The eager Corporal came to foot-thudding attention in front of his Sergeant's desk, "Sir. I think we may have gotten lucky on the old beggar's description. This report is from Cairo Station." He slid a sheet of paper across the desk to his superior, letting his eyes stray to the certificates of achievement, lovingly framed, behind him.

"Max Baeder. European. Probable German. One arrest for assault, dismissed with a fine. Served ninety days for trafficking in illegal trade goods. No permanent address nor legitimate means of support." Sergeant Aju Rafiman tapped the sheet with his hand, "I've seen this name a number of times in connection with various activities. A career baddie I think." He waved his Corporal at ease and tilted back in his chair, "I think it's time our Mister Baeder was given a severe reminder of the laws in our country. Do you have a line on his whereabouts?"

"Sir." Corporal Surri snapped to attention again, "A detail was sent to comb the town and, through a series of interrogations, our information indicates he may be heading North in a green, topless jeep as of late last evening."

"Contact Asyut police and ask them—"

"I've done that sir. They will advise us if anything develops. They also have a picture of him from one of his previous arrests."

Rafiman nodded and smiled at the formal report from his aide. Surri was a by the book policeman when it came to political protocol. "Good, but I think we will take a drive North ourselves Surri, and do a little investigating of our own." Rafiman was warming to the possibility of some serious police work- maybe even some action. "Call Asyut back and tell them we will stop by and pick up all the available information they have."

"Sir. Very good, sir."

*****

Max Baeder studied the two thugs squatted in front of him, in the greasy light of the alley, with disdain. Typical for hire scum, he thought. Cut their own mother's throat for just the promise of money. Something, something Baddu, the older one, squinted through his one good eye with a suspicious malevolence. A dirty patch covered the other, the surrounding skin all puckered like it had been burned. The younger one resembled a snake. Slit eyes, pointed nose over a tiny mouth that was buried under a ratty looking moustache. He had a habit of stroking the handle of a particularly ugly knife that was stuck in his belt. Max handed each of them a small pile of bills and watched as they quickly counted and buried them deep within the folds of their robes.

"As agreed, the rest when the job is done, right?"

Baddu nodded without speaking and spread his ugly mouth in an obscene grin. The younger one simply blinked his agreement.

"Okay then," Max stood up and adjusted his belt, "meet me at the jeep in one hour. We leave then." The two Arabs scuttled away down the alley, disappearing through a small wooden doorway near the end. Max stroked his chin and smiled to himself thinking how easy it was to recruit buffoons with the promise of great rewards. When the job was done he'd see they got their reward all right. Giving a soft chuckle, he turned and headed out of the alley in the opposite direction, kicking aside the rotting corpse of a dead cat.

*****

Bawîti was still mostly asleep as the two Land Rovers rolled down out of the foothills with their jarred and aching passengers. The last hour or so had been over nothing more than a goat trail of rocks and ruts that tested the vehicles to their limit. Massam found a public well near the market square and went about refilling all the canteens while he watched the commerce of the market come alive in the morning light. A scarlet sun splintered into shards through the black, palm branches behind him. Fragile wooden stands, hastily erected with familiar ease, were draped with colourful, cotton clothes and blankets, for sale. Several merchants knelt, babbling at one another, as they laid out their merchandise on worn, dingy rugs; each professing to own the finer selection.

Meanwhile, Stone checked the gas and decided that there was plenty to get them to Qasr Farâfra. They would refill and store the trucks there, picking up the necessary camels for the run out into the Ghard. He spoke to the professor about leaving right away and stopping in about two hours for a solid meal and a good rest when the sun was higher and more intense. They should reach Qasr Farâfra in plenty of time to pick up their camels, replenish their supplies, and grab their last chance for a shower until they got back. Everyone agreed, including Oura, who hoped to be one of the lucky ones to have a shower. Massam relayed the message to the two Bedouins who just shrugged and finished rearranging the gear in the trucks. Amin had surprisingly found a new spare for the Land Rover that blew the tire, and busied himself with bolting it to the back of the truck. Continually resting and showering held little interest for those who made their lives among the desert's dunes and away from civilization.

Qasr Farâfra was the end of the road that came all the way down from Cairo and El Giza. From there south was nothing but low desert for about two hundred miles until it reached the Gilf Kebîr Plateau, which trailed off across the southern border of Lybia and the northern border of Sudan. The surrounding area to the East was the Farâfra Oasis, a fertile expanse filled with date palms, olive trees and an assortment of wheat and grain farming. The land was blessed with a series of underground springs fed originally from the Nile. On arrival, Stone booked two rooms in one of the better hotels, his choice severely limited; one for the women and one for he and the professor. Massam raised no objection over Oura's accommodation, and he and the others went about making arrangements for the trucks, supplies and camels.

