The Egyptian Cat Mystery: A Rick Brant Science-Adventure Story

"So the scientists yell for help from their colleagues in America and England, and perhaps someone can figure out what's causing this strange behavior?"

"On the button, ol' buddy."

Scotty grinned. "It will probably turn out to be an Egyptian space cat mewing for milk from the Milky Way."

Rick patted the kitten in his pocket. He had replaced the one turned over to the intruder the night before. Now, as he told Scotty, only two orphan kittens needed homes. But placing the kittens didn't answer the questions that puzzled him. Why was the Egyptian cat important? And who were the people that wanted it?

There were things about the mystery that didn't add up. For instance, Fuad Moustafa had written a polite letter claiming the cat, but strictly impolite and violent efforts had been made to get it. And where were the brothers Moustafa?

Hassan drew to a stop before the great pyramid of Khufu. "We here. Want to go in?"

"In a while," Rick answered. "We'll take a look around outside, first."

The boys got out of the car and gazed upward at the incredible pile of masonry. The blocks were huge, weathered by centuries of wind and sand. Once the whole pyramid had been covered with a smooth facing of stone, but much of it had been destroyed by thieves trying to find the entrance to the Pharaoh's tomb.

Rick saw that the top of the lowermost course of blocks was covered with chips of the weathered stone. He picked up a couple and put them in his pocket. His rock collection at home could use a genuine piece of pyramid, and his sister Barby would like one for a paperweight.

"This could be climbed," Scotty said, gazing upward.

"Oh, yes," Hassan affirmed. "Some guides go up to top all the time. Can show you best way. You want to go?"

"Not now," Scotty said. "Let's look around first. But I'm going to climb this before we leave."

"And I'll be with you," Rick said.

They reached the corner of the pyramid and Rick sighted along the edge.

The thing that impressed him most was the size of the individual blocks. Photographs were usually taken at sufficient distance to show the entire pyramid. At that distance they looked pretty smooth. Close up, it was a tremendous jigsaw puzzle of blocks that weighed tons.

Rick had expected a considerable number of tourists and guides, but apparently it was too early. Down by the Sphinx he saw a few Arabs, but no foreigners were in sight. He was glad they could see at least a part of Giza before the crowd arrived. "Take us inside, Hassan," he requested.

"Can do. You follow."

Hassan led the way to the center of the side. High above their heads, he pointed to a hole. "Up there."

The three climbed through tumbled blocks to the opening and paused to look around. This was not the opening the Pharaoh had intended. It had been made by thieves, centuries ago. By boring downward at an angle, they had intercepted the inner passageways that led to the buried king and his treasure.

Electric lights were strung along the corridor at intervals, but the passage was far from bright. Hassan led the way, with Rick following and Scotty bringing up the rear.

Scotty's voice reverberated in the stone passageway. "I've been thinking that you ought to be just about overcome with happiness. Two mysteries on your hands, one detective type and one scientific type, and now you're walking into the middle of a few million tons of rock. How full can life get?"

Rick grinned. "And you're not happy at all. Just came along for the ride, I suppose?"

"Oh, I'm happy. But I'm a simple soul. One mystery at a time and plenty of chow is all I need."

They left the tunnel cut by the thieves and found themselves in a broad concourse with high ceiling and walls that still held the remnants of ancient decorations. Rick's vivid imagination could picture the scene as it must once have been, with torches lighting the route as the mighty Khufu was carried by richly clad slaves along this route to the inner crypt.

Hassan pointed to where a side passage led upward. "Room there. Queen buried, but nothing now. All gone. Thieves take."

This was the story of Egypt. Few tombs had been found intact. That was why finding Tut-Ankh-Amon had been of such importance. Most of the burial places of the Pharaohs had been found and looted many centuries ago. One such tomb would make a band of thieves and their descendants rich. But while the thieves had grown fat, history had suffered. Each rifled tomb meant quantities of historical materials lost forever.

Scotty held up a hand. "Someone coming."

"More tourist, maybe," Hassan offered.

Rick looked around. In the echoing chamber it was hard to tell the direction from which the footsteps were coming, and whether it was one person or many. Hassan was probably right, he thought. It was late enough in the day for tourists to be arriving.

And on the heels of the thought, Arabs erupted from the entrance through which they had come!

