The Khamsin Curse

by Anna Lord

  She drew breath for the first time since that gunshot shattered the lazy afternoon, and looked at the half-hidden rock poking out of the sand. “Moran wouldn’t have missed.”

  Dr Watson realized she was right. Desperately, he pushed to his feet and started running. “Stop! Stop!” he called out to Hayter. “Hold fire!”

  Too late!

  Hayter fired his Smith & Wesson.

  In an instant Moran re-trained his rifle and fired back. A bullet clipped the Acting High Commissioner and he went down hard with a groan. The gun flew from his hand and skittered across the sand.

  Dr Watson was still running, still shouting. “Hold fire! Hold fire!” He didn’t know whether to tend to his ex-army chum or keep running toward the second most dangerous man in England. Adrenaline was pumping. His legs seemed to take on a life of their own. Moran could have taken him out with one bullet. He could have taken them all out for that matter! But for some reason he didn’t pull the trigger.

  A brief, garbled exchange took place before the two men sprinted toward the boulders where they found the dead body of Lorna Baxter. She had been shot through the heart. Near the body was the green Morocco jewel case lying empty. Cradled in her pale hand was a Webley. Gingerly, Dr Watson retrieved it, noting it had recently been fired.

  “This belongs to Major Nash,” he blurted, forgetting himself completely; the sight of the lovely American widow crawling with scorpions was not something that concentrated the mind.

  A quirk of Irish brows registered the faux pas. Colonel Moran knew instantly that Major Nash and Gideon Longshanks were one and the same. His instincts were as honed as ever. Age had not dulled them. Except where women were concerned – no fool like an old fool. He winced inwardly and knew in that moment that the attractive widow had been feigning affection in order to set him up in some way, though he couldn’t figure out why. He knew she didn’t murder Lee or Mallisham because she had not left his side during the night. There was something else going on besides murder and he was curious as to what it was. He handed his rifle to the doctor, used his dusty boot to flick scorpions off the body then with a bitter sigh he scooped up the ragdoll frame with bony arms.

  As he carted Lorna Baxter back to the Sekhmet, a felucca came into view. It was Jim and his two cadres, lured back by the sound of gunfire.

  Colonel Hayter limped slowly back to the ship, while Duffy and Brian searched for his lost weapon. They found it about five yards from where the colonel fell. Major Nash had regained consciousness. Jim helped him to his cabin. Hardly any words were exchanged. Everyone was in a state of mild shock. In all of this kerfuffle, neither Hypatia nor Daisy nor Ursula made an appearance. No one noticed their absence except the Countess.

  A pink sunset heralded the arrival of Ali Pasha, Dr Bell and the trio of engineers as they gathered on the aft deck for pre-prandial drinks, along with a patched up Major Nash and Colonel Hayter, who had suffered a minor flesh wound to his thigh.

  Jim was urged to stay for dinner. With the major and the colonel injured it might be wise to have back-up in the form of three Irish Guards. Azrafel had not yet been arrested. And the night of the crocodiles was still fresh in everyone’s memory.

  Jim accepted the invitation. He still wasn’t sure what had happened. There had been five gunshots. There was a chance Moran would be blamed for the murders of Lee and Mallisham as well as Mrs Baxter. He could tell by the look in the Countess’s eye that she was gearing up to give one of her speeches. He likened that look to foreplay and wondered if she actually climaxed at the end. He’d heard some women could orgasm just by thinking.

  Hypatia Lee emerged reluctantly from her cabin after being paid a courteous visit by the Countess, who reassured her that it was quite safe to do so. Mrs Baxter was dead, and Daisy and Ursula would not be joining them, said the Countess, promising to explain all prior to dinner, noting the torn burqa draped over the back of a chair.

  Hypatia followed the Countess’s gaze. “My maid found the burqa in the laundry room. It was torn. I don’t know why you’re interested in my burqa, but there it is.”

  Drinks were liberally dispensed as the twelve dinner guests settled comfortably into rattan armchairs and a natural hush fell over the group in anticipation of having everything explained to them. The Countess took a refreshing sip of Pimms to clear her throat.

