by Kevin Ashman
‘That would be good,’ said Manu, ‘for we are already without our headdress and that may result in a flogging. Perhaps his ire will be calmed and we will get off lightly.’
‘I know your commander,’ said the physician, ‘and will make him see sense.’
‘We have to go,’ said Mensah and the two soldiers walked back toward the barracks where they were stationed, unaware that the rest of their lives could be measured in hours only.
----
Chapter Three
Nazra-El-Bedhel
Egypt 2014
India lay on her back in her cell, fast asleep in the stifling heat. It was her fourth day in captivity and the deadline for the bribe demanded by the local police commander was fast approaching. Deep in her unconscious state she heard someone saying her name.
‘Missy Sommers, wake up, there is someone here to see you.’
For a few seconds she struggled to grasp the meaning of the simple words but then sat bolt upright as their importance sunk in. Mehmed was standing beside her bed.
‘Someone to see me?’ she said rubbing her eyes, ‘who is it?’
‘An official from the Embassy.’
‘Really? I didn’t think they knew I was here?’
‘It would seem they were informed by someone from England and they are with my master now. The official has requested you are brought to the office immediately so he can check you are okay.’
‘Sure,’ said India brushing down her sweat stained Khaki shirt, ‘Brandon must have contacted someone at the Embassy. Perhaps we can get this sorted once and for all.’ They walked from the cell and down the corridor to the police commander’s office. Inside was a simple table with a chair on either side. An old fan turned laboriously on the desk, circulating the stifling air into a semblance of a breeze.
On the far side of the desk sat the police commander, an overweight local wearing a plain white Thawb with a black and white keffiyeh on his head. India had met him twice and knew he was a hard man to bargain with. On the near side of the table another man was sitting with his back to her. He wore khaki slacks, a crisp white cotton shirt and a panama hat.
‘Ah, here she is,’ said the police commander, ‘Miss Sommers, please take a seat.’ He indicated a chair next to the door.
India did as she was bid and waited for the man from the embassy to be introduced.
‘Mr Mannering,’ said the Police commander, ‘this is India Sommers, the lady in question, Miss Sommers, this is Mr Mannering from the Embassy.’ The man stood and turned to shake her hand.
‘Miss Sommers,’ he said, holding out his hand, ‘so good to meet you.’
India swallowed hard and stared at the official in surprise. Though he was wearing glasses and a hat, there was no hiding his true identity, it was Brandon Walker. Brandon stared into her eyes, almost willing her not to say anything that may give away the subterfuge.
‘Mr Mannering,’ she said eventually, ‘I’m glad somebody could actually make it.’
‘Yes, I apologise for that,’ said Brandon, ‘we were unaware of your predicament but were informed only yesterday, however, I am here now so let’s see what we can do.’
‘Excellent,’ said India, ‘as you can imagine, it has been very uncomfortable and it is all a big mistake.’
‘Quite,’ said Brandon and turned back to face the policeman.
‘So, Mr Muburak, what exactly is the problem here?’
‘The problem is, Mr Mannering, this woman was caught in a restricted area with illegal documents and an intent to dig for artefacts. As you know this is a criminal offence and can involve a lengthy jail sentence.’
‘If found guilty,’ said Brandon.
‘There is no doubt she is guilty,’ said Muburak, ‘and will be tried in the local court within days.’
‘Why are you so sure there will be a guilty verdict if there is little evidence?’
‘She was caught with diagrams and charts clearly showing the location of restricted digs,’ said Muburak, ‘and in particular, the tomb of an old kingdom priest which hasn’t been fully excavated yet. Though there were no actual artefacts found in her possession, her intentions were clear. She is a tomb robber.’
‘Nonsense,’ shouted India, ‘I am here as a tourist and those documents were sold to me in a market just a few days ago. How was I to know they contained sensitive information? As far as I am concerned they just listed another tourist site.’
Despite her outburst, Muburak didn’t acknowledge her and waited until she was finished before continuing.
