In a secluded alleyway nearby he stripped off his old clothes, washed himself down as best he could and put on the T-shirt and jeans. He bundled up his old things and stuffed them into a skip, drank what was left of the bottled water and wandered back out into the street feeling a little refreshed.
After a few more minutes of walking, he came to a café-bar with tables and chairs outside. He took a seat in the shade of a parasol and ordered strong black coffee. He drank a pot of it, ordered another, and sat there quietly until the caffeine rush began to focus his thoughts.
He thought about what he’d just done. Had to do. There’d been no choice-but that didn’t make him feel any better about it. He’d sworn he was never going to kill again, but just when he’d thought he’d done the right thing by handing Morgan’s assassins over to the police, here he was again being dragged back into the familiar old world that he’d worked so hard to escape from. Could he never get away from it? Was that really his destiny in life?
He sighed. Then his thoughts turned to Morgan Paxton. One thing was clear now. Whatever this apparently unassuming, naïve academic was into, it was obviously much bigger than just scholarly research. A man like Kamal could have been attracted to this Akhenaten Project for only one reason. Money, or the promise of it. And when the prospect of wealth and ancient history were brought together in the mix, that amounted to a formula that could produce only one simple answer.
A treasure hunt.
The question was, had Morgan known just how big this was? Ben thought about it for a while. He retraced Morgan’s steps in his mind. The guy had come to Egypt on his own. Not as part of some research team, but independently-and he’d encrypted the file on his computer. That didn’t look like the behaviour of an ordinary academic researcher. In all kinds of other ways, Morgan might have been the typical egghead scholar, but this looked like deliberate, calculated secretiveness. People didn’t actively protect information unless they thought it had special value. He’d known what he was into, for sure.
But then there must have been leaks in Morgan’s security. He might have been acting cautious, but he was still an amateur at this game. And he was a stranger in a strange land. The kind of guy who could draw-and had drawn, fatally-all kinds of the wrong attention. Maybe he’d needed help for his project. Maybe he’d been foolish, talked to the wrong people to get that help. People who knew people, one thing leading to another until, next thing he knew, he had someone like Kamal on his trail.
Kamal. Ben visualised the man’s face. Who was he? Someone committed, dedicated-but to what? The day is coming, he’d said. Ben didn’t know what he’d meant by that-but it didn’t sound good.
And now he had to figure out his next step. One thing he couldn’t avoid was the call to Harry. A call he wasn’t looking forward to making.
He took out his phone and dialled Harry Paxton’s personal number. Paxton picked up after three rings.
‘Harry. It’s Ben.’
‘I got your email,’ Paxton said.
‘Were you able to open the attachment?’
‘I haven’t tried. I was more interested in hearing what you had to report. So tell me, Benedict. It’s over? You’ve done it?’
Ben paused and bit his lip. There was no easy way to tell Paxton this. Start at the start. ‘I found the men who killed Morgan,’ he said. ‘They were just petty thieves who got in too deep. They still had some of his things.’
‘And you dealt with it? The way we talked about?’
‘Yes, I did deal with it, Harry. But not quite the way you intended.’
There was a silence. Then, ‘What do you mean?’
Ben let out a long breath. ‘I couldn’t go through with it, Harry. I told you at the time, it’s not what I do. They’re in police custody now. They’ll be on murder, firearms and drugs charges that’ll see them locked away for a long, long time. Drugs alone carry a twenty-five-year hard labour sentence in Egypt. They might well even get the rope for it. But it’s out of our hands now.’ He paused. ‘I’m sorry. I know it’s not what you wanted. But it’s the best I could do.’
Paxton was quiet for a few moments, and Ben could feel him thinking. Adjusting to the idea.
‘I suppose you had to do what you felt was right,’ Paxton said eventually. ‘I appreciate that. I admire your integrity. I really do. You’re a good man, Benedict.’
‘I have to warn you,’ Ben said. ‘There’s more to it. Complications. There are other people interested in Morgan’s research. Very dangerous people. They weren’t the ones who killed him, but I think they would have if there hadn’t been the robbery. It was just a question of who would get to him first. I’m sorry. I know this is painful to hear.’