There was less than a second of doubt. The men were after them! Rick saw Scotty crouch as an Arab charged, saw the Arab go headlong through the air as Scotty caught him in a judo throw. Then Rick and Hassan were fighting for their lives!

An Arab rushed at Rick, arms widespread, and the boy stepped between the arms and threw a short punch that caught the attacker squarely on the nose. Blood spurted and he let out an anguished yell, then Rick put a foot in his stomach and heaved. The man flew backward, arms flailing, and landed on top of one who was grappling with Hassan. The guide took advantage of the break to grasp his second assailant around the middle and dump him. The guide kicked expertly and the Arab lay still.

Scotty was backing away from two of them when Rick charged to the rescue. He hit one from behind, his shoulder taking the man at the knees. The Arab slammed forward. Scotty jumped in and grabbed his second attacker by the burnoose, then fell backward with him and flipped. The Arab flew through the air like an ungainly bird and slammed into the farther wall.

Rick choked back a yell of despair as three more Arabs charged through the passageway. They were hopelessly outnumbered now. He saw Hassan with an Arab's throat between his hands, and he saw another attacker coming up on the guide from behind, a knife in his hand.

There wasn't time to reach Hassan. Rick had only one weapon. He plucked the concrete kitten from his pocket and threw, his whole body giving the flying statue speed and direction. It caught the knife wielder where his headdress met his ear. He dropped as though hit with an ax. The kitten fell to the stone floor and shattered.

Three Arabs hit Scotty at the same time. Rick dove headlong into the fray and got his hands around a stubble-covered face. He put a knee in the man's back and wrenched, but the Arab turned like a cat and reached for his throat.

A voice yelled in Arabic. Miraculously, the Arabs fell back. As Rick and Scotty got to their feet they saw the burnoosed figures raise hands high.

At the passage entrance was a man in Western dress, an Egyptian with a bristling mustache and a tremendous nose. He was obviously a person of authority, and the authority was made plain by the Luger automatic pistol he held in his hand.

The Arabs crowded together, hands high. Then, at another sharply spoken Arabic phrase, they all lay face down on the floor, arms stretched out before them.

At that moment the newcomer's eyes caught sight of the broken kitten on the stone floor. He stiffened, and he took a step toward it. Then he reconsidered.

"Mr. Brant, or Mr. Scott," he commanded. "One of you only. Bring me the pieces of the cat!"

CHAPTER XI

Third Brother Smiles

Rick was nearest to the broken kitten. He went over and picked up three large pieces. There were a few smaller ones, but he didn't think they would matter. He walked over and held the pieces out.

The man with the pistol took one and examined it. Rick noted that it was the biggest piece, actually over half the cat.

Suddenly the man smiled. It was a fine, happy smile that showed white teeth under his black mustache.

"A fine specimen," he said. "Where did you get it?"

"It just sort of came to us," Rick evaded.

"Indeed? A pity it was broken. Do you want the pieces?"

This surprised Rick. He stared into the smiling brown eyes. "No. Don't you?"

"I have a definite interest in cats, but not in this one. Come, shall we go to the outside? I think you have probably had enough of Khufu's tomb by this time, eh?"

The pistol motioned to the outstretched Arabs. "This carrion will not bother us. I told them the first man to step outside the pyramid before an hour has elapsed would be shot."

To Rick's astonishment the man tucked the pistol into a capacious jacket pocket, then turned and walked toward the outer entrance. Rick, Scotty, and Hassan followed.

In a few moments they stood blinking in the sunlight. Their rescuer gave them a polite bow. "You are probably wondering who I am, and how I appeared so opportunely, eh? Allow me to introduce myself. I am Kemel Moustafa."

The brother of Ali and Fuad! Rick remembered the words of the hotel intruder who had taken the first kitten: The Moustafas were known for the largest mustaches and noses in the United Arab Republic. Well, the description fitted.

"I'm Rick Brant," he said. "This is Don Scott, and our guide, Hassan."

Kemel Moustafa shook hands all around. "I am thirsty," he announced. "We will exchange stories over coffee, eh? The Mena House is close by, and I have a car."

"So do we," Rick said. "We came in Hassan's car."

"Then let us drive down in our separate cars and meet there. We have much to talk over."

That was an understatement, Rick thought. He wondered as Hassan drove them to the hotel below the pyramids: had the business in the pyramid been staged so Kemel could come to the rescue? If not, that meant two different groups were interested in the cat.

