PREVIOUSLY The Great Pyramid of Cheops has suddenly vanished in a cloud of smoke. John Brandy, a computerize ghost, is investigating. When the Egyptian Ambassador came to Continental Insurance to file a claim for the loss of the Pyramid, Cyrus Flint annoyed the man so greatly that he drew a knife and attacked Flint. With no other weapon handy Flint threw a self-loading electric pencil sharpener at the Egyptian.

Too late Flint saw that the sharpener was going to miss his opponents head. It was going to pass harmlessly through the Arab’s beard. Or . not so harmlessly.

When the sharpener touched the Arab’s beard, it self-loaded. The blades weren’t sharp enough to cut hair well. Instead they pulled them out by the roots while the loading mechanism crammed more beard into the sharpener. With the electric motor overloaded and growling angrily the Ambassador thought a wild beast was at his throat. His knife flashed up, probed for an instant and drove into the sharpener, into the 110 line. When the electric shock hit him, his legs went limp, and his mouth flew open. The white teeth, uppers and lowers, popped out.

For a moment everything was black, next he found himself on the floor, staring up at Flint, who now had the knife. The Ambassador hastened toward the door then from that point of safety turned and lisped "We’ll thue! We’ll thue for the entire athets of Continental Inthurancel" Then he was gone.

Well, thought Cyrus, whether I want a fight or not, the bull is angry. He had no time to think further for the mail girl came in with a box and an envelope. The envelope contained his passport and vaccination certificate, two thousand dollars in traveler’s checks, all bearing his signature despite the fact that he had never seen them, and an airplane ticket, first class, round trip to Cairo. The box contained a large spoo1 of holograph tape and a piece of paper. The paper bore one line of IBM printer output: CYRUS, PUT ME IN YOUR BRIEFCASE. WE ARE TRAVELING, then a hand written signature: John Brandy.

*****

When Cyrus landed at Cairo International Airport, there was no one to meet him and he’d no idea what to do next. Had he somehow, what was the phrase the Spy novels used, missed his contact? On impulse he went out onto the observation deck, looked over the parking lot. Three Land Rover trucks were parked below, two ordinary enough, the third sprouting a satellite antenna. Despite the urge to run he walked to the Land Rover as inconspicuously as possible. Peering through the windows he saw that the drivers seat and steering wheel were gone, replaced by a television camera.

This had to be Brandy’s truck. He’d found his contact, however.., all the truck doors were locked, key locks in front and a digital combination lock in the rear. Knowing there had to be a way, he tapped in Brandy’s phone number and the door clicked open.

In front of him was a bewildering array of electronic gear, including an IBM reader. With eagerly trembling fingers he took the tape from his briefcase and inserted it.

There was a moment like birth. All at once, the truck’s engine turned over and roared into life, a dozen or so colored indicator lights winked on, the television camera turned 180o to focus on Cyrus and a familiar voice boomed from a tinny loud­speaker, "Hello, mate! Hop in and let’s be going!"

Needing no second invitation Cyrus was in the passenger seat before he asked, "Where are we going?"

"Where all good detectives go -- to the scene of the crime."

*****

He was aware of heat and a brightness his tightly shut eyes cou1dn’t keep out.

"Good morning, Cyrus. We’re here!"

"Where’s here?" he groaned.

"We’re parked on the site where the Great Pyramid was last seen."

Cyrus stared out at the desert, flat, featureless, and completely empty. He could see several miles in every direction, and there was nothing to see but sand.

"You must be mistaken. The Pyramid can’t be gone."

"No, I shot the stars last night, I used GPS. I did radiolocation using radio Cairo and Tel Aviv. All that checks with my position gyros. This is where the Pyramid WAS."

With clear agony in his voice Flint said, "If the thing is really stolen, Continental will have to pay!"

"Only if we can’t recover it. Now would you be a good fellow and get out and look for clues?"

Doing as he was bidden, the New Englander went trudging into the brightness of the desert sun. A clue, he decided, could be anything-- anything at all except the omnipresent sand.

And sand was absolutely all there was. At the very least he should have been able to find a few rocks, but no, there was not even a single tiny pebble to be found.

"John, what kind of fool’s errand...."

The ground beneath his feet quivered, knocking him to one knee. He felt rather than heard the thunderous roar that showered him with sand.

"John," he shouted, pointing to the explosion crater a few feet to his right, "We’re in the middle of a mine field!"