‘I’m stunned,’ Paxton said after a moment’s silence. ‘Are you sure about this?’
‘Pretty sure,’ Ben said, feeling his bruised ribs. It hurt to breathe, and it hurt even more to move. He ran through what had happened. ‘And so I’ve lost most of what I retrieved,’ he finished. ‘I’m really sorry.’
‘Never mind the computer and the watch,’ Paxton said. ‘The important thing is that you’re all right. But who are these people?’
‘I don’t know. I just know that Morgan’s research went a little beyond pure academic interest. And I think he knew it, too.’
‘It must all be in the file you sent me,’ Paxton said.
‘I’m sure it is. Did he ever mention something called The Akhenaten Project to you?’
‘I don’t recall. I don’t think so, but then again he was always talking about names and dates from history. This god, that pharaoh. I never really paid it much heed.’
‘That’s fine,’ Ben said. ‘But now we have a problem. I need to know what to do next. Whatever Morgan was into, I’m very concerned that these people might come after you. You’re the next of kin. They might think you know something. I fobbed them off with a lie, but it might not deter them for long.’
‘So what are you saying?’
‘I’m saying that perhaps I need to stay here in Egypt a while longer. Find out who these people are and stop them before they do any more harm.’
Paxton was quiet for a moment. ‘I don’t want that, Benedict. I asked you to do something for me, and you did it. You’ve done enough for me. I’ll be eternally grateful. As for these people, whoever they are, I think I can look after myself. I haven’t quite forgotten everything I learned in the army. Let them come. They’ll be surprised at the reception they’ll get.’
‘You don’t want this kind of trouble, Harry,’ Ben replied. ‘Believe me. It’s not worth it. Your fighting days are over. You’ve started a new life. Get on with it. Think of Zara, if nothing else. Remember, she’s vulnerable, if they link this to you.’
Paxton didn’t reply.
‘You’re on a yacht,’ Ben continued. ‘You can move from place to place untracked, and you can run your business from anywhere. So stick a pin in the atlas, find yourself a nice warm paradise somewhere and set sail. That’s my advice. I don’t think these guys have got a long reach, but play it safe.’
There was another long silence on the phone. Then Paxton said, ‘Perhaps you’re right. Maybe there’s some other way to honour Morgan’s memory. I could donate some money to a museum in his name. Set up a trust fund for young researchers.’
‘That sounds like a good idea, Harry. And there’s one more thing. If I’d known what I know now, I’d never have sent that file to you. I’d have wiped it. And I think that’s what you should do. Delete it from your computer, right now.’
‘I’ll do that,’ Paxton said.
‘And will you promise me you’ll relocate?’
‘As soon as it’s feasible. I promise. You’re right. I need to think of Zara.’ Paxton paused. ‘Will you be coming back to San Remo, to see us while we’re still here?’
Ben didn’t reply.
‘After what you’ve been through, I’d like you to be my guest here for a few days,’ Paxton said. ‘So would Zara. She seemed
very much to enjoy your company. I sometimes think she’s a bit lonely,’ he added wistfully. ‘I’m always up to my eyes in business. She’d love to see you again.’
Ben squirmed. Jesus.
‘Maybe some other time, Harry. If I’m not staying here, I’ve really got to be heading back home.’
‘I’m disappointed,’ Paxton said. ‘I would have liked to be able to thank you in person, show you how truly grateful I am. But I understand you have affairs of your own to attend to. I hope you’ll at least let me wire you the money you lost.’
‘Forget it, Harry. I don’t want it.’
‘You earned it.’
‘I didn’t do much,’ Ben said.
Paxton paused. ‘Keep in touch, won’t you?’
‘See you around, Harry. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for you.’
Ben ended the call. He sat still for a moment, deep in thought.
‘Right,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Time to go home.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
Claudel was flicking through a book in his study when he heard the van skid up on the gravel outside. A few seconds later, Kamal came bursting into the villa. Rapid footsteps across the marble floor of the hall. The study door flew open. Kamal stormed into the room, clutching a laptop to his chest. He strode over to the desk and thumped it down, sending papers fluttering.
