Firebird (11 page)

‘Every six months?’ Daisy repeated. ‘Sounds to me like a serial killer with some sick MO.’

‘Then how do you explain the loss of blood, and the animal-like marks?’

‘Stranger things happen where I come from, believe me. You want to try visiting California.’

Sanusi closed the scrapbook and slapped it down on the table hard. ‘I’ve been to other places,’ he said, ‘I just want to remain who I am. The worst thing that can happen to a man is to lose touch with who he is. There was a time in my life when I forgot who I was, you see.’ He looked around as if there might be someone else listening, then he suddenly grabbed hold of my arm tightly. His eyes seemed to start out of his head, and his mouth trembled slightly. ‘I tell you these ghouls aren’t from this world at all,’ he whispered, ‘and they’re planning to take over. Oh yes, they covet the earth all right, and only our psychic defences will protect us. No one believes me. They all think I’m mad. But I tell you — be prepared!’

I disengaged my arm and took a step backwards. ‘OK ,’ I said, ‘this er...Sayf ad-Din character you claim took the amulet. You said he came from the World Council of Islam. What’s that?’

Sanusi swallowed and his eyes dimmed for a moment. Then he seemed to recover himself. ‘I’ve never heard of any such thing,’ he said. ‘He told me it was a new organization whose objective was to disseminate Islam in the nations of non-believers, especially Africa. He said he’d read all about the Sanusiya and wanted to know more — especially about the amulets. I showed him my museum and he asked if he could make notes. I said yes, of course, and I had to leave him for a moment. When I came back, the case was smashed as you see it now, the amulet had gone and so had the man. I did report the theft to the local police at the time, who searched the place, dusted the cabinet for fingerprints, and will no doubt have made a voluminous and incredibly tedious report on the subject. I told them it was the work of a ghoul, but they just laughed. Now, dear me, I am failing in my duty as a host. If you are finished here, may I offer you a glass of tea?’

11

The salon Sanusi showed us into was furnished Arab style. There were no high tables or chairs, but low divans and nests of richly embroidered cushions on the floor, calf-high tables of carved wood set on costly Persian carpets. In this room there were no clocks, no machines, no ornaments, only a low shelf of books — most of them large format pictorial works on Islam and ancient Egypt. Everything else seemed entirely functional. Sanusi stuck the oil lamp into a niche in the wall, and settled gracefully into a set of cushions, ringing a silver bell that stood on the nearby table. He removed his sandals and placed them out of sight. ‘Please,’ he said, as I stooped to pull off my trainers. ‘I know old habits die hard, but don’t bother, Lieutenant.’

That was his third or fourth shot across my bows, I thought. I was tempted to grab the crazy old man by his scrawny beard and demand what the hell he meant by it, but I checked myself and was about to plump down in some cushions when Sanusi shrieked, ‘No, please, not there! No, that’s where my Mamluk is sitting!’

Daisy looked startled and gazed around her. ‘What Mamluk?’ she asked.

‘My Mamluk — a Circassian soldier from the time of Mohammad Al Pasha. He was shot dead in this house, and his spirit has never left it. There he is, lighting his pipe. Can’t you see him?’ His eyes widened as he goggled at something invisible between us.

‘No,’ Daisy said, shifting uneasily.

‘He doesn’t speak,’ Sanusi said, ‘but he’s always there — watching. It would be a mistake to annoy him though. You know the ancient Egyptians believed that each human being had a
ka
or ghost, which haunted his tomb after death. That’s one reason they were afraid of entering tombs. My Mamluk is a
ka
.
’

Daisy raised her eyes silently to the ceiling and we sat down side by side in another corner. The old man stared at us accusingly. ‘So what have you come to see me about if it’s not to return my amulet?’

‘Have you ever heard of Doctor Adam Ibram?’ I asked.

He beamed humourlessly at nowhere in particular, but he didn’t seem surprised. He flipped off his glasses and placed them on the table, screwing up his eyes. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I read about his murder in Sayyidna al-Hussayn Square yesterday. Muggers, wasn’t it? The paper said that terrorism definitely wasn’t involved.’ He halted and rubbed his eyes vigorously with the palms of his hands. ‘But what has this to do with my amulet?’

I pulled out the amulet again and laid it on the carpet in front of me. Sanusi’s eyes were suddenly riveted on it. ‘I’m glad you asked that, Doctor Sanusi,’ I said, ‘because your amulet was found at the scene of Doctor Ibram’s murder.’

Sanusi looked genuinely astonished, and his tic suddenly began to work furiously. He stared at me, shaking his head. ‘It must be a mistake,’ he mumbled.

‘It’s no mistake,’ Daisy said. ‘Have you any idea what it was doing there?’

The old man’s mouth beneath the grey curls formed a moue of sullen fury, and suddenly he stood up, breathing hard, with eyes blazing. ‘Just what are you suggesting?’ he shouted. ‘Huh? That I had something to do with Ibram’s death? Why, I ought to call my lawyer this minute!’