‘So,’ he said eventually, ‘as I was saying before we were interrupted, Miss Sommers was caught in a restricted area with illegal documents and a clear intention to remove certain artefacts from a site rich in Egyptian history. I have no option but to send her for trial and to find her guilty.’
‘But surely that is for a court to decide?’ said Brandon.
Muburak poured himself a glass of water and sat back.
‘It is,’ he said eventually, ‘and my cousin will make a fair and considered judgement at the end of the trial.’
‘The judge is your cousin?’ said Brandon, his hopes fading as he spoke.
‘He is,’ said Muburak, ‘didn’t I say? Anyway, Miss Sommers will be found guilty next week and incarcerated in the local jail. Of course she can appeal for a transfer to a prison in Cairo and then appeal against the verdict in a higher court but that can take many months.’
Brandon sat back in the chair, his mind racing. There was no doubt this official was corrupt but he was wary of how far to push him.
‘Listen,’ said Brandon eventually, ‘I represent the British government in Egypt and am here to tell you we will not tolerate such behaviour to her Majesty’s subjects. I demand you release her to my custody immediately but I promise you she will face Egyptian justice in due course.
‘I can’t do that,’ said Muburak, ‘in my opinion she is highly likely to leave the country before her court case. Of course, if there was a bond paid on her behalf, then we could release her immediately, safe in the knowledge she will return for her trial.’
‘How much bail?’ asked Brandon.
‘A hundred thousand dollars,’ said Muburak.
India’s mouth fell open at the amount. There was no way Brandon had that sort of money.
‘A hundred thousand?’ asked Brandon slowly.
‘Not a dollar less,’ answered Muburak.
Brandon paused and stared at the official before reaching into his briefcase and withdrawing a leather bag. He placed it on the table and removed ten bundles of hundred dollar bills. India stared in amazement as he counted out the correct amount and placed the remainder back in his bag.
‘One hundred thousand dollars,’ he said eventually, ‘I trust I will have a receipt?’
‘Of course,’ said Muburak reaching for the money, ‘do you mind if I have these checked?’
‘Really?’ asked Brandon, ‘I am an official of her Majesty’s government and I can assure you Mr Muburak, we don’t deal in funny money.’
‘Still, ‘said Muburak, ‘it would put my mind at rest.’ He took out a bill and held it up to the light before examining it closely. He repeated the task with several other bills before placing them back in the pile, sweeping them all into his drawer and picking up a phone.
‘Mehmed, please write out a receipt for fifty thousand dollars.’
‘Fifty?’ said Brandon, ‘I just gave you a hundred thousand.’
Muburak stared at Brandon before continuing his conversation into the phone.
‘That’s correct, Mehmed, a receipt for fifty thousand dollars. Mr Mannering will pick it up on the way out.’ He put down the phone and stared at Brandon.
‘Is there a problem?’
Brandon went to say something but sighed and sat back.
‘As long as we can both leave, there is no problem.’
‘Excellent,’ said Muburak and turned to India. ‘Miss Sommers, you are free to go. Mr Man
nering, it has been a pleasure doing business with you.’
‘I wish I could say the same,’ said Brandon and stood up. ‘If there is nothing else, we would like to leave immediately.’
‘Of course,’ said Muburak and indicated the door without standing up. ‘Don’t let me see you around here again, Miss Sommers for next time we will not be so lenient.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said India, ‘I have no intention of ever setting eyes on you again.’
Brandon opened the door and followed India out into the reception area. As he passed the desk he picked up the receipt and within minutes they were walking down the road toward a hired car.’
Brandon, what’s happening?’ hissed India, ‘why all the subterfuge?’
‘Keep walking, India,’ said Brandon grabbing her arm, ‘don’t turn around just keep looking forward.’
‘What’s the problem?’ hissed India again, jerking her arm from Brandon’s grip, ‘you’re hurting me.’
