Third Brother Stops Smiling
Rick opened the door to a knock at precisely two minutes of seven, and
admitted Kernel Moustafa. The Egyptian shook hands politely. "It takes
some time to get a call through," he said, "so I placed our call an hour
ago. The operator assured me it would go through precisely at seven."
Moustafa turned to Scotty and shook hands again. "According to my watch,
we have only a few seconds to wait. Mr. Brant, you will answer the
phone, if you please. Identify Bartouki to your own satisfaction, then
ask him about Kemel Moustafa. Then turn the phone over to me, and I will
talk with him. After that you take the phone back again, and he will
give you final instructions. This is acceptable?"
"Absolutely," Rick said. He thought quickly. How could he establish
Bartouki's identity for certain? Then, as the phone rang, he knew.
Rick answered. "Rick Brant speaking."
"On your call to New York. Mr. Bartouki is on the line. Go ahead,
please."
Rick raised his voice instinctively. After all, New York was a long
distance away! Then he realized that electronic facilities reduce the
need for shouting, and lowered it again. "Mr. Bartouki? This is Rick
Brant."
"Good morning, Rick. Ah, but this is evening in Cairo, is it not?"
Rick was sure he identified the little merchant's voice, but he went
ahead anyway. "Mr. Bartouki, please forgive me, but I must establish
your identity beyond any doubt. Can you tell me what color dress my
sister Barbara wore at your reception, and the color of her hair and
eyes?"
"Of course. Her dress was a very attractive blue wool with a red leather
belt. She is very blond, with dark-blue eyes, and she is about my
height."
Rick was satisfied. "Thank you, sir. The reason I had to be careful is
this. We went to Ali Moustafa's shop, and a man who did not answer your
description of Ali Moustafa pretended to be him. We refused to give up
the cat. Then our room was searched. We received a letter from Fuad
Moustafa, and when we went to his house it was padlocked. Last night a
man came to our room with a pistol and demanded the cat. We gave him a
copy we had made in concrete. I should add we also were attacked in
front of the Egyptian Museum by men who searched us. That was why we
made the copies in concrete. The real one is hidden. Then, this morning,
we were attacked again, inside the pyramid. We were rescued by Kemel
Moustafa. He is here with us now. If you approve, we will give him the
cat. If not, tell us what to do with it."
Bartouki's voice sounded incredulous over the ocean miles. "This is
incredible! I must know the meaning of this. May I speak to Kemel?"
Rick handed the phone to the third brother and listened. Kemel launched
immediately into a rapid flow of Arabic.
Scotty interrupted, "Can you speak in English please?"
Kemel stopped abruptly. "Of course. Forgive me." He spoke into the
phone. "Your young American friends want me to speak in English,
Mohammed. They are cautious, and they have reason. I did not know of
their room being searched, the man who came with a pistol, or the attack
in front of the museum. I arrived this morning because I had gone to the
radio telescope to look for them.... Yes ... yes, most certainly I will
try to find out who has caused them such trouble. Ali and Fuad are in
Beirut. It is because of our father. You know that he has been very ill?
Yes, by all means send a cable. It will be appreciated. And now, if you
will tell Mr. Brant ... yes ... _ma'e salamet Ellah_, Mohammed. Allah
protect you."
Moustafa handed the phone to Rick. The boy said quickly, "Yes, sir?"
"My dear boy, I am very upset by this affair." Bartouki sounded
agitated, even across the miles. "Kemel will try to find out what has
been going on. Meanwhile, please give him the model. And accept my
apologies for getting you into such a situation, and my thanks for your
loyalty to our model cat. I hope to show my appreciation when you
return, and I shall certainly want to hear all about this. But for now,
trust Kemel. He is my friend and associate."
Rick promised to do so, said good-by, and hung up. He turned to Moustafa
and Scotty. "Mr. Bartouki agrees. We turn the cat over."
Kemel stroked his mustache. "Yes. But first, I must know of these
attacks. Can you describe the men who attacked you at the Egyptian
Museum?"
Scotty could, and did. He gave complete details of dress and appearance.
The Egyptian shook his head. "I'm afraid the descriptions mean nothing.
They did not harm you?"
"They could have," Rick stated. "But they only searched us. We didn't
have the cat with us, and it took only seconds for them to find out."
Moustafa's brows creased. "I can make no sense of this. Why would anyone
want the cat?"
