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“The three of us had very little to do with it,” Ellie admitted frankly. “We were rescued by Mrs. Al-Ahmed and her band of lady revolutionaries.”

Neil’s face blanked with surprise. He cast a startled look at Constance. “Revolutionaries?” he echoed numbly.

Zeinab rose with a fluid shift of shadowy black cloth and regarded Neil through narrowed eyes. Jemmahor gave him a cheerful wave, the rifle balanced across her knees.

Umm Waseem looked to be napping again.

“Told you,” Constance commented smugly.

“But however did the pair of you escape the boat?” Ellie pressed.

“It was simple enough, really,” Constance replied. “I waited until dark, picked the lock, hauled Neil out—and lost both of my knives evading our pursuers,” she added grumpily. “Then Neil tossed the pair of us into the Nile.”

Ellie turned wide eyes on her brother. “You jumped out of a boat into the Nile? In the middle of the night?”

“It was awful.” Neil paled at the memory.

“We sheltered in an ancient cliff tomb, and the next morning I purchased a felucca at an extortionate price from a local farmer so that we could follow Julian and his villainous cohort here,” Constance finished. “We were captured by your extremely handsome Bedouin accomplice, and there you have it.”

Adam made a choked sound from behind her. He either had sand in his throat, or had made an only moderately successful attempt not to burst out laughing and thereby reveal their position to the excavators below.

“Who is that fellow, anyway?” Constance pressed with canny interest as she cast an appreciative look over at Mustafa. “Is he a desert prince here to aid our cause?”

The dashing Bedouin had stepped aside as soon as it was clear that his captives were friends rather than enemies. He stood on a ledge that fell away to the ragged, wadi-crossed landscape of the plateau, his noble figure swept with pale moonlight.

“He is here to watch the camels with his cousin,” Ellie replied a little reluctantly.

“Camels, is it?” Constance tore her gaze from the gorgeous Bedouin with obvious effort. “So what is the plan for stopping Julian and his henchmen? Are we well stocked with firearms?”

“I have this,” Jemmahor offered, waggling her rifle.

“That’s a bolt-action Enfield,” Adam elaborated. “It’s almost as nice as a Winchester repeater, but it doesn’t help much if you don’t have any rounds for it.”

“I have rounds,” Jemmahor retorted.

“You’ve got two,” Adam corrected her. “I checked the magazine.”

Jemmahor pouted.

“I used to have a Winchester repeater,” Adam added in a deceptively casual tone.

“Where is it now?” Jemmahor asked hopefully.

Adam flashed Ellie a smirk. “Ellie dropped a cave on it.”

“We don’t need firearms.” Ellie tried to suppress an embarrassed flush. “We have… er, the element of surprise.”

“Hmm,” Constance mused, clearly unimpressed.

“Either of you happen to know why The Mustache picked this spot to dig?” Adam jerked a thumb back at the lights and noise of Julian’s excavation. “Because it’d be real nice to find out he’s doing it all on some posh whim.”

“Neil threw the map at him,” Constance replied.

Neil groaned, setting his face in his hands.

“Why were you throwing maps at people?” Ellie demanded.

“It was on the tablet,” Neil reported through his fingers.