I dreamed of Abdullah that night. The old man and I had developed a strange yet strangely satisfying relationship over the years he had served as our reis. Some might say I dreamed of him because I was reluctant to admit he had left my life forever. He was not sorry to go, I believe. His health was bad, and he had grumbled about sitting in the sun like other useless old men. He would have preferred to go out in a glorious gesture of heroism, as he did when he took in his own body the bullet meant for me.

Yet those dreams were not like the amorphous, half-remembered visions that usually come in sleep. They were sharp and as vivid as life, and the setting was always the same—the cliff behind Deir el-Bahri, where we had so often stood together watching the sunlight spread across the valley of the Nile. And Abdullah was not like the aging man had been at the end. He was tall and strong and black-bearded, and he came striding toward me with the free steps of a man in the prime of life.

I laughed aloud as he approached, in part from the joy of seeing him and in part because his face was set in a familiar scowl. Abdullah had never thought highly of my common sense. I was due for a lecture.

I did not hold out my hands or embrace him as I would have done in life. Something told me it would not be permitted.

“It is good to see you again,” I said, and laughed again because the words were so banal, so inexpressive.

I thought I saw a spark of amusement in his dark eyes, but he spoke to me as sternly as he had always done.

“When will you learn to be sensible, Sitt? You face an enemy like none you have ever known, and you laugh like a schoolgirl.”

“Then you must make me be sensible, Abdullah. Tell me how to know my enemy.”

Abdullah shook his head. “You know I cannot do that, Sitt. Fix your mind on the problem at hand. You are too easily distracted by other matters.”

“But there are too many matters going on. The man who attacked in my bath, the would-be bomber, the horrific decapitation at the train station, as well as the strange events at Amarna. Herr Morgenstern, who has disappeared yet again, leaving the site unguarded. But you know that, I suppose.”

“There is nothing mysterious about his absence,” Abdullah said in exasperation. “Put together what you know of his activities and ask yourself why he was clad in filthy clothes and ranting like a madman in Cairo.”