Clary's truck and equipment were unmolested.   The airfield was easy to find; and under a large tree, at the side of the field, the Junker was sitting, a fresh coat of paint making it look bright.  The side panel was partly open, to catch the breeze, and inside Clary could see a hammock swinging, and hear the deep breathing of someone well asleep.    There was no sign of the snake - but there was a sort of watchfulness about the plane, that suggested that Clary was being observed.

There was a clicking sound, as the hammer of the broomhandle was eased back, and Hans Gruber sat up in the hammock and stowed the sidearm.  "Preacher !"  he said, with a grin.  "You haff come to Chicago for fair ?"  The pilot looked skinnier and shabbier than when Clary had seen him last, and the blonde hair was shaggy, in need of a cut, but it was Gruber, all right.

Grabbing his rucksack and stuffing his Bible and the cross inside, then taking up his shotgun, Brother Clary greeted the German pilot with an equally cheery air.

"Gruber, as I live and breathe!  It is you!  The plane looks good, but you..." he shook his head.  "How's life?"

As he approached closer, he lowered his voice "I'm lookin' fer a feller named Cable.  Heard he was hangin' around.  You seen him?"

Hans Gruber smiled at the mention of his beloved plane, but as for his own appearance, he shook his head lightly with a sigh.  "Dot verdammter Prohibition, is over.  No good money coming in.  But here I am, asked by a friend for the air show.  I am flying Fokker triplane, also Albatros."

At the mention of Cable, Gruber raised one eyebrow.  "Dot man hire me, to bodyguard him.  He need a lot of guarding, already been shot at.  He is looking for sceptre, has ruby in it, gold, was stolen from Sultan.  I meet him later today, to go to try to get it, in Cairo streets.  But  - is shooting, is trouble.  Not safe."

"Yeah, I'm lookin' fer it too.  Think he'd mind a man o' th' cloth taggin' along?  It might not hurt to have someone guardin' not jest his body but his soul as well."

Brother Clary fidgeted with his pack and his shotgun slung over the same arm, while he looked around the field.  His mind turned over the events of the day, and Gruber's assertion that there had already been shooting made him wonder what was coming next.

Gruber considered this in the same manner Clary was familiar with, the slow and steady thought process.  "I cannot stop you from going there," the German said eventually. "But I do not know what you will find.  Is trouble. I would be unhappy if you were hurt."

It remained a question to Clary why the German hadn't taken part of the Fountain of Youth; he'd been there, and it was tempting.

The black clad Texas preacher grinned a grin that belied his age and made him seem boyish.  "Yeah, I wouldn't be too happy if'n I got hurt either.  But I believe that the Lord is my sun and shield, so I'll be fine, unless, of course, He decides to take me home."

While looking at the German pilot, his mind wandered back to their first encounters.  "Friend Gruber, I been thinkin'.  I know why I didn't wet my whistle at that fountain back in them South American jungles.  How come you didn't?"

Gruber looked back at Clary, blue eyes as open as the sky.  "Why would I want to be anything other than what I am ?"  he asked, with a simple shrug.  "So, you are here, and I know that means there is trouble.  It may be big trouble, but I do not know any more than that, just that I will be there, with a rifle, on a roof, to help.  I speak some Arabic, too."

Brother Clary stared back at the German flyer.  Here is a strange one.

"There may be trouble," the preacher said with a shrug.  "But as the Good Book said, adversity breeds patience and patience, character."  He sighed.  "On the roof?  Who is this private eye meeting?"

Gruber shrugged.  His policy of "not asking questions" left gaps in his informational value.  "He is looking for this thing, this gold...Scapul...scepta, something like that," the German said.  "I am going to made a fire in a trash bin, to make distraction, to help.  You will go to Cairo ?"

"Yup," was the Texan's typical answer, declining to elaborate further.

"Need any help with the distraction?"

"Nein, I have done so before," Gruber had said, revealing another talent.

The evening at the Streets of Cairo went by in a rush.  Clary arrived late, to see a brawny detective type holding a large firearm on a man who had possession of the Sceptre, a gold and ruby item of some worth.  He was about to move forward when Hans Gruber, quite suddenly, was in front of him.  "Is too dangerous.  I tell you later what happen, now I must go.  Stay out of these streets.  Go to Osama the Rug Seller and say you are my friend, if you will not leave !"

Brother Clary nodded, adjusted his pack and shotgun, and staying close to the shops, looked for Osama's shop.

Once inside, he introduced himself to Osama as a friend of Gruber's, then positioned himself in the doorway in such a way as to take advantage of cover, while still being able to watch what has surely about to happen.

