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of boat where no one saw anything unusual about picking up two British passengers from a beat-up
felluca
, even though one of them was unconscious.” He paused. “Are you hungry? I don’t think you’ve eaten since I found you in the Temple of Horus.”
    “They fed me a light dinner at hospital,” she replied. “But I
am
famished.”
    “I’ll get you something.” He walked to the door. “I’ll be back soon.”
    “I think I’m up to coming with you,” she said, swinging her feet to the floor.
    “Bad idea.”
    “Look, Kevin. I’m grateful that you saved me, but I don’t like being patronized,” said Lara. “If you explain
why
it’s a bad idea, I’ll listen; if you just state it, talk to the wall—it will be a more receptive audience than I will.”
    Mason looked annoyed, but acquiesced to her demand. “Only two or three people saw us come aboard, and it was too dark for them to see that you’re a beautiful woman with a pair of black eyes. Whoever’s looking for us is looking for a couple, and they know that the woman was pretty badly banged up. Let’s not make it too easy for them.”
    “I thought you told me that this was a tiny boat and no one would find us here,” said Lara.
    “I said they wouldn’t think to
look
for us here,” responded Mason. “But that doesn’t mean the word isn’t out that they
are
looking for us. Why give the crew or the passengers any information to sell?”
    “All right,” she said, putting her feet back up. “But when you get back, we’re going to have a long talk about exactly what’s going on.”
    “I promise,” he said as he walked out onto the deck and closed the door behind him.
    Lara ran her hands down her hips and realized that her holsters were missing. She sat up abruptly—there was some pain, but nothing like the day before—and then relaxed as she saw the holsters, pistols still in them, sitting on a crooked wooden table. She checked: The Black Demon .32s were loaded, ready to spit death at whoever was after her.
    She stood up, expecting to experience horrible stabbing pains in her head and being pleasantly surprised when they didn’t occur, then entered the bathroom. There was a sour taste in her mouth, and she wanted to rinse it out. She turned on the tap and a very thin stream of brownish water trickled out. She decided to live with the taste.
    She took a thorough inventory of her various wounds, bruises, and abrasions. She picked up the only towel, which was ragged and had three small holes in it, and wiped off the filthy mirror over the sink. The swelling was down on her left eye, still pretty big there on her right—and both eyes would stay black for at least a few more days.
    She gently pulled the bloodstained wad of cotton out of her nostril and took a breath. No obstructions, and her nose didn’t look or feel broken, so she decided not to reinsert it.
    Her lips were still cracked and dry. She toyed with rubbing some of the brown water on them, then decided against it. Whatever drink Mason brought her—juice, bottled water, tea, coffee—would serve the same purpose and probably wasn’t filled with dysentery germs and bilharzia mites.
    She tried raising and lowering her left arm. No problem. Then she bent it—and winced. Whatever had pinned her back in the tomb had evidently fallen onto her elbow. It didn’t look swollen, and she was pretty sure it wasn’t broken, but it was still very sore.
    Still, she could live with all the cuts and bruises, as long as the pain in her head subsided and she stopped losing her balance and passing out every fifteen minutes or so. She turned and took a few tentative steps around the tiny room, secure in the knowledge that if she did fall, she would almost certainly land on the bed. Her knees hurt, her ankles were stiff, and there was a momentary wave of dizziness, but it was so much better than she’d felt in the hospital or the car or the
felluca
that she mentally pronounced herself Ready and