‘Anyway, you might want to check that she really is brought back to Cairo today, the weather reports aren’t looking too promising.’
Phares’s jaw hardened. ‘I will investigate.’
‘And keep me posted?’
‘Of course, as always.’
Alastair glanced at him meaningfully and out of habit lowered his voice. ‘And about that other business … my sources in Libya tell me that there will be another convoy of antiquities coming through the Western Desert soon, though no one is clear on timings. I need you to be ready. One of our men, Charles Montgomery, will go with you. He’s also been primed. This could be El Kébir’s biggest one yet.’
Phares met his gaze, understanding exactly the consul’s meaning. For months now, he had kept this part of his life secret from everyone he knew. The man nicknamed El Kébir, the chief, had eluded capture for years. No one knew his identity and yet he was responsible for the most notorious antiquity smuggling operation in Egypt. It was like chasing smoke, but now that Phares had become an unofficial part of the consul’s efforts to pinpoint the infamous head of the smuggling ring, with every dangerous mission he undertook, they were getting closer to El Kébir.
‘You think this time, he’ll have involved himself directly?’
Alastair nodded. ‘That’s what I’m hoping. He has always operated in the shadows but with this job he’s likely to entrust it to someone high up. If we can get to that man, we may be able to get to El Kébir himself.’
Phares rubbed his chin pensively. ‘We’ve both discussed this before, but El Kébir must have been connected to Ayoub El Masri’s arrest all those years ago, yes?’
Alastair shrugged. ‘I agree. But we’ve never had proof, as you know.’
‘The El Masri’s maid, Souma Hassanein. We need to find her. Aida is convinced she knows something.’
‘The maid who apparently told Miss El Masri that it was your father who owned the Nefertari statue?’
Phares nodded. ‘She conveniently disappeared as soon as Ayoub was arrested but no one knew where she went. At the time I thought it was Aida’s grief making her cling on to the khadamma’s story. None of it made sense and then Aida went away and the trail went cold. Perhaps I should have tried to pursue it further, even though I didn’t have your resources at my disposal at the time.’ He raised grave eyes to the consul. ‘If Souma Hassanein was paid to plant the statue at Karawan House, then we should try and pick up that lead now. The woman must still have family in or around Luxor. I’ve begun to ask discreetly among my Bedouin contacts. Can you put out the word among your people too?’
He nodded. ‘Of course. It won’t be easy after all this time, but we can give it a shot.’
Phares stood up. ‘Much appreciated, Alastair. Now I must go and see if there’s been any news of Aida at Karawan House.’
‘Please let me know as soon as you hear anything about Miss El Masri,’ said the consul, rising from his chair. ‘She is a remarkable young woman and I feel a certain amount of responsibility for her. As for your sister, I will make sure she sleeps tonight at your home.’
Phares gripped his hand in a firm handshake. ‘Thank you, I will not forget your kindness.’
Alastair patted Phares on the back. ‘Come on, old chap, what are friends for? Besides, you’ve been risking your life helping us with our investigations. This is the least we can do.’
After leaving the Embassy, Phares had been besieged by thoughts as though chased by a pack of wild dogs but he forced himself to focus. On arrival at the Anglo-American Hospital, he had immediately called his father and their lawyer Ostaz Nazmi to tell them of Camelia’s imminent release and arrange for them to pick her up. He had then rung Karawan House in Luxor to enquire about Aida. With a gnawing heaviness in his gut, he learnt that the young woman was not at her home and Dada Amina hadn’t heard from her at all. Next, he had his secretary call all the Cairo hotels and when at lunchtime, he was told that there was no Aida El Masri staying at any one of them, he rang Alastair and immediately arranged for two officers to accompany him that night to Wahat El Nakheel. Phares’s mind was swimming with grim possibilities and even though he could not be sure that Aida was in danger, his seething blood wanted him to break every bone in Sakr El Din’s body.