‘That’s your right,’ I said, ‘but we’re not accusing anyone. We just want to find out how the thing got there. Please, Doctor Sanusi, sit down.’

Sanusi considered it for a moment, then his dark eyes focused on me and he slumped down on the cushions. ‘I told you,’ he insisted, ‘it was taken by a man who called himself Sayf ad-Din. That’s all I know.’

‘So there’s no chance that the Sanusiya Brotherhood has been revived?’ Daisy asked.

The old man looked as if she’d just given him a left hook in the ear. His eyes popped and his skeletal features ran the gamut of surprise, indignation, derision and finally full-blooded mockery.
‘Revived
?
’
he repeated incredulously. Then his face twisted up as he let out a barrage of punch-like guffaws, growing faster and more intense until it sounded as if he was having a heart seizure.

‘Jesus!’ Daisy said. ‘You all right, Doctor Sanusi?’

‘Yes,’ he wheezed, bringing out a silk handkerchief and holding it over his mouth. The guffaws dissolved into braying coughs as he tried to control himself. Then they burst out anew. ‘I see it all now,’ he gasped between bursts, ‘oh, no, I see it all! I see what it is you’re getting at!’ He broke down again, and held the handkerchief to his lips. ‘You think Ibram’s murder is connected with the Sanusiya! That rot about no terrorism being involved was all hogwash, wasn’t it?’

‘Not necessarily. Let’s say we’re examining all possibilities.’

He stopped laughing suddenly, and pinned me with a stare of absolute contempt. ‘You belong in the madhouse, the pair of you,’ he said, ‘to even suggest such a thing. Before coming here, barging in without a by-your-leave, wasting my time, you ought to have done a little bit of homework. I mean, do you actually get paid for such incompetence? I ought to get on the phone to Colonel Hammoudi this minute. Are you sure you’re police officers? No wonder the world’s in such a mess if it has folk like you looking after it.’

Daisy and I watched him and said nothing.

The old man banged the table. ‘I’ll have you know I resent this,’ he bawled, ‘and I resent it hotly! Why, suggesting the Sanusiya could be involved in a political murder is as ridiculous as accusing the Red Crescent Society or the Rotary Club!’

‘We’re not accusing anyone,’ I said, ‘but let’s face it, when the Sanusiya was going it was a militant fundamentalist brotherhood, not a benevolent society.’

The old man sat back aghast. ‘The Sanusiya was a perfectly respectable organization,’ he said, a shaky edge to his voice. ‘It never was militant in the way you mean it, anyway, and if there is a sect at all it’s all within these walls. I am the Sanusiya and all that remains of it and I can assure you I had nothing to do with Ibram’s murder. I wasn’t even aware of his existence until yesterday.’

‘Yet you keep the memory of the old order alive.’

‘If I don’t, who will? But a memory is all the Sanusiya is now. If you’d done a soupcon of background reading, you’d know that the Brotherhood was crushed by British forces at Salloum in 1916. That’s more than eighty years ago, if you hadn’t noticed. Actually, the British massacred hundreds of tribesmen and took others prisoner. My great-great-uncle, As-Said Ahmad, who was then chief of the order, was picked up by his allies, the Turks, in a submarine and shunted off into exile in Istanbul. That, Lieutenant Rashid of the SID , was the end of the Sanusiya — until the dirty British set up my father as King of Libya, when they kicked the Italians out in 1942.’

‘Your father was King of Libya!’ Daisy said. ‘Does that mean you should be running the place today instead of Gaddaffi?’

Sanusi chortled. ‘Can you see me ruling Libya, Miss Brooke? Hardly. I never had the inclination to be a British puppet. I was brought up in a palace by private tutors, and never mixed with my peers. I knew I was odd — different from other children, but I didn’t care. Over the years I grew so accustomed to my own company that I started to like it. I lived in my own world. I had the best teachers and I studied everything — history, theology, ancient civilizations, ancient religions, the Kabbala, alchemy — every esoteric field came under my scrutiny. I became an expert in Egyptology before I ever set foot in Egypt. Our exile from Libya in 1969 put a stop to my private studies, of course, but I found I was well enough qualified to earn a living as an Egyptologist.’

‘But you’re still a Muslim?’

‘Despite what you Americans may believe, madam, the word Muslim is not a synonym for terrorist. Yes, I have remained a Muslim out of deference to my forebears, but if you’re looking for an extremist you’ve picked the wrong fellow. Islam means “submission”, Miss Brooke, and it is a peaceful, compassionate religion, perverted by extremists into a militant political ideology. Perverted, I say! The Great Sanusi himself was never a fanatic. He believed in individual responsibility rather than blind obedience. That’s why he fell foul of the Islamic authorities of his day.’

‘OK,’ I said, ‘but the fact remains that the amulet was found at the scene of Ibram’s murder, and an eye-witness claims that one of Ibram’s murderers was actually wearing it. How are we to explain that?’

