Golden Relic (18 page)

Sam gripped the seat as Emil swung the car through a huge intersection. "Dammit Maggie, what on
earth did you say to him?"

"I asked him to take Sharia Talaat Harb. This is your first orientation lesson, Sam.
Sharia
means street, and Talaat Harb is one of the main streets in central Cairo. Everyone
knows it, even other travellers, so pay attention to the things that aren't moving out there so
you'll recognise something if you get lost."

"I'm not leaving the hotel," Sam stated categorically.

Maggie chuckled. "Cairo is a city that won't be denied, Sam. It will drag you out by the
bootstraps if necessary, to thrill and enthral, annoy and amaze you. You'll be overwhelmed by the
sheer weight and splendour of its history, and by the sights, sounds, smells, colour and movement of
its living, breathing fabric. It's like a vampire; it will get in your blood and you'll spend the
rest of your life wanting more of it. Or you'll hate it, passionately. But there are no half
measures."

"Midan Talaat Harb," Emil announced as he rocketed the limo through a six-street intersection,
before screeching to a halt to avoid joining a three-vehicle pile-up that had already happened. Emil
put the car in reverse, backed up about 10 metres, then swung across the road and down a narrow side
street draped with multi-coloured fabrics, lined with shops displaying food and basketware on the
narrow pavement, and crowded with people, motor bikes and the odd donkey or two.

"Well I'm really lost now," Sam joked, after Emil had made a couple more turns. Maggie smiled
broadly and directed Sam's attention to the view ahead.

"Wow!" Sam exclaimed. "Oh wow. That's the Nile."

"Very good Sam. See, you're not lost at all."

"Old Hilton here. New one much better, Maggie," Emil stated, pulling up in front of the hotel
that Sam recognised from the postcard that had brought them half way round the world. "Now you see,
I take you to Ramses Hilton yes?" Emil added.

"No Emil,
la' shukran
. This is the one we want," Maggie said firmly, opening the door and
struggling out of the car.

Sam did the same with great relief and then just stood, open-mouthed, staring at the Nile and the
graceful single-sailed boats that skimmed the surface of its dark blue water.

"You want me drive more, Maggie?" Emil asked, removing their packs from the back seat.

"Maybe later, okay.
Shukran
Emil. Are you coming Sam? Because if I don't get a shower, a
beer and some food, in that order and very soon, I will be completely unmanageable."

Half an hour later, having showered and changed, Sam sat captivated by the view from the window
of their spacious room on the 12
^th
floor. The River Nile passed from left to right below
and the white-sailed 'feluccas', as she now knew the boats to be called, looked like waltzing
butterflies. Opposite, the Cairo Tower loomed out of the skyline of Gezira Island which, according
to Maggie, was the home of Cairo's elite. Looking further west, through a haze of smog and dust, Sam
was sure she could see the desert; the actual Sahara Desert.

"Are you ready for lunch, Sam?" Maggie asked, "or are you still full of trepidation?"

"Nope, I'm ready," Sam declared turning around. She slapped her hand over mouth to control a fit
of laughter. "Um, but I doubt you'll speak to me if I let you go downstairs looking like that."

"Oh god, not again," Maggie moaned, running her fingers through the static in her wild hair. She
grabbed a wet towel from the bathroom and wrapped it around her head. "Do you suppose this is a
manifestation of some kind of dementia?" she asked.

"No," laughed Sam, "but you should chuck your dryer out. I think it's possessed by the demon god
of bad hair days."

"Do you think the key is to a safety deposit box here in the hotel, or the postcard was simply
asking the Professor to meet Winslow here?" Sam asked as the lift doors opened into the lobby.4

"There's only one way to find out," Maggie stated, heading for the reception desk. She produced
the key and informed the concierge that she wanted to check her safety deposit box.

"Well, that went smoothly," Sam commented, when the concierge simply checked the number on the
key, nodded politely and disappeared through a doorway behind. Sam turned, leant against the counter
and gazed around at the lobby which was furnished with plants and arm chairs set around low coffee
tables. Three elderly women in white linen dresses and wide-brimmed hats sat together drinking iced
tea; a swarthy-looking man in an ill-fitting suit snapped his newspaper up in front his face; a man
with a moustache and bad acne scars was trying not to fall asleep next to a potted palm; and an
American in a very loud shirt was escorting a blonde woman into the bar. "I think we're on the set
of
Casablanca
," Sam whispered. "There's even a guy wearing a fez."