‘What’s that?’ Claudel asked nervously. He could almost feel the heat of the aggression that was pouring off the man.
Kamal’s eyes flashed with fury. ‘That is your whole life, until you can figure out what’s inside.’
Claudel flipped the lid open and switched on the machine. As he sat poring over the screen, Kamal was pacing up and down, almost manic with rage. He tore a valuable second edition of Gibbons’ Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire from a bookshelf and hurled it across the room. It smacked against the wall. The binding burst apart and it fluttered to the floor like a dead bird. ‘I’ll have that bastard’s head on a plate!’ he screamed.
‘What happened?’
‘Three of my men are dead, is what happened.’ Kamal roared the last word. He grabbed a delicate eighteenth-century upholstered chair, threw it down and stamped it into pieces. ‘Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!’ Pieces of wood spun across the study floor.
Claudel looked away. He knew better than to ask too many questions of Kamal when he was in this mood. He returned to the computer, and quickly found the Akhenaten file. His eyes brightened. Then he tried clicking into it.
‘This file is encrypted,’ he said, looking up.
‘I know that,’ Kamal raged. ‘You take me for a fucking idiot?’
Claudel looked back down at the screen and felt a trickle of sweat run down his neck. ‘I’m not a computer person,’ he protested weakly. ‘How am I supposed to crack an encrypted file?’
Kamal stormed over to him with his teeth bared in anger. ‘I don’t care how you do it. You figure this out. Understood?’
Claudel was already running through his options, thinking of all the people he knew who could help. Hisham, he thought. Hisham was good with computers.
But no sooner had the thought occurred to him, than his heart sank again. He couldn’t call Hisham. If he failed, Kamal would just shoot the guy, or worse. Anyone Claudel brought in on this situation was condemned to death. He thought of what had happened to Aziz. He thought about him all the time, couldn’t get the image out of his mind. He’d been having nightmares about it.
No. He was on his own.
He looked desperately up at Kamal. ‘The password could be anything.’
‘Then try everything,’ Kamal said. ‘Starting now.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
Normandy
It was a long journey home, and it was late when Ben finally arrived back at Le Val by taxi. The moon was full, bathing the cobbled yard in milky light. He paid the driver and stepped out, stretching his legs. Watched the car drive off into the darkness up the long, winding drive.
He looked around him. The homely smell of the wood-burning stove was drifting across from the farmhouse, and there was a light on behind the curtained kitchen window. Across the yard, the trainees’ accommodation block was dimly lit and he heard someone laugh in the distance.
He heard the sound of running paws, and a shaggy shape hurled itself out of the shadows to greet him.
Ben patted the dog affectionately as it jumped up to lick his face. ‘Hey, Storm. Good to see you too, boy.’ And he meant it. It was good to be home. He wearily climbed the three steps to the farmhouse door, turned the big brass handle and stepped into the hallway.
The place was warm and welcoming. Someone had a CD playing in the kitchen. Ben recognised the music. It was one of his own collection: Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers. He walked down the flagstone passage and pushed open the oak door. All he could think about was a large glass of red wine, a chunk of local cheese and a hunk of bread.
Brooke was sitting alone at the kitchen table, reading a novel. In front of her was a steaming mug that smelled like cocoa. She looked up as Ben came in. Her hair was damp, as though she’d just got out of the shower, and she was wearing an emerald green bathrobe. It brought out the green of her eyes, something Ben had never noticed about her before.
She put down her novel, and smiled warmly. ‘You’re back.’
‘You’re still here,’ he said.
‘I told you I was going to hang around for a few days, remember?’ She peered at him and her smile faded. ‘Christ, Hope. You look like shit.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Honestly. Your eyes are like two burnt holes in a blanket.’
‘That makes me feel even better,’ he said, making a beeline for the wine rack.
‘What happened?’
‘Nothing I really feel like talking about.’ He grabbed a bottle and the opener, and set about tearing away the foil to get at the cork.
