Heather Graham Read Online Free Page A

have been that sheer, radiating vitality, creating an aura about the man that was so rugged and earthy, it was shattering.
    He wouldn’t have thought himself particularly vital as he alighted from the taxi that evening. Having just wrapped up background filming in the Valley of the Kings, he had returned to Cairo by way of the Nile on a barge and stopped briefly at Giza to oversee a few brief shots of the Great Pyramids. He felt as if he hadn’t slept in a week, and he would have sworn under oath that he was wearing half the Sahara.
    Hoisting his duffel bag, which now contained nothing but dirty clothing, over a khaki-clad shoulder, he overtipped the driver and stepped to the sidewalk in front of the Victoria. The hectic pace of the streets suddenly came to a lull as chanting voices rose from the minarets of the city’s mosques. The cryers, or muezzins, were calling the Islams to evening prayer. All across the city, the followers of Muhammad would be turning to face Mecca.
    Dan D’Alesio stopped himself for a minute, feeling the pulse of Cairo. He glanced toward the shimmering orange sky and grinned slightly, then strode on into the Victoria lobby.
    She was a quaint old hotel, Victorian in fixture as in name, with an Old World graciousness Dan found charming. She hadn’t the elegance of the Cairo Hilton, but she far surpassed it in character. Ceiling fans helped along the laboring air-conditioners and created the pleasant feeling of a breeze. An abundance of lovingly tended greenery fringed about carved wood railings and lattice-work and added to an atmosphere of gracious hospitality.
    He hadn’t planned to stop at the desk. He was dead tired and plagued by a curious problem. But Rajman was there and eagerly hailed him. “How was the filming, Mr. D’Alesio? Did you find Dr. Crosby?”
    Dan grimaced and shook his head as he turned toward the curious Egyptian. Rajman’s family owned the Victoria, and Raj usually acted as host for his father and helped manage the hotel. But when Dan came to town, Raj became his unofficial personal manager in Cairo with the full blessing of his father, who was proud to see his son beneath the wing of the respected journalist.
    “The filming went as well as could be expected without the principal player. And I couldn’t find out a damn thing about Crosby.”
    Rajman shook his head mournfully in return. “What do you think happened? I thought he was supposed to have met his assistant here two weeks ago and then called you—”
    “He was. I don’t know what happened, Raj,” Dan interrupted tiredly. His lips compressed into a white line and he added softly, “But I am going to find out.”
    “I hope so,” Rajman said fervently. “May Allah be merciful, I certainly hope so.”
    “Yeah. Well, listen, Raj, it’s been a rough week. I’m going to head up and soak in a tub and get some sleep. Don’t put any calls through, huh?”
    Rajman, his huge dark eyes soulful, half nodded and half bowed several times. “I’ll make sure nothing gets through, Mr. D’Alesio. But I guess I should warn you, I have a basket full of messages from that Dr. Randall who keeps writing and I’ve had a dozen calls from a woman—”
    “Toss those messages from Dr. Alex Randall in the garbage,” Dan said impatiently. “The man has been plaguing me with wires from West Thebes to Memphis to Cairo! I don’t know if he thinks he has some big discovery and is a publicity hound or if he’s trying to cash in on Crosby. I wrote the man a note to tell him I was sorry—I just don’t have time right now for anyone. Feel free to toss anything that comes from Randall.”
    “What about this woman who keeps calling?”
    “Who is she?”
    “She won’t say—”
    “Then hang up on her! No, I guess she’d just keep calling you back and harass you. If she calls again, tell her I’m leaving the country. I am, by the way—I’m going to head for the United Arab Emirates tomorrow.”
    “To see Ali Sur