Shadows on the Nile (41 page)

Her hands were still tethered behind her back, so she could not raise an arm to shield her eyes as she turned to gaze up at the cliff-face of yellow rock that rose in a low ridge behind her. Set into it along perilous rocky tracks was a honeycomb of what looked at first like grey stains but which, when she blinked away the dust, she realised were narrow openings. It dawned on her with a shudder of alarm that what she was looking at was a network of caves.

‘Please, Miss Kenton, do not be distressed. We mean you no harm.’

‘If you mean me no harm, why am I tied up and carted around the country likes a worthless goat against my will?’

Jessie made the question fierce. She did not want them to sense her fear. Nor to smell the blood in her mouth where her teeth clenched too tight on her tongue to stop the trembling.

‘If you mean me no harm, drive me back to Luxor, and there we can discuss whatever it is you wish to discuss over a glass of mint tea like civilised people.’

The man seated on a rug in front of her looked
disappointed, as though he’d expected better of her. He was a tall angular figure with sharp edges to his cheekbones, his jaw, his shoulders and elbows. No more than thirty years old or thirty-five at most, with a quiet intensity about him that made Jessie uneasy. He struck her as the kind of man who would walk barefoot through fire without blinking if he believed it to be the right thing to do. She had been bustled into one of the cave mouths, a narrow crevice in the yellow rock, that had opened up into a large chamber with ancient patterned rugs scattered on the limestone floor and old tea-chests stacked along one rough wall. She didn’t know what the chests contained but she could make a fair guess. Two oil lamps provided a flickering light.

‘Please, sit, Miss Kenton.’

Warily, she sat down cross-legged on the rug in front of the man. He wore a black scarf wound around his head in turban style and a black robe with an unadorned dagger conspicuous at his waist. Beside him, in full view, lay an Enfield revolver and what at first looked to Jessie like a mottled grey duck-egg next to his knee, until with a ripple of shock she recognised it as a hand grenade.

‘I am Fareed.’ He spoke softly and leaned forward with his dagger, twisting around her to sever her ropes.

‘Not your real name, I assume.’

A faint smile. ‘It is the name my followers choose to call me. It means Rare One.’

Jessie glanced at the array of black-eyed men seated against the walls, all regarding her with suspicious eyes, and her heart jerked, but she reminded herself that they had brought her to this hideout
alive
. They must want something from her.

‘There is a subject I wish to discuss with you, Miss Kenton.’

‘You could have come to Luxor to discuss it.’

‘My apologies.’ Again the half smile that was not a smile. ‘I am not welcome in Luxor. Had I invited you to join me here, I do not think you would have come alone.’

‘And Anippe? What is her part in this?’

‘Ah, Anippe is a committed warrior.’

Warrior?
The word brought the smell of death and carnage
into the cave.

‘Now I’m here,’ she said, summoning every scrap of Monty’s high-handed manner, ‘the sooner we get this
discussion
over, the better.’

‘Indeed.’

‘So what is it that you want?’

Fareed’s thick brow hunched over half-hooded eyes. ‘I want to talk to you about your brother, Timothy Kenton.’

Jessie stopped breathing.

‘We know,’ he continued in his low voice, ‘that he is here.’

‘That’s not a crime.’

‘No. But what he is doing is.’

Jessie said nothing.

‘We have information that he …’ a pause while the black eyes watched her intently, ‘… is involved with a group who are smuggling Egyptian antiquities out of the country illegally.’ Fareed did not attempt to hide the disgust in his voice. ‘It is why we sent Anippe to work alongside him in your British Museum.’

‘You sent her?’

‘Yes.’

‘She is spying on him for you?’

The smallest ripple of amusement softened the hard line of his mouth. ‘She is a good Muslim woman. She would never choose to go with an infidel of her own free will, but you westerners believe no one can resist your charm and money. You are the same, are you not? You thought young Anippe was fortunate indeed to have attracted the interest of your blond, blue-eyed brother. Is that not true? You did not question why she would want him.’

Jessie felt her cheeks colour. ‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘I didn’t question it. But there is one thing I need to know. She told me Tim is wounded. Is it true?’

