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matter.  Anyhow, I checked at
their hotel room today and their stuff is here and they had tickets for a
flight to Aswan tonight, but the tickets are still here.  So, I think
something happened to them in the tomb.”
    “There
was a bombing?  I didn’t hear about any bombing.”
    “Bombing? 
No, there wasn’t any bombing I didn’t say anything about a bombing.”
    “Then
why do you think something happened to them in the bomb?”
    “No, I
said ‘tomb.’ Something happened to them in the tomb.  When I went in they
weren’t there.  Now they aren’t here and they didn’t take the tickets with
them.  They missed their flight.”
    “Was
there a shooting?  Because I didn’t hear about any shootings.”
    “No,
there was no shooting, no bombing.  They just didn’t come out of the tomb
and they aren’t in their room.”
    “And
you are?”
    “Are
what?”
    “In
their room.”
    “Yes. 
Their suitcases are here, their tickets, their clothes.”
    “You
had a key to their room?”
    “Look. 
I just want to report these people missing.  Perhaps the embassy could
send someone to check out the tomb where I saw them.”
    “Look,
Mr. Hope.  People miss flights all the time.  Tourists get
sidetracked and change plans all the time.  If you have any evidence other
than unused tickets, tell me.  Otherwise, I think we should just wait a
few days and see if they turn up.  If they don’t, then we’ll contact the
Egyptian authorities.”
    “What
if they’re hurt?”
    “Well
you said there wasn’t any bombing or shooting.  And I have to tell you
that, relatively speaking, Egypt is a very, very safe place for tourists. 
Not like Miami or New York.”
    “So,
we just wait.”
    “Yes. 
Now if you would like to tell me exactly where you are.”
    Tim
hated telephones. He couldn’t recall a single telephone call he had ever made
to someone in authority or to a business that turned out the way he wanted.
    He
remembered learning that ninety percent of communication was non-verbal:
crossed arms, shrugs, hand gestures, smiles, frowns, winks, scowls, a raised
eyebrow.  The telephone line, a lifeless strand of metal carrying a
monochromatic wave of electrons, stripped away color and life. It was hard
enough to communicate in person with someone you knew. To make sense to a
stranger with such a handicap was impossible.
    He
closed his eyes and pictured Addy leaning forward to whisper to him, her mouth
opening softly, her lower lip a glistening, inviting crescent, the upper lip
slightly drawn up, the juncture of the soft red lip and her pale skin sharply,
achingly, beautifully defined.  He could feel her breath, its gentle
sweetness brushing against his cheek as she exhaled.
    The
air, caressed by her mouth and tongue, became alive.  It lapped against
his ears, entered him and warmed him as sunshine warmed his skin.
    “Mr.
Hope?  You still there?”
    Tim
hung up the telephone.
    “Addy,”
he said softly.  “I have to help them.  I can’t ignore them.  I
can’t make a phone call and pretend I’ve done everything I should.
    “You
know that, Addy.  You know that.”

A Secret Entrance
     
    T im spent the night in Brian and Diane’s
room, hoping that they would come back and prove they were not missing and
worrying that they would come back and find him trespassing in their room.
    While
he waited, he read the Saqqara guidebook they had left on the table, hoping to
find information about the Tomb of Kanakht.  He imagined secret passages
and deadly open shafts.  Although the location was marked on the map with
a small black square, the book never mentioned Kanakht’s tomb.
    Saqqara
had been the official cemetery for Memphis five thousand years ago.  The
necropolis lay in the desert beyond the reach of the Nile.  Memphis,
called Ineb-Hedj or “The White Wall” in ancient times, had been a fortified
city built along the river.
    During
the thousands of years since they had been built, the temples had fallen