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Updated: May 14, 2025
"At your service," he said. Rick didn't know what to say. Bartouki had described a huge, jolly fat man, like Santa Claus without a beard. This man was big, but not huge, not fat, and definitely not jolly. For a moment Rick hesitated, then asked, "Is there another Ali Moustafa in the bazaar?" The black eyes locked with his. "There is no other. I am the only Ali Moustafa. And you? If you are Mr.
Rick could see that revolutions cost plenty, and he began to see the importance of the Egyptian cat. In the little plastic statue, in some form, were the finances of the revolt! "The money for the Moustafa revolution was to come from America," Ben continued. "Bartouki needed a messenger, so he waited until one came along. That was you."
"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.
"The Moustafas stole the necklace, and smuggled it to America. Bartouki sold it to the collector, through an American helper. Then he had the money sealed in the cat. He handed it to me, because my sister gave him an opening and I fell into it. Meanwhile, you put Ali in jail, then Fuad. Youssef got into the act through the clerk. So then we had Kemel Moustafa and Youssef on our trail.
Certainly Bartouki had been nice to them, so carrying the cat to Egypt had been only common courtesy. Experience had shown Rick that very often he could get ideas from reviewing conversations. He walked away from Hassan and Scotty and stared at the construction details of the antenna. But he wasn't really looking.
"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.
He had compared notes with Scotty on what Bartouki had told them. Clearly, something was pretty strange about the whole affair. It was simply inconceivable that Bartouki would have given an inaccurate description of Ali Moustafa, so the man in the store had not been Bartouki's partner. Yet, he had known about the cat, and had called Rick by name. Who was he? And where was the real Ali Moustafa?
And he will insist that you accept some token of his appreciation. I will send the instructions separately, so you need not bother with the technical reports." "I couldn't accept a gift for such a little thing," Rick protested. He looked at the cat, now in Scotty's hands. It was a handsome little statue. "Ali Moustafa is a hard man to refuse," Bartouki said.
You could take a taxi, but a licensed dragoman would be better. Suppose I suggest one with a car?" Rick remembered that Bartouki had told them a dragoman was a guide-interpreter. "That would be very good of you," he replied. "All right. I will send one I know, or a friend of his if he is not available. Wait in your room and he will come for you." Rick thanked Farid and hung up.
It was heavy, but not heavy enough to be sandstone, and the sheen was not that of a mineral. Whatever the material, it had been fashioned in one piece, probably cast in a mold. "I give up," he said. "What is it?" "Plastic," Bartouki replied, obviously pleased. "It did not come from Egypt. It was made right here in America. In Chicago, to be exact. It is what you call a prototype."
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