By now, the Western Desert’s orange moonlight had turned the expanse of sand that lay in front of Phares into a sea of tawny light as he pushed his mount Antar on towards Wahat El Nakheel. Occasionally, a gust of hot wind hit his face. With mounting anxiety in his heart, his black eyes had lost something of their habitual brilliance as images of Aida in danger danced before him like hideous mirages.
Anger also gripped him when he thought of her frivolous behaviour. How dare she disobey him and join the party. She knew how he felt about the prince but she hadn’t cared about his feelings; she hadn’t given a second thought to how it might look and how her own reputation would suffer. Most of all, she had potentially placed herself in jeopardy. There was much he admired, loved and respected in Aida, but also a great deal he deplored, not least her belligerent and impulsive nature. Was it madness to want to link his life to hers for ever, could a marriage between them be happy? They were so different.
Nevertheless, these considerations were outweighed by a desperate desire to see her safe, to hold her close. Beneath all his frustration with her was a longing so deep he was shaken by it.
Phares Pharaony was in love for the first time in his life.
He knew that now. In love, as only a man experienced in the ways of women and well-versed in affairs of the heart can be: utterly and irrevocably and with a strength of passion and depth of tenderness impossible for the most ardent of younger men. He wanted to share his life with someone, to have someone with whom to laugh and cry and rejoice, and most of all to have children … many children. He wanted that person to be Aida.
Still, Aida rarely did anything she did not want to do. Maybe she had decided not to marry him after all and that was why she had accepted the prince’s invitation: to prove her independence.
Was she angry at him? Or had her feelings for him finally cooled? In his arms, Aida had proved that she felt something for him beyond infatuation.
But could she love him?
He could see that Aida had changed since she’d left Egypt and the years of war had marked her, yet she still retained that purity and the passionate character he had always admired in her. A fire burned within her that communicated itself to him whenever she was close. She had become as necessary to him as breathing.
Phares’s jaw tightened. Whatever it took, he would have Aida, heart and soul.
In the same way his desire for her had ignited her passionate nature, his love must now call forth the same love in her. He would sweep away her misgivings about his father and once they married, she would come to love him.
This latest escapade would force her hand. Surely now Aida would have to marry him? Too many people knew that she’d spent time at the prince’s palace alone and Cairo’s society was unforgiving, especially the circle in which they mixed. The foreign crowd didn’t appreciate how far her reputation would be ruined – even Alastair, who had left her at the palace alone with barely a second thought. If Aida had to leave Cairo again, cast out by her social circle, this time he’d lose her for good. He couldn’t let that happen. But for the time being, all Phares wanted was for Aida to be safe. He would never forgive himself for missing their rendezvous if anything had happened to her. An image of Sakr El Din flashed before him, making him grip the reins of his horse even more tightly.
The sky was now ablaze with stars and despite his anxiety, Phares’s blood throbbed to the music of the unceasing desert refrain which rang in his ears as he hurried towards Kasr El Nawafeer. A refreshing breeze was blowing over the dunes, bringing a whisper of strange things in its breath – the rustle of palm trees swaying in the quiet night, the sudden cry of a desert animal as it slipped on its restless way beneath the silvered firmament, the stirring of the sands over long-b
uried mysteries. From time to time, if he felt that the two officers were slackening their pace, he’d cry out to them, ‘Let’s not delay, gentlemen, I implore you. Let’s move on … time is precious!’
And suddenly they were in view of the oasis, lying in the distance under the purple vault of the desert night.
The three men were stopped at the gates of Wahat El Nakheel, but the guards moved aside when they saw the official papers they were carrying. The town was austere and calm, nothing stirred anywhere. The pallid houses appeared sharp and clear against the bright night: the wooden camel saddles hanging up by their doors, the flat roofs and thick mud walls broken by shafts of black shadow. Somehow, the scene bore the indefinable impression of terror.
They were stopped again at the palace gates. At the sight of the men, the guards who were smoking and laughing over some joke broke off at once. They passed the officers’ papers from hand to hand, and after their close inspection, Phares and the two officers were allowed in.
