The Lost Army of Cambyses (26 page)

suddenly felt as if it weighed a ton. It was actually

hurting her legs. The air seemed to hum with

silence.

'We need transport,' said Daniel eventually. 'A

car, a motorbike, anything. Can you arrange that?'

Samali looked down at them for a moment and

then, his eyes softening slightly, crossed the room,

picked up a phone, dialled and spoke rapidly into

the receiver. There was a faint murmur at the other

end and then he hung up.

'There will be a motorbike downstairs in five

minutes,' he said. 'The keys will be in the ignition.'

'How much?' asked Daniel.

'Oh, no charge.' Samali grinned. 'Even I would

not be so mercenary as to take money from a con-

demned man.'

It was warm in the room, but Tara found that

she was shivering uncontrollably.

The motorbike – a battered orange Jawa 350 –

was waiting for them just as Samali had said.

There was no sign of the person who had delivered

219

it. Daniel slammed down the kickstart, revving the

engine into life. Tara swung up behind him, the

knapsack on her back, the box in the knapsack.

'So where to?' she asked.

'The one place where we might find out why

this artefact is so important,' he said.

'Which is?'

'Where it came from. Luxor.'

He clicked the bike into gear, yanked back the

accelerator and they roared away down the street,

Tara's hair streaming behind her.

From his apartment window Samali watched as

they disappeared round the corner and then

crossed to the telephone, lifted the receiver and

dialled.

'They've just left,' he said. 'And they have the

piece with them.'

N O R T H E R N SUDAN

The helicopter flew directly over the camp and

descended onto a flat patch of ground a hundred

metres beyond it. The down-draught from its

blades threw up sheets of sand and gravel, which

whipped across the tents like hail. The boy who

had come out to meet it turned his back and

covered his face with his arm. Only when the heli-

copter was down and the rotors almost stationary

did he turn again, run across to it and heave open

its side door.

A man in a crumpled suit jumped out, a

220

briefcase in one hand and a cigar in the other. He

towered over the boy.

'He is waiting,
ya Doktora.'

The two of them started towards the camp, the

boy keeping his eyes firmly on the ground, away

from the man's face, which frightened him, the

way its left side was covered with that terrible

purple stain. The man strode beside him, swinging

his case, oblivious.

They skirted the side of the camp until they

reached a tent set slightly apart from the others.

The boy pulled back the flap and stepped in. The

man threw away his cigar and followed, stooping

as he entered.

'Welcome, Dr Dravic,' came a voice. 'Will you

take tea?'

Sayf al-Tha'r was sitting cross-legged in the

centre of the tent, his face half lost in the gloom.

There was a book beside him, although it was too

dark to see what it was.

'I'd prefer beer,' answered Dravic irritably.

'As you know, we do not drink alcohol here.

Mehmet, bring Dr Dravic some tea.'

'Yes, Master.' The boy left.

'Please, sit.'

The giant lumbered forward and sank onto the

carpeted floor. He was clearly not used to sitting

on the ground for he shifted this way and that, try-

ing to find a comfortable position. Eventually he

settled in a semi-kneeling posture, one leg curled

under him, the other drawn up in front of his

chest.

'I don't know why you can't get some chairs,' he

muttered.

221

'We prefer to live simply.'

'Well, I don't.'

'Then I suggest that next time you bring your

own chair.'

Sayf al-Tha'r's voice was not angry, just firm.

Dravic mumbled something, but didn't pursue

the matter. He seemed subdued in the man's

presence, unnerved by him. He pulled a hand-

kerchief from his pocket and rubbed it over his

brow, which in the two minutes since he had

stepped from the helicopter had become sodden

with sweat.

'So?' said Sayf al-Tha'r. 'Do we have it yet?' In

contrast to Dravic he sat very still, hands resting

on his knees.

'No,' mumbled the German. 'It was at Saqqara,

like I said it would be, but the girl got away with

it before we could stop her. Killed two of our

men.'

'The girl did?'

'Her and some guy she was with. An

archaeologist. Daniel Lacage.'

'Lacage?' The man's green eyes glowed in the

darkness. 'How . . . interesting. His book on Late

Period tomb iconography is one of my favourites.'

Dravic shrugged. 'Never read it.'

'You should. It's an excellent piece of

scholarship.'

A spasm of annoyance passed across the giant's

face. Not for the first time he wondered why the

man bothered to employ him when his own

knowledge of ancient Egypt was clearly so

extensive. It was as though he was poking fun at

him. Emphasizing the fact that he, an Egyptian,

222

knew so much more about his country's past than

any foreigner ever could. Black cunt. If it had been

left to people like him, Egypt wouldn't have a

past. It would all have been dug up long ago and

sold off to the highest bidder. His fist clenched and

unclenched, knuckles whitening.

Mehmet arrived with the tea, handing one glass

to Dravic and placing the other on the ground

beside his master.

'Thank you, Mehmet. Wait outside.'

The boy left again, keeping his eyes away from

Dravic.

'Why is this Lacage helping the girl?' asked Sayf

al-Tha'r.

'God knows. She stayed with him last night,

they went to Saqqara this afternoon, got the piece

and disappeared again.'

'And now?'

'Now I don't know.'

'Have they gone to the police?'

'No. We'd have heard if they did.'