"They do that a lot here, Sam," Maggie said, turning to survey the room. "But the scene is more
reminiscent of
Death on the Nile
don't you think?"

"God, I hope not," Sam laughed.

"Excuse me, Madame." The concierge had returned with a long metal box. "Would you care to step to
the side, it is more private," he said, scanning the room for possible spies and assassins.

"Thank you," Maggie said, taking his advice. Sam hung over her shoulder as she unlocked the box
and lifted the lid. "It's empty."

"It can't be," Sam objected, reaching over to tip the box on its end. A small white envelope slid
into view. "If this is another cryptic note I think I'll scream," she said.

Maggie removed the envelope, slipped it in her pocket, closed the box again and thanked the
concierge. "We can't have you creating a scene in the lobby, Sam. Let's get a beer," she suggested,
leading the way into the bar, where she ordered two Stellas and chose a table well away from the
other patrons.

"Okay, let's see which garden path we're going to be led up next," Sam prompted, noticing as she
resettled her chair next to Maggie that the guy in the fez had given up on his nap and had taken a
seat at the bar, and the Miss Marple triplets had obviously decided the sun was far enough over the
yard arm to warrant something stronger than tea.

Maggie opened the envelope, peered inside and closed her eyes. "Please don't scream, Sam," she
said tipping the contents onto the table. It was another safety deposit box key. "You'll be pleased
to know there's no note at all this time."

"Great! Now is when we need one. It's not the same sort of key either. So now what?"

"Now we eat, drink, and then go to the museum to see if Ahmed Kamel has managed to track Noel
down for us."

"That was a very nice lunch but I can't believe I came all the way to Egypt to eat pizza," Sam
said, putting her sunglasses on as she and Maggie strolled along Corniche el Nil beside the river.

"Tonight we'll do Cairo, Sam. We'll go to my favourite eating place on Talaat Harb. And if we
have time while we're here I'll also take you to the mind-blowing Khan el Khalili for a bit of
shopping. The Khan is one the largest bazaars in the Middle East."

"And the pyramids?" Sam said hopefully.

"The shopping's no good there," Maggie stated, giving Sam a sidelong smile. "I promise, Sam. You
will see the pyramids. But right now it's time for what in my humble and biased opinion is the
greatest museum on earth, the Museum of Egyptian Antiquities," Maggie announced waving ahead to the
huge sandstone-coloured, neo-classical building fronted by palm trees and sphinxes. "Do you want the
lowdown?"

"Definitely, I'm not going to pass…"

"Hello, hello, welcome to Egypt." A young man, dressed in the traditional long-sleeved,
ankle-length gown, fell into step beside Sam.

"Thank you," Sam replied politely.

"Ignore him," Maggie urged.

"You want change money yes?" he asked.

"No thank you," Sam said.

"Ah, you want museum guide? Mohammed best guide, know everything. Only five pounds."

"
La' shukran
, Mohammed," Maggie said firmly.

"Maybe pyramids, bukra, tomorrow yes? My uncle has best camels for riding. Only 10 pounds."

"Don't say a word, Sam," Maggie warned and then rattled off something in a particularly
formidable tone. It scared the hell out of Sam and she had no idea what Maggie had said.

Mohammed grinned widely, however, and bowed slightly. "
Insha-allah, insha-allah
," he said
and turned to try his routine on a middle-aged couple approaching the museum steps.

"What did you say to him?"

"I told him if he didn't leave us alone immediately I would follow him everywhere and ruin his
business by claiming my husband's camels only cost five pounds."

"That's a bit harsh. What did he say?"

"He said
insha-allah
which means 'if god wills it'."

"How many languages do you speak?"

"Five. English, oddly enough, French, Spanish, Arabic but not very well, and Quechua which is the
Indian language of Peru."

"I'm no good with languages," Sam admitted. "I memorised French at school, so I can understand
it, but when I open my mouth I'm sure it sounds like Klingon."