Brooke stood up. She came over to him and laid a hand on his arm. ‘Go and sit down. I’ll do that.’ She pointed at the huge cast-iron pot that was sitting on the range. ‘There’s still some of Marie-Claire’s cassoulet. To die for, I’m telling you. Blew my diet completely. You hungry?’
He slumped in a wooden chair. ‘Like I’ve never eaten in my life.’
Brooke pulled the cork out of the bottle, glugged wine into a large glass and set it down in front of him. He knocked it back, reached for the bottle and refilled it.
‘Bad day at the office, then,’ she said over her shoulder as she ladled a pile of the stew into a saucepan and started warming it over the gas flame.
He didn’t reply. Sat and drank as she served the food onto a plate and brought it over to him. There was concern showing in her eyes.
‘Thanks for this, Brooke,’ he said through a mouthful of the stew. ‘You don’t know how glad I am to be back.’
She sat down beside him at the table and rested her chin on her palm, watching him eat. ‘How come you don’t want to tell me what happened? What took you to Cairo?’
‘I was just helping a friend.’
‘This Paxton guy?’
He nodded.
‘But it’s over now?’
He nodded again.
Brooke snorted. ‘Well, whatever you were doing out there for him, I hope he appreciates it. You should see yourself.’
‘I just need a rest. I’ll be fine in the morning.’ His plate was empty and he drained the last of his glass of wine. ‘So what have you been up to?’ he asked her, abruptly changing the subject.
‘Relaxing, mostly. Waiting for you.’
‘I told you not to wait for me,’ he said.
She shrugged. ‘Jeff’s been teaching me to shoot. Says I’m good at it.’
‘Uh-huh,’ he grunted, reaching for the bottle again.
‘You going to drink the whole thing?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Someone’s been calling for you,’ she said. ‘Phoned three times this evening. A woman.’ She paused, watching his reaction.
‘Someone called Zara. Sounded Australian.’
Ben’s glass stopped halfway to his lips. He set it down heavily on the table. ‘Shit,’ he muttered.
Brooke smiled, raising an eyebrow. ‘Someone you ran into on your travels?’
‘You might say that,’ he replied sullenly.
‘Seemed very anxious to talk to you,’ Brooke said. ‘I’m sure she’ll call again.’ She leaned forward on her elbows. ‘So what’s she like, Ben?’
‘Who?’
‘Don’t play games. You know who I mean. Zara.’
He stared at her. ‘What’s it to you?’
‘Whoo. Testy. Must have hit a nerve there.’
‘Leave it alone, Brooke. I’m tired, OK?’
‘Is she pretty? Sounded pretty.’
He stood up, grabbed his glass and what was left of the bottle. ‘I’m going to bed.’ As an afterthought he grabbed another bottle from the rack and tucked it under his arm as he headed for the door. ‘See you in the morning,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll be up late.’
‘What if she calls again?’
‘Tell her I’ve died or something,’ he said. Then he banged through the door and climbed the stairs.
He’d been right about the late morning. It was well after ten o’clock when he came plodding down the stairs holding three empties. The two wine bottles, and the whisky he’d washed them down with. His mouth felt thick with the aftertaste of stale booze, and his head was heavy.
It hadn’t been a good night. He’d thrashed about restlessly for a long time, trying to sleep. But it had been no use. He couldn’t stop his mind from whirring around and around in circles, working over all the things that had been happening. Eventually, he’d given up. Sat up on the rumpled sheets and put the light on and just sat drinking until well after five in the morning.
The faces of the three men he’d killed had haunted him long into the night. Even when he’d polished off the second bottle of wine and moved on to the whisky he kept in the wardrobe, he hadn’t been able to still his mind.
When he wasn’t thinking about the things he’d had to do in Cairo, he was thinking about Zara. He thought of the brief time they’d spent together. Seeing her in the little bookshop in San Remo. Running through the rain to shelter from the thunderstorm. The touch of her hand on his arm. Her firm body close to his. Her smile, her laugh, her tears.
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