'The embassy?'

'No. We've been watching it all day.'

'Then where?'

'To the moon, for all I know. Like I told you,

they've disappeared. They could be anywhere.'

'Are they going after the prize themselves? Is

that it?'

'Look, I don't fucking know, all right! I'm not a

mind-reader.'

There was a faint tightening around Sayf al-

Tha'r's mouth, the first hint of displeasure.

'It is a shame you were not more careful at

Saqqara, Dr Dravic. Had you been less forceful

223

with the old man we might have saved ourselves a

lot of trouble.'

'I told you, it wasn't my fault,' said the giant. 'I

didn't lay a finger on the old bastard. We waited for

him in the dig house, but before we had a chance to

start asking questions he had a fucking heart attack.

Took one look at the trowel and dropped dead right

in front of me. I didn't touch him.'

'Then it's a shame you didn't search the dig

house more thoroughly.'

'The piece wasn't in the dig house. That's why

we couldn't find it. He'd hidden it outside, in the

wall of one of the
mastabas.'

The man nodded slowly and, without taking his

eyes off Dravic, reached for his tea. He raised the

glass to his mouth and tipped it slightly, moistening

his lips with the liquid, no more. Dravic lifted his

own glass and slurped loudly. Sweat poured down

his face. He was finding it hard to breathe, such was

the heat.

'We'll find them,' he said. 'It's just a matter of

time.'

'Time is something we don't have, Dr Dravic, as

you well know. We can't keep this quiet for ever.

We need the piece now.'

'We're watching the stations, the bus terminals,

the airport. We've got men everywhere. We'll find

them.'

'I hope so.'

'We'll find them!'

Again Dravic seemed to be struggling to contain

his temper. Then, as if to deflect his own fury, he

broke into a low chuckle, wiping his handkerchief

over his brow.

224

'Christ, if this thing comes off, we'll all be

millionaires!'

The comment seemed to interest Sayf al-Tha'r.

He leaned forward slightly.

'Does that excite you, Dr Dravic? The idea of

being a millionaire?'

'Are you joking? Of course it does. Doesn't it

excite you?'

'What? To have a million pounds to spend on

myself? To waste on useless luxuries while in the

slums children go hungry?' The man smiled. 'No,

it doesn't excite me. It doesn't excite me at all. It

bores me.'

He lifted his tea glass and touched it to his lips

again.

'To have a million pounds to spread the word of

God, on the other hand.' His smile widened. 'A

million pounds to cast down the oppressors and

restore the law of Sharia. To cleanse the earth and

do the will of God. Yes, that does excite me, Dr

Dravic. It excites me very much.'

'Fuck God!' Dravic laughed, wiping the sweat

from the back of his neck. 'I'll take the money any

day!'

Suddenly Sayf al-Tha'r's smile was gone. He

glared at Dravic, his hand clasped so tightly

around his tea glass it seemed it must shatter at

any moment.

'Be careful what you say,' he hissed. 'Be very care-

ful. There are some insults one should not utter.'

His eyes were boring into Dravic, green,

unblinking, as though he had no eyelids. The giant

mopped at his brow again, unable to meet the

man's stare.

225

'OK, OK,' he muttered, 'you have your

priorities, I have mine. Let's just leave it at that.'

'Yes,' nodded Sayf al-Tha'r, his voice hard.

'Let's just leave it at that.'

They sat in silence for a moment and then the

man called the boy in from outside.

'Mehmet, escort Dr Dravic back to his

helicopter.'

Dravic stood, slowly, wincing at the stiffness in

his legs, and moved towards the entrance, relieved

to be getting out.

'I'll call as soon as I have news,' he said. 'I'll be

in Luxor. If they turn up anywhere it'll be there.'

'Let us hope so. Everything here is ready. We

can be across the border and set up within a

matter of hours. All we need is to know where.'

The giant nodded and was about to step out of

the tent when Sayf al-Tha'r's voice pulled him

back.

'Find the missing piece, Dr Dravic. Oppor-

tunities such as this only come once in a lifetime.

We must seize it while we have the chance. Find

the piece.'

Dravic grunted and left. Two minutes later there

was a whine and a roar as the helicopter took off

and swung away across the desert.

Alone, Sayf al-Tha'r stood and went to a large

chest at the back of the tent. Removing a key from

his robe he undid the padlock on the front and

heaved open the lid.

It shamed him to have to associate with
Kufr

like Dravic, but he had no choice. To cross the

border himself was too risky. They were watching

226

for him. Waiting. Always waiting. Soon, perhaps,

when the fragment was found, but not yet. If he

could have used someone else, anyone else, he

would have, but Dravic alone possessed the

qualifications and, more importantly, the lack of

scruples. And so he relied on him. The filth of the

earth, the dregs of humanity. The ways of Allah

were indeed mysterious.

He bent down and, from the inky interior of the

chest, as though from a pool, removed a small

necklace. He raised it into a thin shaft of light and

the object glittered. Gold. He shook it and the

delicate tubes of which it was made tinkled music-

ally. He replaced it and drew out other objects. A

pair of sandals. A dagger. A finely worked breast-

plate, the leather straps still in place. A silver

amulet in the shape of a cat. Each one he held up

into the light, gazing at it, rapt.

There was no doubting they were genuine.