Sanusi shook his head and eyed us distastefully. ‘I’d have thought, Mister Detective, that there would be one obvious explanation,’ he said.

‘Oh, what’s that?’

‘That the man — the creature — who called himself Sayf ad-Din was involved in the...er...incident. If you could find him, you would learn a great deal, perhaps.’

He stared at us both defiantly, and at that moment the door opened, and a thin woman shuffled in carrying three glasses of mint tea on a brass tray. The woman walked haltingly as if she had some sort of wasting disease and the tray shook so much in her hands that the tea spilled. She put down the glasses roughly on the low tables on silver saucers, and more tea slopped over. Instead of going out she turned to Sanusi. ‘Where’s my money?’ she demanded in a whining voice. ‘Where is it? Now you’ve got your important friends here you don’t care about my money. You’ve cheated me out of my inheritance, and now you keep me like a prisoner. I want my money back!’

Sanusi flinched and stared at her. ‘Not now, Salma,’ he said, his voice pleading, ‘I’ve got company. I promise you I’ll deal with it as soon as they’ve gone.’

The woman whimpered like a lost child, but she didn’t move. Then, without warning there came an abrupt transformation. She stopped crying, stood up straight and fixed Sanusi with a glare of murderous hatred. ‘Bastard!’ she said, in a voice so deep that I jumped. It was as if someone else was speaking out of her mouth — as if the frail woman had been replaced by an altogether more vicious entity. She turned and stared at me and I was shocked to see that her face had become a mask of loathing, her eyes burning, her nose hooked down over bared, toothless gums. ‘He sits here telling you his lies,’ the masculine voice spat, ‘and you drink them all in. All the shit. He had me when I was a girl. I was pretty then and he took me as his fancy bit. It was all sweet words then, but now he treats me like a slave!’ She turned back to Sanusi and he sank deeper into the cushions, trying to turn his face away. ‘You are a damned liar and you’ll come to a bad end,’ she said. ‘Oh mark my words! Death is too good for those who traffic with Satan!’

Sanusi caught his breath and went pale. He sat stock-still, and for an instant I thought I saw a flicker of real fear pass over his features. ‘Salma!’ he said. ‘Remember where you are!’

At the sound of his voice Salma seemed to collapse. Her hands started trembling again and she dropped her gaze to the floor. ‘Go!’ Sanusi said.
Tfaddali
! If you please!’

Salma sidled out and Sanusi beamed at us nervously, and pointed a finger at his head. ‘Poor Salma,’ he said, ‘classic schizophrenia. Should be in an asylum. I took her in off the streets thirty years ago. She’s got it into her head that she’s the child of rich landowners and I’ve fiddled her out of everything. The truth is she was an orphan street child with nothing at all.’ He sighed and gestured towards the tea. ‘Taste it,’ he said. I took the glass and sipped the tea while he watched my face with apparent concern. ‘Is it up to desert standards?’ he asked.

I frowned at him. For a moment I wondered idly what he would do if I dashed the stuff in his face. I crushed the impulse, and drank more tea. It was a trifle sweet but otherwise perfect. ‘Excellent!’ I said.

The old man smiled with satisfaction. ‘As I suspected, an expert,’ he said. He picked up his own tea from the table, and Daisy did the same.

We drank in silence. When Daisy was finished she put her glass down reluctantly as if something was troubling her. ‘Doctor Sanusi,’ she said, ‘what does the word “Firebird” mean to you?’

The old man looked astonished, as though she’d caught him off-guard. I felt like shouting at her that she was sticking her neck out and giving the whole show away, but I remembered her intuition with Fawzi, and kept my mouth shut. Sanusi’s pupils dilated and his tic began to pulse rapidly. His hands trembled slightly and there was a sudden and unmistakable pallor to his face.

‘I don’t know what on earth you’re talking about,’ he stammered, ‘or what you’re suggesting! Get out! Get out this minute, or I’ll have you thrown out!’

‘Steady on, Doctor Sanusi,’ I said. ‘The Firebird was the Bennu Bird of ancient Egyptian mythology. It was supposed to be the soul of Ra, the sun god, and it was there at the First Time — Zep-Tepi — when the cycle of Time itself was set in motion. Miss Brooke wants to know what else you can tell us. She’s just asking you to put on your Egyptology hat.’

The old man took a couple of wheezing breaths and watched us carefully from behind his camouflaging whiskers. ‘I never wear hats,’ he said acidly, ‘only skull-caps and turbans. Hats are considered the work of the Devil by good Muslims. You know, you really do have the effrontery of Iblis! You come here, insult me and my forebears, and now you have the gall to quiz me on ancient Egyptian mythology! Well, for private tutorials I charge fifty pounds an hour.’

‘We don’t want a seminar,’ Daisy said, ‘just tell us what you know.’

Sanusi knitted his bushy eyebrows and tugged on his beard. He sighed and eyed us derisively. ‘What has this to do with my amulet?’ he demanded again.