  “We have been dealing with four separate things – crocodiles, sabotage, murder and espionage,” she said. “I will deal with one at a time. First, there is the incident with the crocodiles.” She glanced at the three engineers and Dr Bell and knew at once that they had heard the rumours; no lengthy explanations were necessary. “It could not have been staged by anyone who attended the party in the hypaethral temple because the chance of succumbing to a fatality was not only probable but certain. It was only the sharp-shooting of Colonel Moran and Colonel Moriarty that spared our lives. It had to be organized by someone who was aware in advance that a party would take place, someone who wanted to create maximum fear and who had no qualm about killing off a dozen foreigners, including a wealthy American, a representative of Mr Cassel, a high ranking British official and a number of young women, in other words, someone daring and utterly ruthless. The incident went above and beyond preserving the sacredness of the holy island. If the crocodiles had succeeded in killing everyone off, then by its extraordinary gruesomeness the incident would have shut down operations in Aswan for months. It can thus be linked to the sabotage of the dam. This leads us to one man…”

  “Sharif!” supplied Ali Pasha. “The descendant of Ibn-the-Mad!”

  “Not Sharif,” said the Countess firmly. “He is finally doing what his brilliant ancestor was unable to do – build the dam. As Major Nash pointed out - he is highly respected by the workforce. I doubt he could pull the wool over hundreds of eyes. Moreover, we recently discovered that the sabotage of the dam is connected to Azrafel because he used scorpions to murder the two sappers who set the explosives, most likely at his bidding. Colonel Moriarty and his men can arrest Azrafel before we sit down to dinner. I suspect he feels quite safe at present because Mrs Baxter is now dead. The scorpions belonged to her and it neatly implicates her in the men’s deaths. He is probably concocting a story to further implicate her as we speak.”

  Major Nash began shaking his head – the woman had tried to kill him with his own gun. “Are you saying Lorna Baxter is innocent?”

  Dr Watson was loath to think badly of the attractive widow but facts were facts. She had the major’s missing weapon in her possession. He had pried it from her dead hand. “She stole the Webley on the night of the party.”

  “I’ll get to Lorna Baxter shortly. One thing at a time,” she reminded. “Although we have dealt with two so far – the crocodiles and the sabotage of the dam – both tied to Azrafel. Let me outline my theory of who committed the murders of Mr Lee and Professor Mallisham. For those not familiar with the modus operandi, I will explain.” She took another sip of Pimms.

  Hypatia had not yet been informed as to how her father and lover had met their deaths, her curiosity was piqued and she sat up straighter than usual.

  “Mr Lee and Professor Mallisham were murdered in a bizarre manner that mirrored an ancient Pashtun ritual. It was practiced by women on men. The two men were tied down, their mouths propped open with sticks; urine was poured down their throats until drowning occurred. Death would have been agonizing and humiliating.” She heard some gasps - the loudest from Hypatia - and continued in a carefully modulated tone.

  “This was not a spontaneous act but something planned in advance. Ties were required to secure the men. Black strips of fabric torn from burqas were used for this purpose. Interestingly, burqas are symbolic of female oppression. They might make good dust covers but they effectively reduce the woman inside to a walking corpse. The sticks had to be the right size to prop open the mouth without allowing the victim to swallow too much too quickly, and yet be firm enough to withstand snapping or being dislodged by the
tongue.”

  Hypatia began to sob quietly. She dabbed her eyes and refused all entreaties to retire to her cabin, steeling herself for what was to come – the name of the killer or killers.

  “The two men had to be lured to the death chambers adjoining the Inner Courtyard. This was no easy feat considering the party had broken up in disarray and everyone set off in different directions. I think the incident with the crocodiles and the arrival of the Khamsin almost put paid to the double murder but our two murderers were determined to succeed come what may. The night of the party was important for another reason. It was the night of Hypatia’s birthday. It was her special night and the murderers wanted to ruin it.”

  Hypatia stopped sobbing; her voice was harsh and strained. “Daisy and Mrs Baxter!”

  “Daisy, yes, but not Mrs Baxter. It was Ursula Graf.”

  Several more gasps echoed around the closed circle.