The way Kemel Moustafa had looked at the broken kitten was revealing, too. One glance and he had rejected it. How had he known? He put the question aloud to Scotty.

"Maybe it didn't break like plastic," Scotty guessed. "Or, it's possible the original is unbreakable."

Rick didn't think either of those answers could be the right one. "Could there be something inside the cat? Kernel would have seen right away that the broken one was solid."

"There's a hunk of lead in the cat, according to Bartouki. But suppose you're right, and it isn't lead? What could be valuable enough to cause all these wild goings-on?"

"Diamonds. Rubies. Maybe a radium needle in a lead shield. The possibilities are endless."

"Uhuh. Only one thing bothers me a little. Why use a plastic cat as a container to smuggle things into Egypt? There must be better ways."

"This way hasn't been very successful," Rick agreed. "Anyway, here's the hotel. Let's ask Kemel Moustafa."

Over coffee, Rick asked the third Moustafa brother many questions, and received answers to most of them – although the answers were not always satisfactory.

Moustafa anticipated some of the questions. As the waiter brought coffee, he pulled out his wallet and showed the boys his identity card, driver's license, and business card. Clearly, he was Kemel Moustafa.

"I have been to Khartoum on business," he said. "Last night I returned to the city and found that a family emergency had taken both of my brothers out of town. Fuad left very suddenly, after he had written to you. I apologize on his behalf. However, he must be excused, since a call from Ali, in Beirut, sent him running to the airport to catch the next flight. He simply had no time even to call you. His secretary tried to call you today, without success."

"We wondered," Rick said.

"Of course. And you are also wondering how I came into the pyramid at just the right time. A fortunate accident. You see, I came to Sahara Wells hoping to see you, but you were sightseeing. Dr. Winston was kind enough to tell me where you were. I simply went hunting for you. A quick drive around the area told me you must be in one of the pyramids, and the biggest one seemed the most logical place to look for you."

Rick believed him. Moustafa wouldn't tell a tale that a moment's talk with Winston would disprove.

"Who was the man who pretended to be your brother Ali?" Scotty asked.

"His chief clerk. He is an arrogant type who often shows poor judgment. Instead of simply explaining to you that Ali was out of town, he apparently told you he was Ali. This was the case?"

Rick confirmed it.

"He will be discharged at once. I suspected it when I questioned him last night. He gave some lame excuse about your refusing to hand over the cat to anyone except my brother Ali. He told Fuad the same thing, according to his secretary."

"It wasn't such a lame excuse, Mr. Moustafa," Rick corrected. "Mr. Bartouki asked us to deliver the cat to Ali Moustafa. We have no instructions to deliver it to anyone else."

"I see. And I commend your discretion. But my brother Ali will not return for many weeks, and you will not want to take the cat back to America with you. So we will telephone Mohammed Bartouki, and you will hear directly from him that I am a suitable substitute for my brother."

Scotty asked bluntly, "Why is the cat so important?"

Moustafa spread his hands wide. "Why not? The creature will open a new industry in Cairo. It will employ a number of people. It will make a profit for the Moustafa-Bartouki enterprises. It will please the tourists. Obviously the cat is important."

Rick tossed in his loaded question. "How did you know the cat in the pyramid wasn't the cat we brought from America?"

Kernel Moustafa's thick eyebrows went up. "It was obvious, was it not? The broken cat was made of colored concrete. The cat Bartouki took such pains to develop was of a plastic that does not have the graininess of concrete. If you tell me the one in the pyramid was indeed the original, I will be very disappointed. Such a model would not be suitable."

"It wasn't," Rick said briefly.

"Ah. And where is the original?"

Rick's smile was every bit as warm and friendly as Kemel Moustafa's. "Perhaps the answer to that had better wait until we have talked to Bartouki."

The Egyptian's smile broadened. "Discretion in one so young," he proclaimed, "is a rare and precious thing." He put money on the table for their coffee and rose.

"You will excuse me? I have business in the city. But tonight at seven I will come to your hotel and we will phone our friend in New York. It will then be noon in New York, and we will find him reading the Koran at home. This is his custom. Until then, Assalamo alaikum, which is to say, 'Good day to you.'"

