The Broad Sahara
There was no way around the caravan without going into the desert, and the car was too close to turn around. They were trapped!
Rick hurriedly took the cat from his pocket and stuffed it down behind the cushion of the car, pushing until it was well hidden. He knew he would be searched; why else would Youssef come? He hoped a search was all there was to worry about.
Hassan leaned out of his window and shouted imprecations in Arabic, to which the Arabs paid no attention. They closed around the car, and Rick recognized two who had taken part in the attack at the museum—the Sudanese and the big Egyptian who had worn a tarboosh. He also recognized the one he had beaned with the kitten in the pyramid.
He was not among friends, he thought grimly.
Youssef opened the door. "Please get out," he requested. "It will be easier if you co-operate."
Rick looked at the odds and had to agree. He got out. Hassan was right behind him, still shouting in Arabic.
An Arab stepped up behind the guide and slugged him. Rick started to yell a protest, then a burnoose was tossed over his head and wrapped tightly around his chest, blocking out the light. He struggled, and was pushed to the ground. In a moment he was rolled over and knew they were wrapping him in a blanket or a rug.
He felt pressure as ropes bound him tight, then he was lifted and placed on something hard, stomach down, like a sack of meal on a chair. The chair lifted and rocked, and he heard loud groans, as though of a soul in mortal pain.
He was on one of the camels, and the beast was protesting!