  Dr Watson was shaking his head in disbelief. He couldn’t imagine the attractive fraulein murdering either Lee or Mallisham. She was barely acquainted with them. Daisy Clooney might want to murder her uncle but Ursula Graf was a different matter. “Fraulein Graf had no motive to kill either man,” he protested. “And don’t tell me her brief friendship with Daisy was enough to rope her in as an accomplice.”

  “I believe Daisy and Ursula knew each other before they met in Egypt. Daisy mentioned attending numerous Egyptology lectures in Berlin. It would be odd if Ursula did not attend the same lectures considering her interest in things Egyptian. Hypatia met Professor Mallisham at those lectures and hatched the plan to come to Egypt. I think Daisy and Ursula hatched a plan of their own. Daisy hated her uncle because he had inherited what should rightfully have gone to her father. She held him responsible for the death of both her parents. What’s more, I think Daisy suspected she was fathered by Jefferson Lee and that the fathering had not been consensual.” The Countess broke off and looked directly at Hypatia. “Is that true?”

  Hypatia was no longer sobbing; she had entered a state of numb despair. “Yes,” she croaked wretchedly. “Daisy believed my father raped her mother. I told her she was wicked for saying it, but something my father said not long ago made me think twice. And he always hated Daisy. It was as if he wanted to punish her for no reason.” She stopped to draw breath. “I think I remember seeing Ursula in Berlin. I know Herr Graf was at the lectures. I remember him clearly because he struck me as odious. He seemed to know Max quite well but I wouldn’t say they were friends.”

  “They were in business,” confirmed the Countess. “Professor Mallisham manufactured fake artifacts and Jurgen Graf sold them to rich clients. I think Ursula believed Mallisham sold the fake artifacts to her father which ended up ruining his career, and that’s why she hatched the plan with Daisy. While, you, Miss Lee were eagerly planning a sojourn in Egypt, Daisy and Ursula were planning one too, but theirs was more nefarious. It was Ursula who murdered her uncle with the cobra when either she or Daisy overheard a discussion concerning Jurgen Graf’s complicity in his brother’s suicide. The cobra makes me think of Cleopatra, although she used an asp. It was a safeguard in case the women were charged with murder. I don’t think either of them wanted to end up in an Egyptian prison.”

  The Countess turned her gaze to Dr Watson. “The day we went to the souk we saw Daisy and Hypatia leaving the coffee house arm in arm. Just recently I realised it could not have been Hypatia. She has excellent posture. Daisy walks with her shoulders slumped. So did the person with her. It was Ursula Graf. Ursula is blonde the same as Hypatia. An easy mistake to make. Moreover, Hypatia appeared a short time later wearing a burqa. She met up with Colonel Moran who passed her some opium twists. She dropped them when she stumbled and I caught sight of a pale foot in an expensive sandal. That’s what bothered me about the incident. It was not an Egyptian lady under the burqa but a foreigner. Is that right Colonel Moran? You have been procuring opium for Miss Lee during this journey?”

  He shrugged. “What of it? It’s perfectly legal.”

  “Thank you for confirming it. You procured some for her again at the hotel and again here on the mainland when we docked. If you nod it will help to eliminate you from what is yet to come.”

  Feigning unconcern, he gave another supercilious shrug and nodded, but secretly he was impressed. It was no wonder the boy was smitten. A man’s blood always ran hot at the thought of bringing an uppity woman down a peg or two in bed. “Where are the two murderers, by the way?” His eyes roved around the close-knit circle looking for the guilty party harbouring the pretty killers.

  The Countess was careful to look at neither Major Nash nor Colonel Moriarty. “I believe they have eluded capture,” she said flatly. “No doubt they are already heading back to Cairo on the train. Shall we move on to the final matter – the espionage?”

  “A top up of glasses first,” suggested Major Nash, flashing a conspiratorial glance Moriarty’s way when he thought no one was looking.

  Moriarty knew the Countess noticed the exchange. He leapt to his feet to help Dr Watson refresh the glasses. As everyone was milling about, lighting up cigarettes, he sidled up behind the Countess. “You know, don’t you?” he whispered into the back of her head.