‘India,’ replied Brandon, looking around him, ‘there are several men watching us as we speak. I would wager all are armed and all are in the pay of that corrupt cop. If we don’t get as far away from here as quickly as possible, we could be in serious danger.’
‘But you paid him the money, why would he want anything more to do with us?’
‘Because it was funny money.’
‘But he checked it and I assume he knows what he is looking for. Is it fake?’
‘Oh it’s real enough,’ said Brandon, ‘but every serial number is recorded on databases across the world and as soon as any are banked, alarm bells will set off in international forces from here to New York.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s terrorist money, paid to informers across the Middle East by the CIA and heavily tracked to see who uses it. It’s only a matter of time before our friend gets a visit.’
‘But how did you have it?’
‘Let’s just say I still have some useful contacts,’ he said, as they reached the car, ‘come on, we need to get out of here.’
They climbed into the car and minutes later were speeding down the road toward Cairo a hundred miles away.
As he drove, Brandon removed the clear lens glasses and threw them into the back seat before turning to India.
‘Well, Missy Sommers,’ he said with a smile, ‘I think you’ve got some explaining to do.’
‘I know,’ said India, staring at the road ahead, ‘and I really appreciate what you have done for me but there’s a problem.’
‘What’s the problem?’ asked Brandon, ‘by the time Interpol knocks on Muburak’s door we’ll be back in Blighty.’
‘Brandon,’ said India turning to face him, ‘stop the car, we have to go back.’
----
Chapter Four
Egypt
2600 BC
Khufu sat out on the balcony of his sleeping quarters overlooking the Nile. The sun had just cleared the horizon and after praying to Ra, he had regained his seat to be fed dates and stewed lamb by his servants. Omari sat on a stool behind him, mixing a bowl of sweet smelling oils. Behind him Haji entered the room and lay prostate upon the floor until acknowledged.
‘Majesty,’ said Omari as he rubbed the ointments into the king’s well-manicured hands, ‘Haji begs audience.’
‘Granted,’ said Khufu.
‘Haji, you may approach,’ said Omari.
The tall priest got to his feet and walked out onto the balcony. He knelt at Khufu’s feet so his head was not above that of the king.
‘Majesty, I have heard disturbing news,’ said Haji, ‘and would seek confirmation from the teller of truths himself.’
‘What news is this you speak of?’ asked Khufu.
‘I hear that Sobek is to be gifted the lives of two soldiers as well as two children. Please tell me my messenger is an ignorant liar and I will have him beaten relentlessly until the sun sets.’
‘On the contrary, Haji, there are indeed two soldiers who will be fed to the crocodiles but it is the first I have heard of any children.’ He turned to face the other priest. ‘Omari, enlighten me with this surprising development.’
‘Majesty,’ said Omari gently as he continued the massage, ‘two of the unworthy are indeed children but this was not brought to my attention until this morning. I thought better than to pester you with such trivialities and instructed the guard they were to share the soldiers’ fate. Sobek will be gifted with their souls.’
Khufu turned to Haji.
‘Therein lies your answer,’ he said, ‘and the fact they are children matters not. They defied my priests yesterday and I would have order in my realm. Such indiscretions should be dealt with severely or people will take it upon themselves to make whatever decisions they will, contrary to my wishes.’
‘That is understandable, Majesty and on any other day you would find my own fingers around their throats for their insolence but today I beg mercy in their name.’
‘Mercy?’ said the king, his brow rising with surprise. Omari stopped the hand massage and also stared at his fellow priest. ‘On what grounds, Haji?’ continued Khufu, ‘is this day so special that favours are asked of a god? Explain yourself, for I am concerned at this request that borders on impudence.’
‘Majesty,’ answered Haji, ‘my heart is heavy with the asking but last night I had a dream.’
The room fell silent for Haji’s dreams were renowned for their insight.
‘Tell me of the content,’ said Khufu quietly.