Rick and Scotty laughed mirthlessly. "That's exactly the same question
we asked ourselves a thousand times," Rick said.
"And you made copies of concrete? That was extremely clever of you. I
believe you gave one to a man who showed up here?"
Rick described the encounter, and he gave a detailed description of the
man. Before he was through, Moustafa was nodding his head.
"I recognize this man! From your description, it can only be one
Youssef. He is a well-known thief, and the leader of a gang. My brother
Fuad was once requested to defend him, and refused. Another lawyer with
less scruples took the case and got him off."
"But why would a thief want the cat?" Scotty asked.
Moustafa shook his head. "I do not know. Unless he intends to sell the
model to a manufacturer, or to produce cats for sale himself. Or, if he
knows how much time, money, and planning we have invested in this cat,
he may see it as a means of revenge on the Moustafas because Fuad would
not take his case."
The answer was logical enough, but it didn't ring true to Rick. At least
the revenge part didn't. What had Youssef said? "_I have no sentimental
attachment to this object. I merely want it._" A motive of revenge would
be emotional, even if not exactly sentimental.
"Why do you carry a pistol?" Rick asked suddenly.
It took Moustafa a moment to reply. "I have enemies," he explained. "I
will not bore you with an explanation of why this is, but the reasons
are not related to this cat."
"How did you know the cat in the pyramid was not the right one?" Scotty
demanded.
Moustafa studied the boy for a long moment before he replied. He
shrugged. "I have been a contractor. I know concrete. The cat you
brought is of plastic, which does not break. Or, if it does, it breaks
differently. From your questions, I see you still harbor suspicions. Was
not Bartouki's word enough?"
"It was," Rick said. "Only we'd like to know about these attacks. Who
were the men, and why did they want the cat?"
"Then my explanation does not seem sufficient. I am truly sorry, because
we are in your debt. But I cannot tell you more, because I know no more.
The only thing I can do is talk to some people I know who may have more
clues to Youssef's behavior."
Moustafa's attitude changed subtly. "Now, where is the cat?"
Rick was suddenly glad he didn't have it at hand. "It's in the Egyptian
Museum," he said.
Moustafa exploded. "What!"
"That's right," Scotty added coolly. "We saw the men trailing us, so
Rick hid the cat in the museum. If he hadn't, the thieves would have it
now."
Moustafa sank down into a chair, a hand to his forehead. "But this is
terrible! We can never recover it! Surely by now the museum curator has
it."
Rick shook his head. "I don't think so. And I'm sure we can recover it."
"But how? Guards swarm everywhere. They are alert, because there was a
big robbery not long ago. Everyone is watched. Everyone! I don't
understand even how you could hide it without being seen."
"We have our own methods," Rick assured him. "And we'll get the cat
back. If you will come here tomorrow night it will be waiting for you."
Moustafa rose and walked to the door. He looked at the boys, and above
the luxuriant mustache, dark eyes blazed at them. "It had better be," he
said flatly. "If you are caught by the museum guards you had better say
it was a joke. As Americans, you may be believed. Do not connect me, or
my brothers, or Bartouki with this thing! But get that cat! I don't care
how. But get it!"
He slammed the door behind him.
Rick looked at Scotty. "Get it, or else?"
"Or else," Scotty confirmed. "He didn't say it, but he meant it."
Rick put his thoughts into words. "No one gets that excited over a
plastic model. The cat is important for some other reason. But what?"
"I'll ask a different question for a change. Who would you rather have
on your trail, Moustafa or Youssef?"
Rick stared at his pal for a long moment while he digested the
implications of the question. "I see what you mean," he said finally.
"There are two groups after the cat. Right? I've wondered about that
myself, since we were rescued by Kemel this morning. So we're caught
between a pair of tough characters, like eggs in the jaws of a vise."
Scotty finished grimly, "And right now the jaws are closing. Fast."
A thought struck Rick and he grinned. "How about scrambled eggs for New
Year's Eve dinner?"
"What?"
"It's New Year's Eve."
Scotty reached in his pocket and found a pocket calendar. He consulted
it. "Hey, you're not kidding!"
"Nope. So, as the year closes, where are we? Caught between Kemel and
Youssef."
"Maybe next year will bring better things," Scotty said with a grin.
"Uhuh. But for whom?"
"That," Scotty said, "remains to be seen!"