  She nodded.

  Everyone returned to their seats, keen to hear about the business of espionage. So far, she had made sound sense and no one was able to refute her logical argument. Many were still trying to get their heads around the horror of it all let alone the rationale. The doctrine of probability supported her conclusions and Dr Watson must have had a hand in helping her to order her thoughts and form her theories.

  “The Egyptians have many wise sayings,” she began when everyone settled; glass in one hand, cigarette in the other. “I remembered this one at the last: We were looking for the snake and missed the scorpion.”

  Several men squirmed and some nodded knowingly.

  “After I had eliminated Ali Pasha, Colonel Hayter and Colonel Moran – apologies to those gentlemen – and dismissed Herr Graf and Professor Mallisham for the reason they were no longer living, I was left with Lorna Baxter. I suspected the kilim rug and/or the papyrus she purchased from Ali Pasha’s shop to contain secret codes pertaining to military manoeuvres which could be passed on to Britain’s enemy. But her more-than-rational explanations for having those items left me floundering, the same with the scorpions in her jewel case.

  Nevertheless, she was the perfect courier. She had travelled widely in the Middle East with her husband, a minor official in diplomatic service, and she was attractive and clever.

  Extremely clever! The rug and papyrus were designed to distract from the other items she had purchased – two silk scarves, one decorated with Arabic calligraphy and the other with a smattering of hieroglyphs. And she left them in full view, draped over the back of her chair for all to see. In Kom Ombo, she even daringly dropped one of the scarves in the temple and left it to Dr Watson to retrieve, knowing full well he would not let her down. I even paid for the coded messages myself – a grand irony that must have made her laugh!

  So much about her rang true – having to make her own way in the world, having to suffer Jefferson Lee’s wandering hands - but there were one or two things that didn’t.

  She claimed that Ali Pasha propositioned her. This was most likely invented to win Dr Watson’s sympathy and to explain away an impulsive display of forthrightness when she didn’t realize she was being observed. She wished to portray herself as naturally retiring. When I learned Ali Pasha was not interested in women the conceit became obvious.

  To win my sympathy she told a story about the death of her husband and of being stranded, unable to pay an expensive hotel bill. It rang true but it also reminded me of a woman in similar circumstances in Montenegro. She had run up an expensive hotel bill. An unknown gentleman came to her rescue. I recall my late step-aunt muttering something about the danger of gratitude and eternal servitude. I imagine the man who came to the rescue of Mrs Baxter recruited he
r for his own ends. He recognized at once her suitability to act as a courier for illegal contraband and he most likely groomed her for greater things.

  I believe she cultivated an interest in Colonel Moran so that she could direct suspicion toward him if the need arose. His reputation would have gone against him. He unwittingly provided her with an alibi more than once. Let’s not forget she also hired Azrafel. Whether she knew about the dam sabotage may yet come to light. They may have been working separately and yet with one aim. She stole the major’s gun on the night of the party. It suggests she suspected him of being more than an advocate. The attempt made on his life in Kom Ombo probably came from her say-so, and the attempt to implicate Japhet by using a Nubian wearing Japhet’s distinctive shoes attests to her attention to detail.

  I dare say she did not expect the colonel to shoot her when she tried to kill the major. I think she felt certain he would not turn against her. Alas! That was her only miscalculation. We thank Colonel Moran for his marksmanship.

  But we want the spymaster, not just the spy. I believe if Major Nash sends a telegram to Cairo and orders the arrest of the man I call Horus, a scarf and trinket trader who has a souvenir shop near the Bab al-Ghuri gate, we will have that man. He may offer up further names during questioning.”

  The moment the Countess finished speaking, an arrest was made, a telegram sent, and Ali Pasha approached Miss Lee. By next year she would be the most famous archaeologist in Egypt. Dinner was convivial despite all that had recently taken place.

  When someone commented that the wind was picking and there seemed to be some flurries of grit and sand in the air the party broke up. Jim kissed the Countess on the lips when he thought no one was looking and set off for war. The passengers on the Sekhmet staggered off to bed and prepared to ‘batten down the hatches’. The air was sweltering.