‘No.’

He regarded her for a moment, assessing the impact of his response because she was unable to hide the rush of relief
that went through her.

‘So where is he?’ she asked directly.

‘Now, that is the question indeed. I cannot tell you that,’ he spread his hands apologetically, ‘I am sorry, because if I do, you will have no reason to tell me what it is I want to know.’

If I do
. Three words. That meant everything.

If I do
. They meant that this Fareed knew exactly where Tim was. She saw her hand on her lap start to clench and she quickly tucked it under the other.

‘What is it you want to know?’

Ask me anything. Anything at all. I will tell you my innermost secrets, if that’s what it takes
.

‘It is clear that your brother has revealed to you his plans, or you would not be here. I will tell you where he is hiding, in exchange for knowledge about this group he works with and about the find they have made in the hills.’

Jessie’s throat felt as if sand had been poured down it. So close. So close she could almost touch Tim, yet now suddenly he was snatched away as far as the moon. She studied her questioner and made herself think carefully. In silence she considered the men in black robes squatting around the edge of the cave, their hard and dedicated faces. Outside she could hear a wind picking up, sand churning and swirling, and a truck was grinding its gears as it climbed the slope of scree.

‘Who are you?’ Jessie asked. ‘What is it that you and your followers want?’

Fareed issued a command, a rapid burst of Arabic, and the line of men rose soundlessly to their feet. Each one carried a curved dagger in his hand, pointed at his own heart. Jessie had to force herself to remain seated, to fight the urge to leap to her feet and flee. A wave of sound came at her, as the men’s voices chanted as one and left Jessie in no doubt that this was some kind of dedication of self to a cause that would brush her aside like a mosquito if she got in their way.

‘Who are you?’ she asked again.

Fareed’s face had changed. It had grown hungry.
His cheeks seemed to sink into hollows, his eyes withdrew deeper into his head, as though something inside him was consuming him.

He raised his own dagger to his throat and translated for her. ‘Allah is our objective. The Prophet is our leader. Qur’an is our law. Jihad is our way. Dying in the way of Allah is our highest hope.’ His gaze fixed fiercely on her.

‘We are the friends of Hassan al-Banna.’

Hassan al-Banna
. Jessie remembered the name. Monty had mentioned him in Cairo. The American ambassador had told him that a schoolteacher named al-Banna had set up an organisation called the Muslim Brotherhood with the aim of returning society to the precepts of the Qur’an. One of their main intentions was to rid the country of the British and to seize back military and political control of Egypt in the hands of the people. The last thought made her acutely aware of her own vulnerability as one of the hated westerners.

They wanted information. But she had nothing to trade.

‘So you do not know where their find is in the hills?’ She acted surprised. As if it were the least they should know.

He frowned at her. ‘No. They cover their tracks well and post sentries in the desert. Two of our men have been killed trying to follow them.’

Killed
.
Tim is working with men who kill?

She looked around her again to hide her moment of shock, letting her gaze roam over the cave and the silent men.

‘What is this place?’ she asked.

‘You are asking questions,’ he said softly, ‘not giving answers.’

She nodded and asked again, ‘What is this place?’

He took a full minute to consider whether to answer, but eventually waved a hand in the direction of the mouth of the cave. ‘Many men come to me, wanting to bring the holy word of most bountiful Allah back into the lives of our people. They are angry at the foreigners here,’ he paused and narrowed his sunken eyes, ‘especially you British who have robbed us of power
in our own country. Hassan al-Banna is working to educate the illiterate and to build hospitals for the poor, but these brave men,’ he gestured at the black-clad figures, ‘come here for more than words to fight the British with.’

‘Is this a training camp? A military centre?’

Fareed did not say yes, but neither did he say no. ‘They come here to intensify their personal piety. But it is the nature of Islam to dominate, not to be dominated.’

Jessie could not look at him. She stared down at the rope marks on her wrists because if she looked at this implacable man for one more second she would give up hope, and she couldn’t afford to do that.

‘Tea?’ he asked politely.

