Inside Straight

They slung their weapons over their shoulders and Michael lowered his hands. Ten minutes later, he knew the joker fan’s name was Masud, the other guard had taken their picture together, and Michael picked up his duffel bag again. “I’m looking for Lohengrin or John Fortune,” he said.

“I’ll take you to them,” Masud said. He inclined his head toward the monument. “This way. Would you mind giving me an autograph, too?”

~ ~ ~

There was a rusting and decrepit motorcycle parked outside the tent. Fortune was inside, standing alongside a table with maps spread out and held down by rocks against the furnace-like wind off the desert. The armpits of his white shirt were stained a pale yellow and his normal café au lait skin was tanned darkly; his blond, curly hair was bleached by the sun, so that the contrast between skin and hair was stark. Lohengrin—looking more like a pudgy, badly sunburned college student than a warrior without the white armor—stood next to him, along with Jonathan Hive. Three of the Living Gods were gazing at the maps as well; the one called Sobek, who bore the head of a crocodile, the hippopotamus god Taweret, and a dark-haired teenaged girl Michael remembered from her brief stint on American Hero: Aliyah Malik, also known as Simoon.

He’d never been to bed with her. Not that he probably wouldn’t have tried, if she’d stayed in the game long enough.

Fortune touched a finger to the jewel of Sekhmet embedded in his forehead, as if trying to massage it. The lump was far too prominent for Michael’s comfort. “What’s left of the Egyptian army has pulled back north of Aswan, but all the reports we’re hearing say that Ikhlas al-Din and the army of the caliphate are advancing southward along the road from Daraw and Kôm Ombo—the Djinn’s with them, and so is the Caliph. Some are coming by rail, some in vehicles. They have C-130 transport planes, too. That means that taking out the airport is a priority, to keep them on the east side of the river and away from Sehel Island and Syrene. They’re moving quickly. It’ll be the same tactical situation we had with the Egyptians: they’re on the east side, and will be looking to cross the Nile at the British dam, or maybe here at the High Dam where the road is wider. We don’t know where they’ll make their initial attack, or how.… ”

Fortune lifted up his head as Michael stepped under the shadow of the open-sided tent. He grimaced and his voice changed slightly. “Well, the Little Drummer Boy shows up,” he said. “What are you doing here? Your tour cancelled already?”

Michael held back the anger that surged through him at the hated nickname. “I figured you could use more help.”

Fortune snorted. “You know what? This isn’t a goddamn television show and I’m not your Captain Cruller anymore. We don’t need a guest star appearance, especially from someone who’s only here for publicity. You just want to see your face on CNN so you can sell a few more CDs. This is serious. People are dying here.” His face twisted, and for a moment Michael wondered who was talking, Fortune or Sekhmet. “We just buried King Cobalt. The Caliph intends to wipe out all the rest of us, along with the Living Gods and all their followers. This is war, and it’s real. I—we—don’t need dilettantes strolling in at the last minute.”

A wasp shrilled by Michael’s ear. He ignored it. “That’s what I figured you’d say. But you ain’t the only one here. What would Kate say? Or you, Lohengrin? Bugsy? You know what I got to offer.”

Lohengrin neither smiled nor frowned. Sweat beaded on his forehead, but evaporated before it could slide down his pale, doughy features. “He’s strong enough, ja? We shouldn’t turn down allies, John. We need every ace.”

“I’m a joker, not an ace,” Michael told him.

Lohengrin shrugged. Bugsy only stared. Sobek and Taweret were conferring sibilantly with Ali in Arabic, and she said something quietly to Fortune. Michael waited.

Finally Fortune looked down at the map again. “Fine. I don’t give a damn one way or the other. Just stay the hell away from me.”

“Not a problem,” Michael said. He waited a beat. “Where’s Kate?” he asked.

That brought Fortune’s head up again. “You’ll leave her alone.”

“I’ll let her tell me that.” Michael glanced at the map. “When you figure out where I can help you, let me know.” He turned to leave the tent. “No, you ain’t Captain Cruller no more,” he muttered. “You’re fucking Beetle Boy.”

He didn’t particularly care if Fortune or his companions heard him. He was tapping at his chest as he left, and the sound of drums echoed from the low hills around Lake Nasser.

~ ~ ~

“Ana! Earth Witch! Hey, I heard you saved the day with the dam.”

The woman, wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat, glanced over her shoulder at him. Her eyes widened as she recognized him, then narrowed tightly. “I thought I was ‘Earth Bitch’ to you.”