“Yeah? Maybe you should ask him just what it was he was investigating,” Jed muttered skeptically to Hayden Reed.
“Never mind that! Let’s get back to the original issue. Why did you attack this Egyptian?” snapped Hayden with a nod in Ali’s direction.
“He asked for it. Besides, he deserved a good pounding for retreating into his shop when those other three jumped me. Is that what the shopkeepers in the medina do when an innocent man is beset by cutthroats?”
“I am nothing if not a law-abiding citizen. I do not become involved in common street brawls,” objected Ali. Never, in all his years in Cairo, had he called himself to the attention of the police or the English authorities.
“All that effort to recover a few piasters for some cheap tin and copper? I doubt that. It could be that you’re associated with the men who tried to rob and kill me. Maybe it was your job to see that I didn’t get away,” bluffed Jed coolly. He’d be damned if he was going to spend a night behind bars while the fellow who had interrupted his pleasure went free.
“My only quarrel with you was to recover the price of the goods you had ruined. By Allah, I swear it,” Ali maintained, casting a nervous glance in Hayden’s direction. One never knew what these foreigners would believe.
“This doesn’t concern me,” Hayden stated with the exasperation of one of the upper class forced to deal with inferiors. “Though I thank you, Constable, for your intention of allowing me to help decide the fate of one of my countrymen, what you do with these two is your concern. For all I care, you can lock them up and lose the key.”
“Whoa, one minute, Mr. Hayden Reed!” Jed shouted over Ali’s moan of despair. “I happen to know Great Britain runs the show here, and if you think you can turn your back on this Yank and wash your hands of me, you people are going to have another damn revolution on your hands!”
When Hayden replied, his ice blue eyes had turned frostier. “Is that a threat, Mr....?”
“Kincaid. Jed Kincaid.” He’d dealt with men like this before, Jed thought, long-suppressed images of his stepfather coming to mind after so many years. And he’d see himself in hell before he surrendered to propriety and played by this stuffy Englishman’s absurd rules. “And it’s no threat, Reed. It’s a reality.”
“See here, you colonial clod, your blustering has no effect on me,” Hayden retorted with disdain, half wishing that he had grounds to order this upstart American’s execution. Looking at the restless energy of the man before him, he doubted many jail cells had been built that could contain this powerful thug for very long. To imprison him and then have him escape would only feed the American’s already considerable ego as well as give the consul general cause to reassess his junior aide’s performance. The possibility made Hayden decide he should settle this matter—thoroughly frighten the man and then extract a promise from the bloody bounder to leave Cairo immediately and not return. As for the merchant, he would lecture him, as well. It wouldn’t do to have the natives think they could do whatever they pleased.
“I will tend to this problem,” Hayden began, waving the policeman out the door. Then he turned to Jed Kincaid. “Someone has to teach you proper respect for authority.”
“Many a man has tried,” Jed retorted, a dangerous glint lighting his emerald eyes, “and not one of them has succeeded.”
“Obviously,” Hayden replied dryly. “But now it is my turn.”
Concerned with their confrontation, both the American and Briton had forgotten Ali, standing quietly in the corner, viewing the escalating tension with growing anxiety. Hayden was determined to bend Jed Kincaid’s will to his own, and the American was just as resolved not to comply. As the two proud males squared off against each other, Ali feared that no matter who won, he would ultimately emerge as the loser.
But before either man could take any action, the door to the office burst open and one of the fellaheen entered quickly, carrying a message for the person in charge at the moment.
“Put it on the desk and then get out,” Hayden Reed ordered brusquely, not sparing the native Cairene a glance.
“But, mudir, it is most important!” the fellow protested vehemently. “This is from Mrs. Shaw.”
“There’s nothing so important that Mrs. Shaw would feel compelled to send me a missive at this time of night,” Hayden replied, the servant’s insistence filling him with uneasiness all the same. Then a possibility emerged, ladening him with dread. Could Cameron Shaw have died, gone to his Maker before he could use his influence to procure a title for his future son-in-law? Reed paled at the thought, forgot the disturbers of the peace and whirled around to confront the Shaws’ employee. “Nothing has happened to Mr. Shaw, has it?” he demanded anxiously, “or to Miss Victoria?”
“It is the young miss, to be sure,” the servant replied while Hayden tore open the seal and scanned the letter addressed to him.
Its contents all but undid the consular agent’s practiced reserve, and he sank into his seat, an upset and bitter man. Life’s greatest treasure had been stolen from him. Yes, of course he was worried about Victoria, she was everything he could want in a wife, and he had grown fond of her. But along with his fiancée, it was his own rise to power and social position that had, it would seem, been abducted. He slumped down further into his seat. Wondering if it was Victoria’s link to him and his own profession that had precipitated so tragic an event, he threw Grace Shaw’s letter onto the desk and rested his throbbing head in his hands.
Sensing that he and Ali had been forgotten, and curious as to what could visibly move a man of Reed’s reserve, Jed drew closer to the desk to read the decidedly feminine scrawl on the proper, watermarked stationery. The first few lines caused his lips to curl in a grim smile. It would seem Hayden Reed was in for a long night.
“Is this Victoria anything special to you?” Jed asked the benumbed British official.
“Miss Shaw is my fiancée, and I will thank you to refrain from mentioning her name. It should not be uttered by a man of your ilk,” Reed snapped before turning back to the servant. “Five thousand pounds! I can’t possibly raise such a sum in time.”
“The money is no problem, mudir. The mistress has sent someone to Mr. Shaw’s bank to fetch it.”
“But even given that, do you think we can get it to the oasis south of Wadi Halfa in five days’ time?” fretted Hayden.
“Wait a minute!” interrupted Kincaid. “I can’t be hearing right. You aren’t planning on paying the ransom for this girl’s return, are you?”
“What we do is none of your affair, Kincaid,” growled Reed.
“But why don’t you just ride out and get your woman back?” a truly puzzled Jed asked.
“Don’t be ridiculous, man! Difficult as it might be for you to comprehend, I can’t even begin to consider such a tactic,” Hayden protested. “The bastards are taking her to a wadi in the Sudan outside the realm of British authority. If I took it upon myself to send troops out after her, I could set off an incident that might cost thousands of innocent people their lives.”
“Oh, I can understand that part, all right, Reed,” Jed said, a taunting smile playing around his mouth. “What I can’t understand is why you don’t go after her yourself. If it was my fiancée, no one would be able to keep me here. It makes a man question your devotion to the lady.”
“I’m an official of the British government! I can’t be caught doing anything of the sort.” Perspiration was beading on Hayden’s brow. “It might very well involve my country in an intolerable situation that would only result in international confrontation. As for devotion, how dare you speak to me of my feelings for Miss Shaw? What does an uncivilized clod like you know about real love? After all, the constable did find you in a brothel!”
“I might not be on