A manservant ushered them into an immense, richly carpeted hall almost devoid of furniture, which they passed through into a large open courtyard with gardens and fountains. Before them rose one of the palace’s wings, its many windows alight. A strip of red carpet with a red and white canopy above led to an open door.
Phares had no time to think as he and his companions were ushered through the door and handed over to yet more liveried servants, who led the men into a vast, Eastern-furnished room lit by eight chandeliers hanging from a painted ceiling and logs crackling in the huge tiled fireplace at one end. The room had a bright and welcoming warmth, though Phares felt none of it.
They did not have to wait long. Soon, Prince Shams Sakr El Din entered the room in all his sumptuous Bedouin attire. He stood a moment before them, the perfect host, smiling and saying all those pleasant, conventional things. Then he sat them down, ordered coffee and asked his servant to refresh his guests’ horses. Only then, when his eyes turned back to his guests, did Phares see them narrow slightly, like the eyes of a watching cat, before regaining their normal dimensions.
The prince sat back in his seat and asked pleasantly: ‘And to what do I owe this delightful visit, gentlemen?’ He seemed amused, yet there was a hint of challenge in his manner, a touch of the master which Phares did not care for.
Slowly clenching one fist at his side, Phares could think of nothing else but the urge to wipe the smile off Sakr El Din’s face and tear the place apart to find Aida. He only just managed to control himself, knowing that if he allowed his pent-up anger free rein, he and the officers were hopelessly outnumbered and it would not help Aida if his head were severed from his body.
Phares levelled an unflinching gaze at the prince. ‘We are here to enquire about the whereabouts of Miss Aida El Masri, one of your weekend guests who stayed behind because she was taken ill.’
The prince nodded earnestly. ‘Ah yes, Miss El Masri. She was indeed taken ill during the night and couldn’t make it back to Cairo with the others in the morning. She slept all day and in the early evening, we had a very pleasant light dinner together, but she was still tired, she said. So, you can imagine my surprise when in the morning I was told that she had ordered one of the servants to saddle one of my best horses and had gone.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Has she not returned to Cairo?’
‘No, the lady is missing,’ provided one of the officers.
Phares’s jaw tightened. ‘You let her leave unaccompanied?’
‘If I may remind you, I did not let her do any such thing. It was quite reckless, I must admit, for this young lady to take herself off in this way. I told her that I would fly her back in the morning, weather permitting,’ the prince insisted.
Smothering the roiling anger eating up his insides, Phares replied, ‘May we speak with the servant who provided the horse for her, and anyone else who might have seen her leave?’
‘Yes, of course. Though I don’t think that many would have been around. That night, we were holding the wedding celebrations of one of my cousins and most of my household would have been there.’
The prince rang and a servant appeared almost immediately. ‘Tell Abdul Fattah to come and speak to the bahawat, gentleman.’ Then, turning to his guests, he went on, ‘The desert is a dangerous place at the best of times, and a khamseen has been threatening this part of the oasis for a couple of days now, though it hasn’t struck us yet, but of course there could have been some turbulence. How well does Miss El Masri know the desert?’
Phares hesitated. This was something he was afraid of. It had been years since Aida had ridden out among the dunes, and certainly not this far. ‘Not as well as any of us, but she is an excellent rider.’
The prince’s pale eyes glittered oddly. ‘This is very worrying news. I must send my men in search of her. They know the desert and its perils well, and if she is lying somewhere hurt, I am sure they will find her.’
Phares couldn’t read the enigmatic expression on Sakr El Din’s face and although he didn’t trust him, instinct told him that Aida wasn’t still at the palace. Making an escape on horseback sounded exactly like something she would do. Yet one thing he did know: he did not want the prince to be involved in any rescue mission.
‘Thank you, that will not be necessary. This incident has caused you enough trouble and we wouldn’t like to inconvenience you any further.’
‘It is no trouble, really.’