She almost laughed. Tea? In a cave? With a man with a gun at his side, ready and willing to kill her, she was certain, with no more thought than he would stamp on a cockroach. Tea?

‘Yes, please,’ she said.

He uttered something in Arabic and one of the men, scarcely more than a boy, disappeared into a tunnel at the back. For a while no one spoke, giving Jessie time to consider her next response, but she was taken by surprise when Anippe Kalim entered the cave bearing a tray with two glasses of mint tea and a small pot of honey.

The young woman gave no hint of recognition. She inspected Jessie with cold unfriendly eyes for a moment, before she glanced at Fareed. Instantly she lowered her eyes respectfully and served him first. He nodded at her but said nothing, and she withdrew on silent feet.

‘Now,’ he stirred honey into his tea, ‘tell me what you know of this group of thieves your brother is involved with.’

She could confess the truth – that she knew nothing. Or she could lie. The choice was easy.

‘I don’t know much.’ She watched Fareed. Displeasure came easily to him and furrowed his forehead. ‘But,’ she added quickly, ‘I am ready to pass on what information I do have in exchange for learning where Timothy is now.’

‘You lie.’ Anger overlaid his formal politeness
for the first time. ‘You lied to Anippe in London, pretending you didn’t know where your brother had gone, yet you knew exactly to follow him to Egypt. To Cairo. To the Mena House Hotel. To Luxor. Clearly you know far more than you claim.’

She didn’t deny it. If he thought she knew nothing, what use was she to him? He would toss her aside like garbage. It frightened her that they had kept track of her movements so closely while she was blithely unaware of it. Were they the ones who had followed her round the streets of London and broken into her flat? She finished her tea in a silence that seemed to echo through the cave, and only when she placed her empty glass on the brass tray once more did she look at Fareed directly.

‘They are stealing antiquities, I believe,’ she told him coldly. ‘It is an organisation that buys knowledge from local farmers about where new finds are turning up in the desert.’

No reaction. ‘Go on.’

She held her breath for a moment to steady herself. ‘They use my brother’s expert knowledge to select what to take and what to leave behind. He can date the objects for them, choose the most valuable pieces – the older the better, of course.’

‘All this we know.’

So her guesses were right.

‘They excavate at night,’ she added. ‘In the caves.’

‘What about this new find they’ve made?’

‘I don’t know the royal name but it is a queen.’

‘Her tomb?’

‘Yes.’

His hand clenched into a fist and she could feel his anger, as an extra presence in the cave.

‘Who are these people? And how do they transport the treasures?’ he demanded. ‘What tracks do they take through the desert?’

She opened her mouth, as if to reply, but closed it again and for a moment there was silence. ‘Tell me where my brother is living.’

He didn’t hesitate this time. ‘In a house set back beyond the fields by the curve in the river downstream. We keep watch on
them. Four men. Another comes and goes.’

‘How will I recognise the house?’

‘It is old and painted green. In front is an alabaster factory with a broken tower on one end. You can just see it from the river.’

‘If you know that this group is stealing ancient artefacts from Egypt, why don’t you inform the police? Isn’t it their job to …?’

He uttered a harsh sound that was instantly swallowed by the limestone rock encircling them. ‘Money passes from hand to hand to make eyes look the other way.’

‘Corruption?’

He regarded her with distaste. ‘Do you know how little a policeman in Luxor earns?’

She was embarrassed by her ignorance and for the first time looked away. The men in black
galabayas
were alert and watching Fareed closely, as if eager for a signal from him that would allow them to fall on her with their daggers. She had to give him something more, something that would keep their blades in their belts.

‘Fareed,’ she said quickly through dry lips, ‘if I can find my brother, I can tell you more about who is running this illegal activity and …’

In one swift movement he rose to his feet and was towering over her. ‘You know more!’ His anger seemed to feed on her words.

Something
. She had to give him
something
.

‘They transport it all by boat,’ she lied. ‘Not through the desert but by boat to Cairo at night.’

His black eyes gleamed brighter in the yellow light of the oil lamp and she knew she had surprised him, but she was not prepared for his response.