31For the first time in nearly three weeks, the evening was mild. Clifford was in Cairo and Royce off elsewhere. The team, with Marlowe and Kenneth, remained in camp. The bloodthirsty paparazzi had not yet returned. For a while, no one needed to be concerned about the media's spying zoom lenses, which made camera-happy tourists seem docile.
The balmy late-year breezes caressed. No more unpredictable gritty wind came at them from all directions. The workers built a campfire, around which the team gathered. Some of the laborers were invited, delighted to play their instruments.
“Tonight, you eat Koushari,” Yafeu said. “Make by Irwin, American cook. He have few news people to cook for.”
“Aha,” Dr. Withers said. “Now we get to see what kind of progress Irwin has made.” He accepted a bowl an
