The obvious explanation, Cyrus decided, was that Mrs. Hackett was right. The witness who claimed he’d seen the Pyramid disappear must have been drunk. Maybe all the tourist bus drivers were also drunk. They could have all been to the same party the night before and thus been unable to find the Great Pyramid. Maybe, but there were other less pleasant possibilities. Given that the Pyramid could be moved only exceedingly slowly, road signs and other landmarks could be moved very quickly. Suppose . suppose midway in the Pyramid’s journey across the desert some unexpected problem cropped up. Suppose an Egyptian Cost Control expert found that tourist revenues were steadily declining and moving costs were rising. Suppose a good many other things and the result would be the same: Egyptians might well move a few road signs, somehow hide the Pyramid, and try to collect the insurance.

This placed Brandy’s death in a new and sinister light. They had sent back to America the charred remains, with the explanation that the big Australian’s brakes had failed while he was making a difficult turn. His car had gone over a cliff, crashed and burned. That was their story, and the corpse couldn’t deny it. Burning removes most evidence of foul play. Still it might be a good idea to have the body checked for bullets.

Moved by his natural pessimism Cyrus was reaching the least pleasant conclusion possible: this was not a false alarm, Continental would soon face a ruinously large claim. A false claim to be sure, but how does one prove a government guilty of fraud? In the past Cyrus had unhappily tolerated Brandy’s antics because Continental needed him. Now Continental needed his ghost.

Cyrus typed HELLO JOHN several times with no result. Finally, yielding to an illogical impulse, he grabbed up the phone and tapped out the number of Brandy’s apartment. Twas like invoking a ghost, but more disturbing because the phone was answered.

“Hello, Cyrus. Kind of you to call.”

“Ahh... Hello John,” feeling like a perfect fool, he added, “how are you?”

“Dead but otherwise well, thanks. Now don’t sweat about the computer time I’m using. I’m sticking it to Workmen’s Compensation.”

“But...”

“Why not? After all my murder was an on the job injury.”

“Well John, I suppose you’re eager to get back to work, solving this case.”

“Why should I work when I’m not being paid?”

“But we can’t pay you. Even if Continental paid money into your estate, you couldn’t spend it. You’re legally dead.”

“No great problem. Set up an irrevocable trust fund at any bank and pay my salary into it. Instruct the bank that monies are to be paid out of the trust fund as specified by a computer program, namely me.”

“Agreed, but of course we’ll have to deduct the rent on the reader and cost of the computer time you use. It’s only fair you pay for your room and board.”

“No. I’m paid my full salary without deductions or I don’t work. That’s flat.”

“But there have to be some deductions, the pension plan, insurance, Blue Cross Blue Shield ...”

“No, I don’t need them anymore.”

“Well, then the withholding tax.”

“I no longer have to pay in bloody come tax. Really, Cyrus, you ought to consider dying. There are great tax advantages!”

Flint sighed, “If you insist, we’ll pay your old salary into the trust fund without deduction.” Though he tried to sound unhappy about this, he was considerably relieved that Brandy had not demanded a raise.

“Fine, of course, I also want a stock option privilege.”

“What!”

“Not the same as your privilege, Cyrus. I want the same privilege as the chairman of the board.”

“Do you think we’re daft? If we gave you that, you’d own Continental in ten years.”

“Sorry, those are my terms.”

“That can be changed,” flared the New Englander. “In case you’ve forgotten there’s a man named Volmar who can revise a program like you.”

“I doubt he’ll help you. Last week Volmar sold another personality based program, one that makes telephone calls to sell magazine subscriptions. This morning it used Volmar’s voice to make several thousand obscene phone calls and now he’s a very busy man. Of course, you could try to find another program editor, if you had the time. I expect that very soon the Egyptian government will be presenting a rather large claim. Been pleasant chatting with you, Cyrus. Call back again when you’re ready to accept my terms.”

Before he could reply, the phone was dead. Tapping out the number again, he got a busy signal, followed by, “I’m sorry. You have just reached a nonworking number. Please tell me the name and address of the party you wish to call and I will dial the correct number for you.”

He knew he was talking to a computer program, and still he flared, “I want to talk to John Brandy and he’s someplace in Hell.”

“I’m sorry. We have no listing.”

Flint sat and brooded. The only thing he liked less than spending the company’s money was spending his own. Meeting Brandy’s terms would be expensive for the company, while not meeting them would mean a large claim and attendant publicity. That would drive down the price of Continental stock and make Cyrus’s stock options worthless. There really wasn’t any choice. Probably it would be best to let Calvin of Legal division handle the details. The man had a talent for taking back with the fine print what had been given away with the large print.

*****

Flint would have paced the floor of his office, but that would have worn the carpet, a needless expense. Instead he sat and glared at the ceiling. Three days now gone and nothing. If Brandy was making any progress, he wasn’t reporting it. This was worse than when the man was alive. The knave had never filed progress reports, but at least during his lifetime one could find the man and shout at him.