The brawny detective type and Gruber left with the Sceptre, as the crowd suddenly dispersed and the man who'd owned the Sceptre vanished in a puff of smoke.

Osama the Rug Seller was a wizened old man, with the shrewdest eyes Brother Clary had ever seen.  "Aha, the Flyer, he is a clever one," Osama chortled, "But not clever enough.  Tell me, man of the Christian God, can you turn aside demons ?  For one will be raised now, you can bet on that, it will be after that Sceptre.  To control that Sceptre is to control a great power.  And to protect them this night, they will be able to go only a few places.  I would bet on one, if you want to know which one; Chang's Animal Emporium is the best defended.   There you will be able to find that demon, and it will be looking for them - not you.  Usually I charge for this information, but since you are a friend of my friend, I will put it on his tab."

Outwardly, the black-clad Texan thanked Osama graciously.  Inwardly, he was kicking himself from here to next Tuesday for being deceived by the wily German.

Once outside the rugseller's shop, he readjusted his pack and made sure the shotgun was loaded.  Then he set off for Chang's, his mouth set in a grim line at the thought of what was to come.

Chang gave Brother Clary a warm reception, and invited him to stay.  "I expect company this evening, and it would be dangerous to be out tonight, even for a skilled demon hunter such as yourself.  But, do me this favour; when Hans Gruber comes here, with his companion, they will have the Sceptre.  Remain behind the screen and listen - and observe. You may learn much, Brother Clary."

In reply to Drake (msg #49):

Brother Clary gripped his shotgun tightly.  He could see the scepter from behind the screen, but the conversation among the various players made him stay his hand.  He wanted no truck with a curse, even though he was sure his God would pull him through even the 'valley of the shadow of death.'

Better to avoid the appearance of evil, he thought, with a small inward chuckle.  But how do I get the gem stone from the scepter?  His mind raced through various scenarios.  He decided to bide his time a little while yet to see how things would continue to play out.

Hans Gruber had stopped eating long enough to fiddle with a bootlace that really didn't need tying, and Brother Clary was certain that the pilot knew the preacher was there, hidden behind a screen carved with dragons.  But the German didn't do anything but pick up another bowl of noodles and start eating again.

The Sceptre sat, inert in its box, the ruby catching a stray ray of lamplight every so often and gleaming softly.  It was within reach; what was Chang up to ?

Brother Clary stiffened at the suggestion of moving the screen, his only concealment in Chang's tent.  Knowing that his presence would have been discovered one way or the other, decided that when he was discovered, it would be in a position of strength.

As silently as possible, he raised his shotgun to a 'ready' position, so that when the screen was moved, he would not be defenseless.

Brother Clary watched Hans Gruber, who clearly could see him, saunter up, move the screen - and   There was no reaction from the detective or the professor to Clary's presence.

In reply to Drake (msg #53):

Stunned at the lack of reaction to his presence, the lanky Texan stared, mouth agape at the tableau which presented itself to his eyes.

He lowered his shotgun slightly, while weighing in his mind what to do.  Should he present himself?  Should he continue to watch?  He offered a silent prayer for wisdom in this completely unearthly situation.

There was a dull-sounding crash of metal, as if from far away or if it had to penetrate some layers to reach them.  Otherwise, all seemed normal in the room; the detective was looking around, the professor was looking pensive, and Gruber was reddened up under Pearl's admonishment.  The girl stood up and offered to take the professor to a telephone, and to bring cots.  It looked as if Clary was in there for a while, sight unseen, but with nothing to block him from view.

Cradling the shotgun in his arm, Brother Clary scratched his head.  He still didn't understand why he wasn't seen.  He tried waving at the people in the room.

He needed to get the stone, but based on the conversation in the room, he wasn't about to do it alone.  How to make contact without causing a major ruckus at this point?

His head began to hurt.

Hans Gruber considered this, then suddenly jumped to his feet.  "If line goes out....line can come in !  It can get in !"  He bolted towards the exit, knocking aside the screen in his haste, and was yelling in a mix of German and English about not making the telephone call.

Too late.

Suddenly the canvas was shredding, an icy wind whipping into the tent, and horribly loud booming laughter was shaking his very bones.

"God Almighty..." began a less-than-formal prayer.  Brother Clary rapidly brought his shotgun back up to a firing position and began looking for a likely target amidst the shredding canvas, wind and demonic laughter.

There seemed to be a form taking shape, humanoid; the Lupino Cross was a warm, heavy weight, comforting, and the wind buffeting the room was having less effect on Brother Clary.  Hans grabbed the Sceptre and darted off with it, faster than Brother Clary had ever seen the German move.