As the boys walked to where Hassan waited, Scotty grinned at Rick. "'Discretion in one so young,'" he quoted, "'is a rare and precious thing.' He should know you as I do. Discretion has nothing to do with it. You just don't want to part with that cat until you know everything there is to know about it."

Rick shrugged. "I haven't heard you volunteering to hand the poor creature over. Besides, our pal Kemel is not all that he seems."

"And how do you know?"

"Easy. Did he ask us who jumped us in the pyramid, or why? Did he explain why he carries a Luger? Nope, to both. He carries a Luger because there's danger in this business. And he knows why those Arabs jumped us. He may not know them by name, but he knows what they were after, and he knows why."

"Which is more than we know," Scotty concluded.

"For now," Rick agreed. "But we'll find out before we're through, one way or another!"

CHAPTER XII

Third Brother Stops Smiling

Rick opened the door to a knock at precisely two minutes of seven, and admitted Kernel Moustafa. The Egyptian shook hands politely. "It takes some time to get a call through," he said, "so I placed our call an hour ago. The operator assured me it would go through precisely at seven."

Moustafa turned to Scotty and shook hands again. "According to my watch, we have only a few seconds to wait. Mr. Brant, you will answer the phone, if you please. Identify Bartouki to your own satisfaction, then ask him about Kemel Moustafa. Then turn the phone over to me, and I will talk with him. After that you take the phone back again, and he will give you final instructions. This is acceptable?"

"Absolutely," Rick said. He thought quickly. How could he establish Bartouki's identity for certain? Then, as the phone rang, he knew.

Rick answered. "Rick Brant speaking."

"On your call to New York. Mr. Bartouki is on the line. Go ahead, please."

Rick raised his voice instinctively. After all, New York was a long distance away! Then he realized that electronic facilities reduce the need for shouting, and lowered it again. "Mr. Bartouki? This is Rick Brant."

"Good morning, Rick. Ah, but this is evening in Cairo, is it not?"

Rick was sure he identified the little merchant's voice, but he went ahead anyway. "Mr. Bartouki, please forgive me, but I must establish your identity beyond any doubt. Can you tell me what color dress my sister Barbara wore at your reception, and the color of her hair and eyes?"

"Of course. Her dress was a very attractive blue wool with a red leather belt. She is very blond, with dark-blue eyes, and she is about my height."

Rick was satisfied. "Thank you, sir. The reason I had to be careful is this. We went to Ali Moustafa's shop, and a man who did not answer your description of Ali Moustafa pretended to be him. We refused to give up the cat. Then our room was searched. We received a letter from Fuad Moustafa, and when we went to his house it was padlocked. Last night a man came to our room with a pistol and demanded the cat. We gave him a copy we had made in concrete. I should add we also were attacked in front of the Egyptian Museum by men who searched us. That was why we made the copies in concrete. The real one is hidden. Then, this morning, we were attacked again, inside the pyramid. We were rescued by Kemel Moustafa. He is here with us now. If you approve, we will give him the cat. If not, tell us what to do with it."

Bartouki's voice sounded incredulous over the ocean miles. "This is incredible! I must know the meaning of this. May I speak to Kemel?"

Rick handed the phone to the third brother and listened. Kemel launched immediately into a rapid flow of Arabic.

Scotty interrupted, "Can you speak in English please?"

Kemel stopped abruptly. "Of course. Forgive me." He spoke into the phone. "Your young American friends want me to speak in English, Mohammed. They are cautious, and they have reason. I did not know of their room being searched, the man who came with a pistol, or the attack in front of the museum. I arrived this morning because I had gone to the radio telescope to look for them… Yes … yes, most certainly I will try to find out who has caused them such trouble. Ali and Fuad are in Beirut. It is because of our father. You know that he has been very ill? Yes, by all means send a cable. It will be appreciated. And now, if you will tell Mr. Brant … yes … ma'e salamet Ellah, Mohammed. Allah protect you."

Moustafa handed the phone to Rick. The boy said quickly, "Yes, sir?"

"My dear boy, I am very upset by this affair." Bartouki sounded agitated, even across the miles. "Kemel will try to find out what has been going on. Meanwhile, please give him the model. And accept my apologies for getting you into such a situation, and my thanks for your loyalty to our model cat. I hope to show my appreciation when you return, and I shall certainly want to hear all about this. But for now, trust Kemel. He is my friend and associate."