"This Stone is an interesting man don't you think?" Oura commented casually, slipping out of her robes and veil.

The room they shared was tiny but clean and comfortably decorated. Two single beds, separated by a potted palm, took most of the available space. The view from a tiny window next to the beds, was blocked by the scabby trunk of an ancient date palm. She watched as Melanie turned away, modestly, to take off her shirt and pants.

"What do you mean, interesting?" Melanie folded her scarf and placed it neatly over the pile of clothes on a rattan chair by the door, peering over her shoulder, assessing her privacy. Oura removed her necklace of emerald coloured stones and blithely, padded naked to the shower in the little bathroom.

"Oh, I just mean, well, he seems quite young and handsome. I mean for a Westerner making his living in the desert."

Melanie turned in time to just catch a glimpse of Oura's dusky coloured leg disappearing through the doorway. She strolled closer to the door without looking in and answered,

"Are handsome Westerners such an oddity? Not that I mean he is handsome or anything."

Oura's sing song voice rose over the splattering noise of the shower, "Yes, I think that's true, when I compare them to my own people. But you do find him attractive don't you? And speaking of attractive, my brother seems to have come to admire some of your own charms."

Melanie gaped at the doorway, the casually, unabashed remark, causing her to flush. She looked about the room, flustered at the fact that she'd stripped down expecting to be first in the shower, and now stood stark naked, discussing the physical and social merits of their guide and his Bedouin friend. "Sorry, I can't hear you in there," she fibbed, and went to sit on the edge of the bed, awaiting her turn, her mind a confusion of unfamiliar signals.

*****

Stone slapped noisily into the bedroom drying himself, water streaming down his legs onto the tile floor. He shoe-shined his back, snapping the towel around to scrub at his stomach and thighs.

"You're up professor," he sputtered, squeezing his wet hair back and adjusting the towel around his waist.

"With thanks," Karl enthused, trotting his pale, thin frame into the steamy shower.

Hand combing his hair, he wiped his hands dry on the towel before dragging his bulky pack up onto the bed. Digging through it, he pulled out his old companion, a Colt 45 revolver. Kabbar had taken it in trade for some of his quasi antiques, badgering Stone with a crush of reasons, to buy it from him. Secretly, he was kind of pleased to have his own gun. He unwrapped the oil cloth around it and popped open the chamber, spinning the cylinder smoothly. From a small leather pouch he took out five shells and slipped them into the cylinder, closing it with a pleasing click, so that the hammer rested on the empty chamber. From the bag he withdrew a worn leather holster, its finish almost black with the patina of age and wear. For the rest of the trip this would be securely on his hip- just in case.

"Ah god that feels good," Karl staggered into the room, scrubbing himself dry with the coarse towel, "the next one will feel even better I'm sure."

"You're right there," Stone said pulling his boots up over his pants, "let's hope we're celebrating more than just a shower though, eh?"

"Indeed. Indeed." Karl rubbed himself once more, briskly, and began slipping into his clothes, "I uh, wanted to ask you something. Something of a favour."

"Name it."

"Well, it's kind of a personal thing. You can refuse if you wish, I—"

"Do you want to just tell me what it is please without all the disclaimers." Stone watched with amusement as the older man fumbled his thoughts.

"Right, I'm sorry. It's about uh, Melanie. I would really appreciate your kind of uh, keeping an eye on her for me. You know, watching she doesn't get into any trouble."

"Trouble?"

Karl ran his hand over his damp hair and paced across the room, "Not trouble exactly but, well she's quite headstrong and she hasn't been out on a venture like this, nor has she had much of a social life for some time either."

Stone smiled widely, "Headstrong I've seen. Max Baeder sure won't forget her for a while. But hey, professor, you hired me to look after all of you. I intend doing that, and Melanie will be as safe as I can make it for her, okay?"

Karl studied the young man quizzically, "You like her don't you? I mean, more than just as a job." Stone's mouth fell open and he stuttered awkwardly, taking in the professor's open face.

"I may be of another generation, but I haven't lost any intuition regarding younger people of the opposite sex."

Stone gathered himself, rubbing the warm skin of his neck, "I guess I can't deny finding her quite attractive sir."

"Oh please! Don't get formal. It sounds like you're going to ask for her hand now."

Groping for his composure, Stone held out his arms and crossed the room, flopping down into a wicker chair. "Professor, could we drop this subject. Let's just agree that I will do my job to the best of my ability and that includes watching out for everyone."

Karl adjusted his glasses and chuckled, "Of course. But I knew I was right."