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Updated: May 13, 2025
Then I shall begin. Boys, I regret to inform you that Mr. Kemel Moustafa is a member of a conspiracy to overthrow the United Arab Republic government." Rick and Scotty turned to look at the mustached man. He sat impassively. "His brothers also are in this conspiracy. He told you they were in Beirut, but he was not truthful. They are in jail, here in Cairo, awaiting trial.
Any sign of real danger to you and they'd have bailed you out fast. But we were holding off, because I had a radio message that Kemel was on his way with a gang of his own." "You certainly had things taped," Scotty said admiringly. "I guess we ought to be mad. But you'd have an equal right to get mad because we tried to go it alone." "We'll call it square," Ben agreed. "About Bartouki.
If Youssef had found it himself, it was hours ago. He wouldn't have waited to search Hassan's car, if he had ever intended to search it. An inner voice urged, "Tell him where the cat is. It's not your cat, and there's no reason to believe that Kemel Moustafa has any more right to what's inside of it than Youssef has."
He wondered as Hassan drove them to the hotel below the pyramids: had the business in the pyramid been staged so Kemel could come to the rescue? If not, that meant two different groups were interested in the cat. The way Kemel Moustafa had looked at the broken kitten was revealing, too. One glance and he had rejected it. How had he known? He put the question aloud to Scotty.
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.
"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.
"A form Cerulean fluttered o'er the deep; Brightest of beings, greatest of the great, Who, not as mortals steep Their eyes in dewy sleep, But heavenly pensive on the lotus lay, That blossom'd at his touch, and shed a golden ray. Hail, primal blossom! hail, empyreal gem, Kemel, or Pedma, or whate'er high name Delight thee, say.
He will wait." "Thank you. Now, can you tell me anything about a Mr. Fuad Moustafa? Do you know him?" "Indeed, sir. He is a lawyer, from a well-known family. He has two brothers who are also well known. One is Ali, who has a shop in El Mouski, and the other is Kemel, who is a textile importer." Rick thanked him and hung up. "It's our boy," he said. He repeated what the clerk had told him.
"Rick, this is Inspector Ismail ben Adhem of the Cairo Police." The inspector held out a brown hand. Rick sensed the strength in it, although the handshake was normal. "I'm glad you're here," the boy said frankly. "Between Youssef and Kemel Moustafa, we're sort of in a jam." The inspector smiled. "Well see if we can get you out of it. Suppose you call me Ben, just to make things easy.
To Rick's astonishment the man tucked the pistol into a capacious jacket pocket, then turned and walked toward the outer entrance. Rick, Scotty, and Hassan followed. In a few moments they stood blinking in the sunlight. Their rescuer gave them a polite bow. "You are probably wondering who I am, and how I appeared so opportunely, eh? Allow me to introduce myself. I am Kemel Moustafa."
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