Now, as far as Flint could see, John Brandy was doing nothing in the most expensive way possible. There was the computer time. The ghost obviously had spells of thinking very hard: at one point his time sharing factor hit 20 with the result that the New York City Traffic Control Program was dumped in the middle of rush hour. So far none of the victims of the disaster were suing Continental, but an investigation was underway.

Also there were the bills. Bills for a Land Rover truck, a television camera and a transmitter, an IBM unit, several thousand dollars worth of unidentified electronic work and a bill for having all of this delivered in Egypt. Cyrus had ordered that none of these be paid until Brandy explained why he wanted these things, but too late. The money had been paid out of Continental’s bank account before the bills arrived.

All that money and so far there was nothing to show for it, nothing except an interoffice memo with two lines of type. It had arrived in his morning mail and read: CYRUS, IF YOU WANT A BULL FIGHT YOU HAVE TO MAKE THE BULL ANGRY, REGARDS JOHN.

The intercom buzzed, then his secretary’s voice said “The Egyptian Ambassador, his Excellency Abdul Sharin is here.’

Before Flint could reply, the Ambassador strode in. Clad in an ordinary business suit, his dark scared face and lean hard figure would have looked more natural in a caftan and burnoose. “Your Excellency, please sit down,” said Flint “How may Continental Insurance serve you?”

The man took a deep breath, seemed to calm, and said, “I come to tell you of a strange and terrible disaster. The thrice accursed Israeli have stolen the Great Pyramid of Cheops.”

“Wel1, if you want to file a claim, there are some routine questions I have to ask. I take it you’re completely sure the item in question has been stolen, rather than lost or misplaced? How do you suppose the Israeli stole the Pyramid?”

“The same way they stole that radar station. Their helicopters must have swept in like a flock of vultures and carried off the Pyramid piece by piece.”

“As I recall, Your Excellency, the Pyramid contains over 2 million blocks, each weighing several tons.

“We suspect,” the Ambassador replied darkly, “that they had foreign assistance.”

“Hum, well, suppose we get to the heart of the matter. How much is your Government claiming for the loss of the Pyramid?”

The Ambassador ran his fingers through his black bushy beard. The whites of his eyes and his teeth shown from his dark countenance. “Allah is merciful and we seek to follow His example. My Government recognizes that the means of Continental Insurance are limited. We will accept a token payment of one hundred million dollars. Of course the true value of the Pyramid is beyond calculation. It is not merely my people’s proudest treasure, it is a trust we hold for all mankind, the last and greatest of the ancient wonders of the world, the oldest and grandest work of mankind.”

“Yes, but I’m sure you realize that an insurance company cannot take a sentimental value into account in calculating losses. Now how much did you pay for the Pyramid?”

“Pay?”

“Yes the previous owner, I believe that would be King Farouk, how much did you pay him?”

“But Farouk was a corrupt despot. The people rose in righteous wrath and threw him out.” There was no little annoyance in the Ambassador’s voice.

Cyrus was enjoying his role of pompous bureaucrat. “Now this is very important. Did you steal the Pyramid from Farouk or did he abandon it? You see if he abandoned it, legally it can’t have any value and we can’t pay your claim.”

The Ambassadors dark skin was slightly purple and his scars stood out, but he spit out, “Very well then, we honorably stole the Pyramid.”

“Fine, then the only problem is that since the Pyramid has never been sold, we have to calculate its value not as sale price but as depreciated original cost. Does your Government have any record of what it cost to build the Pyramid?” The Ambassador was turning a darker shade of purple. “It’s all right if you don’t, we can make a reasonable estimate. According to Herodotus, the construction of the Pyramid took 100,000 men working full time for thirty years. That’s three million man years, at $3000 per year per man, nine billion dollars in straight labor cost. Figuring all other costs as equal to labor, then the total original cost of the Pyramid would be eighteen billion dollars.” Flint started tapping his desk calculator. “Now taking a depreciation rate of 1/4% per year, that’s absolute minimum you know, and figuring doubly declining depreciation on the Pyramid from 2568 BC to date, it would be worth $2.39. We’ll have your check ready this afternoon, your Excellency.”

The answer was a machine gun like burst of Arabic and a knife appeared in the Ambassador’s hand. His eyes seemed to bulge out and his white teeth were bared in a wolf’s grin as he stepped toward Cyrus.

The New Englander, who had expected only angry words, looked desperately for some means to defend himself. He grabbed the cord of the selfloading electric pencil sharpener, and swung it. The Arab stepped back slightly beyond the reach of this makeshift sling, then feigned forward. Fooled by this move, Cyrus loosed the sharpener at his opponent’s head.

Too late he saw that he was going to miss. The sharpener would pass harmlessly through the Arab’s beard. Cyrus was unarmed and had just blundered into knife fight with a man with diplomatic immunity!