At that moment, Abdul Fattah was shown into the room. A lithe-looking man of about forty, he had a chiselled face, a slightly curved nose, fleshy lips and small raven-black shifty eyes, which Phares immediately mistrusted. Yes, Abdul admitted, the lady in question had given him a five Egyptian pounds and had asked him to provide her with a good horse and a gourd of water.
Phares didn’t believe him. Though he could certainly imagine Aida needing to escape the palace, and someone having helped her, if the man’s story were true, and he had been the one to do so, then Phares had no doubt that the prince would have whipped his servant to death, at the very least for giving away one of his best horses.
Phares held the prince’s pale gaze one final time as he rose from his seat. ‘Until we meet again, Prince Shams Sakr El Din.’
As the three men took their leave, he watched as the prince’s face hardened, his amber gaze icing over.
* * *
Dawn wasn’t far off when the group on horseback started out. Phares had gathered a handful of trusted Bedouins who lived near the pyramids to help him in his search for Aida. The night was calm and the voices of the Bedouin riders, chanting as they rode, made no echo but moved over the desert like a wave of sound – eerie, magical, beautiful. In the darkness loomed the indistinct figures of the horses; now and then one could only hear the padding of soft hooves, or the creak of a saddle. Like riders from another world, they made their noiseless way among the hills.
A chill, light wind came over the Western Desert, sweeping in across the sleeping city only a few miles away, heralding the dawn. Stars went out as it passed, the skies paled and the street lights were extinguished. Behind them Cairo lay pallid, strangely tawdry, like an old hag showing her bones in the pale cold dawn. A finger of gold touched the tip of a minaret; into the silence came a deep bell-like note: Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar, La illah illallah.
Although he hadn’t slept, Phares was unnaturally vital and awake as he settled into a swinging trot over the hard, firm sand. With the spectacular swiftness of the East the sun came up, its fiery rays touching the sandhills and the outlined mountains. Now the way ahead was easier to follow.
He squinted into the distance. If Aida had become lost, she could have ridden in any direction. It made sense for the men to divide into two parties and zigzag back to the oasis, trying to cover a wider area. So, Phares gave the signal to three of his men and they parted ways, the Bedouins galloping off in the opposite direction.
The horses were fresh and owing to the early start, good progress was made before the fierce noonday heat mad
e a halt imperative. Luckily, a little shade was procured under a thick grove of palm trees and here, the remainder of the small party rested for as long as they dared before Phares urged them on. Aida might be out there somewhere and time was slipping through their fingers.
At four o’clock the sun’s heat grew a little less powerful and travelling became easier. For hours they rode, scanning the shimmering horizon, but there was nothing but the vast yellow dunes and the empty azure sky. With moonrise a light breeze sprang up and Phares and his men rode on and on, close together, thankful for the refreshing coolness after the long, hot day, and watching the sparkling stars creep out in bright armies in the velvet sky, illuminating the surrounding desert with their brilliance. They had covered a considerable portion of the journey when the riders reached a small quarry and instinctively spread out. Picking his way among the stones and boulders, Phares suddenly slowed and then stopped, his heart giving a small jolt.
‘My God!’ With a shout he lifted his arm to the others, signalling them to halt. In the brilliant moonlight he could just make out a heap lying on the ground, which was neither a stack of stones, nor a boulder, nor a mound of sand.
Leaping off Antar, heart hammering, he swiftly made his way down through the rocks and sand. Reaching the bundle in seconds he threw himself beside the small white figure lying huddled and motionless.
The once-lively sapphire eyes were closed, the soft cheeks white as chalk, her lips parted; and all of a sudden earth and sky turned dark for Phares. He held her in his arms and could detect no sign of life. As he stooped over her, he saw that the thin cotton of her shirt was torn and hanging about her in soiled fragments. ‘Aida,’ he murmured, his hand going to her cheek. There was no response.
Love and grief tore through him but somehow the doctor in him took over. His fingers went to her neck. For a moment it seemed as though her heart throbbed too faintly for him to feel its pulse and no breath stirred from the bluish lips. Then he felt a pulse, weak and quivering, but it was there.
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