"That's just a lack of confidence, Sam. You could try your French here, a lot of Egyptians speak
it, and it's certainly easier than Arabic. But if you want to get into the lingo during our limited
stay, I'll teach you the basics of ordering food and drinks. Apart from that there are only three
things you need to know how to say for a brief visit like ours - and I've discovered this
applies in India, South America and parts of Indonesia - and they are 'please', 'thank you' and
'bugger off'. Although if you wish to be polite, 'no thank you' is a good substitute for that last
one.

"I don't know,
insha-allah
seems pretty useful," Sam commented.

"It is that," Maggie agreed. "Now where was I? Oh yes. The Service de Antiquities le l'Egypte was
established by the Egyptian Government in 1835 partly to exhibit its own collection of artefacts but
mostly to stop the plundering of archaeological sites by foreigners. This museum was finally built
in 1900 to house the Government's collection and that of the French archaeologist August Mariette.
There are some 120,000 objects in the museum, including the mummies of various pharaohs, such as
Tuthmosis I, II and III, Seti I and Ramses II through VI. These were found in the late 1800s, not in
their own tombs but reburied in ancient times in a shaft at Deir el Bahri, which was Hatshepsut's
Temple, and in the tomb of Amenhotep II in the Valley of the Kings. The museum also has artefacts
from the time of Akhenaten at Tell el Armana, the contents of several royal and private tombs at
Tanis, and of course the incomparable treasures of Tutankhamun. So, are you ready?"

Sam nodded as they passed through the front doors but was instantly overwhelmed by the stony
visages of the colossi that towered over her. She wondered how on earth they'd got the mammoth
seated statues inside the building.

Maggie watched Sam in amusement, remembering her first visit here, and was disappointed they
didn't really have the time to explore it. "We should get our priorities straight, Sam," she said.
"We are on a mission, so perhaps we should find Ahmed, then find Noel and return here later."

"Maggie, what if we can't come back? I have to see it, in person," Sam insisted.

"Okay. It's upstairs, don't get lost. I'll find Ahmed and I'll meet you outside in one hour."

Everywhere Sam looked there was history - ancient, ancient history - manifested in
columns, statues, blocks of stone painted or carved with reliefs, mummified animals, even the
capstone of a pyramid. Sam was beside herself, wanting to take in as much as possible. She passed
diadems, pectorals and other jewellery made of gold, silver, and precious stones. She saw royal
coffins and stone sarcophagi; canopic jars used for the storage of a mummy's vital organs; stelae
inscribed with hieroglyphs; and weapons, chairs, beds and thrones.

She stopped to gaze on the 3,500-year-old stone face of Hatshepsut, the third queen to rule Egypt
and, after declaring herself Pharaoh, the only woman ever to reign as King. Sam decided there was
something about Hatshepsut's serene yet resolute expression that reminded her of Maggie.

Finally in a room on the first floor she found what she was looking for: the legendary funeral
mask of Tutankhamun. It was the most exquisite hand-made thing she had ever seen. Framed by the
royal headdress of gold and lapis lazuli, the boy Pharaoh's features were so finely wrought in
beaten gold that Sam realised she was waiting for it to breathe.

"Happy?" Maggie asked, when Sam emerged into the blinding sunlight, squinting and grinning like
an idiot.

"Thank you, that was, it was…indescribable," Sam said, sitting down next to Maggie on the
steps and accepting the bottled water she offered.

"There's no need to thank me," Maggie said.

"I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you," Sam stated. She cast her gaze around at the museum,
its lawns and palm trees, and the crowds of tourists flanked by Egyptian touts and hawkers. "I may
never have got here at…all," she hesitated.

"If it wasn't for Lloyd's death and Noel's mysterious postcard," Maggie reminded her.

"That's true," Sam said, distractedly, turning back to Maggie with a worried expression.
"Maggie."

"Yes, Sam?"

"I think we're being followed. Here, take this," she said, handing Maggie the water, "and while
you're casually taking a drink, look behind me."

"Why on earth would anyone be following us?" Maggie laughed, but did as Sam requested. "I can see
a lot of tourists and a great many Egyptians, including Mohammed your friend from earlier, but no
one I recognise and no one who is acting suspiciously, Sam."

"I saw one of the men from the hotel lobby loitering under the palm tree just beyond were
Mohammed was standing," Sam stated.