Rick promised to do so, said good-by, and hung up. He turned to Moustafa and Scotty. "Mr. Bartouki agrees. We turn the cat over."

Kemel stroked his mustache. "Yes. But first, I must know of these attacks. Can you describe the men who attacked you at the Egyptian Museum?"

Scotty could, and did. He gave complete details of dress and appearance.

The Egyptian shook his head. "I'm afraid the descriptions mean nothing. They did not harm you?"

"They could have," Rick stated. "But they only searched us. We didn't have the cat with us, and it took only seconds for them to find out."

Moustafa's brows creased. "I can make no sense of this. Why would anyone want the cat?"

Rick and Scotty laughed mirthlessly. "That's exactly the same question we asked ourselves a thousand times," Rick said.

"And you made copies of concrete? That was extremely clever of you. I believe you gave one to a man who showed up here?"

Rick described the encounter, and he gave a detailed description of the man. Before he was through, Moustafa was nodding his head.

"I recognize this man! From your description, it can only be one Youssef. He is a well-known thief, and the leader of a gang. My brother Fuad was once requested to defend him, and refused. Another lawyer with less scruples took the case and got him off."

"But why would a thief want the cat?" Scotty asked.

Moustafa shook his head. "I do not know. Unless he intends to sell the model to a manufacturer, or to produce cats for sale himself. Or, if he knows how much time, money, and planning we have invested in this cat, he may see it as a means of revenge on the Moustafas because Fuad would not take his case."

The answer was logical enough, but it didn't ring true to Rick. At least the revenge part didn't. What had Youssef said? "I have no sentimental attachment to this object. I merely want it." A motive of revenge would be emotional, even if not exactly sentimental.

"Why do you carry a pistol?" Rick asked suddenly.

It took Moustafa a moment to reply. "I have enemies," he explained. "I will not bore you with an explanation of why this is, but the reasons are not related to this cat."

"How did you know the cat in the pyramid was not the right one?" Scotty demanded.

Moustafa studied the boy for a long moment before he replied. He shrugged. "I have been a contractor. I know concrete. The cat you brought is of plastic, which does not break. Or, if it does, it breaks differently. From your questions, I see you still harbor suspicions. Was not Bartouki's word enough?"

"It was," Rick said. "Only we'd like to know about these attacks. Who were the men, and why did they want the cat?"

"Then my explanation does not seem sufficient. I am truly sorry, because we are in your debt. But I cannot tell you more, because I know no more. The only thing I can do is talk to some people I know who may have more clues to Youssef's behavior."

Moustafa's attitude changed subtly. "Now, where is the cat?"

Rick was suddenly glad he didn't have it at hand. "It's in the Egyptian Museum," he said.

Moustafa exploded. "What!"

"That's right," Scotty added coolly. "We saw the men trailing us, so Rick hid the cat in the museum. If he hadn't, the thieves would have it now."

Moustafa sank down into a chair, a hand to his forehead. "But this is terrible! We can never recover it! Surely by now the museum curator has it."

Rick shook his head. "I don't think so. And I'm sure we can recover it."

"But how? Guards swarm everywhere. They are alert, because there was a big robbery not long ago. Everyone is watched. Everyone! I don't understand even how you could hide it without being seen."

"We have our own methods," Rick assured him. "And we'll get the cat back. If you will come here tomorrow night it will be waiting for you."

Moustafa rose and walked to the door. He looked at the boys, and above the luxuriant mustache, dark eyes blazed at them. "It had better be," he said flatly. "If you are caught by the museum guards you had better say it was a joke. As Americans, you may be believed. Do not connect me, or my brothers, or Bartouki with this thing! But get that cat! I don't care how. But get it!"

He slammed the door behind him.

Rick looked at Scotty. "Get it, or else?"

"Or else," Scotty confirmed. "He didn't say it, but he meant it."

Rick put his thoughts into words. "No one gets that excited over a plastic model. The cat is important for some other reason. But what?"

"I'll ask a different question for a change. Who would you rather have on your trail, Moustafa or Youssef?"

Rick stared at his pal for a long moment while he digested the implications of the question. "I see what you mean," he said finally. "There are two groups after the cat. Right? I've wondered about that myself, since we were rescued by Kemel this morning. So we're caught between a pair of tough characters, like eggs in the jaws of a vise."