‘Majesty, I dreamed of a far place, yet unseen by your holy eyes. In this place you wandered in the dark, your soul lost forever, seeking light where there was darkness.’
‘That is a troubling dream, Haji,’ said Khufu. ‘What is its meaning?’
‘I knew not,’ said Haji, ‘but the dream continued. The place was the same and once again you were lost in the darkness but this time, you found a parting in the path. One road led to the judgement of Ammit, the demon who swallows the hearts of the unworthy while the other led to the double hall of Ma’at where your heart was to be weighed against the feather of purity. The way was unknown to you but as Ammit chased you down with tooth and claw, two soldiers appeared and fought him off while two children came forth from the darkness bearing candles. Each took a royal hand and while the soldiers fought away the demons, the children led you to the great halls of Ma’at.’
Haji stopped talking as the king considered his words. Khufu’s face was ashen as the implications sunk in and for a minute or so he stared in silence.
‘Haji,’ he said eventually, ‘your visions give me cause for concern. If what you say comes to pass, then my soul could be denied access to the fields of Osiris and condemned to the eternal lake of fire. Is this what you read into your dream?’
‘Majesty,’ said Haji, ‘only you as a living god know the true meaning, I am just an empty vessel whom the gods see fit to fill with dreams. Your judgement, whichever way swings the pendulum, will be the correct one.’
Khufu nodded and stood to pace around the bed chamber. Finally he returned to stand before Haji, now kneeling alongside his fellow priest.
‘My judgement is this,’ said Khufu. ‘It is no secret that my health fails me faster than the Nile flows to the sea. Before this season is out I expect to make the journey to my tomb and there be laid for evermore amongst my riches. However, if I am to reach the two fields of Osiris then there is a reckoning to be made in the great double hall of Ma’at but to get there it would seem the god of death, the eater of hearts that is Ammit, has set a trap to confuse my soul. It is also obvious to me that due to my greatness, Osiris himself has sent these people to guide my way so my heart can be weighed against the feather of Ma’at. He looked down at Omari. ‘Send word to your priests to cancel the sacrifice to Sobek. Instead, take the children to your temple and prepare them in the ways of the afterlife. When my soul takes the journey to the halls of Ma’at, they will accompany me to light the way.’ He turned to the other priest. �
��Haji, you will take the soldiers into your keeping and set them to helping you with the final tasks within the pyramid. Work them hard to keep up their strength and when my soul is laid to rest, sacrifice them so their spirits can fight Ammit in the darkened place. This is my judgement.’
‘Your will be done, Majesty,’ said both priests and touched their heads to the floor.
----
Across the mud brick city, two soldiers lay on the floor of a cell, guarded by those they had once called comrades. Their bodies were badly bruised and they had been informed that before midday they would be fed to the crocodiles kept in the private pools of the palace.
‘How the mighty have fallen,’ said one of the guards, ‘the great Mensah, now laying at my feet like a common thief.’
‘I did no wrong,’ gasped Mensah, ‘but carried out the orders I was given.’
‘You could have left them,’ said the guard, ‘or waited until the king had left. At least that way you would still have a life to look forward to.’
‘The child needed help,’ said Mensah, ‘without it he could have died.’
‘Then more fool you,’ said the guard. ‘You have sacrificed your life for that of a pauper who will die anyway. What sort of choice was that?’
‘The right one,’ said Mensah and slowly got to his knees before sitting on the bench. Manu joined him and they stared through swollen eyes at the four men who were now their jailers.
‘I take it you drew the straws to decide who was to be our executioner?’ asked Manu.
‘Oh no, Manu,’ said the first guard with a smile, ‘we are all volunteers and relish the opportunity to see you ripped apart.’
‘You are an evil man,’ said Mensah, ‘for no man should take pleasure in the death of an innocent.’
‘You are no innocent, Mensah, you knew the risks and broke the law.’
‘I talk of the children, not I,’ said Mensah.
‘Oh them? They are of little consequence.’
