, all of our lives.”

“Oh, were that it true, my brave Antony. Then I might be worthy to join thee and rule all the lands of the world.”

“But it is true, my sweet. If you hadn’t made the pure air system turn on, the poison gas would have killed all of us.”