The Amarnan Kings, Book 6: Scarab - Descendant

by Overton, Max

  And then came a fourth attempt...

  Return to Contents

  * * *

  Chapter One

  The streets of Damascus were choked with traffic and the hordes of people on the footpaths were a daunting prospect for the five foreigners who stepped out of the foyer of the Intercontinental Hotel. Taxi drivers lounging by their vehicles rushed forward, elbowing their way through the crowd, gesticulating and yelling in a mixture of Syrian, French and broken English, each striving to obtain the fare that would surely yield many dollars from these rich but unsuspecting tourists.

  An army sergeant and soldiers, waiting outside the hotel, intercepted the taxi drivers, pushing them away, and formed a cordon around the foreigners, ushering them to two black limousines parked in front of the taxis. The foreigners looked startled and hung back, as if not knowing what to make of the situation, but the soldiers hurried them onward, falling just short of actually manhandling their charges. At the kerbside, the soldiers tried to separate the foreigners by gender, showing the three women to one car and the two men to the other. The older woman remonstrated, and in the face of her determination, the sergeant shrugged and gave in, allowing the foreigners to divide themselves as they wished.

  "Marc, look after Angela and Doris, will you? I'll travel with Daffyd."

  "Righto, Dani," said the young bearded man. "Come on girls, you heard our beloved leader."

  The older man with Dani dropped the stub of his cigarette on the ground and stepped on it before joining her in the rear of the car. The three young people piled into the other limousine, the sergeant and soldiers dividing themselves between the two vehicles. The drivers eased their cars into the traffic, the little flags mounted on the front of the limousines announcing the importance of their passengers. Policemen on point duty signalled the traffic to stop and give way to their uninterrupted passage.

  "What's going on, sergeant?" asked Dani. "We weren't told we'd have an escort to the conference."

  The sergeant said nothing.

  "Perhaps you don't realise who this woman is, boyo," the older man said in a sing-song voice that spoke of green Welsh valleys and black coal pits. "This is Dr Danielle Hanser of the British archaeological expedition to the Orontes Valley. She is here by the express wishes of the Minister of National History. I think the Minister wouldn't look kindly on you ignoring her questions."

  The sergeant scowled. "I am only following orders," he said in good if broadly accented English. "I am to escort you to the Ministry Building."

  "There, that wasn't so hard, was it?" The dark-haired Welshman took out a tin of tobacco and cigarette papers.

  "You need to give that habit up, Daffyd, it's bad for you," Dani said. She rolled down a window, letting in the heat and noise of the city. "And why the Ministry Building?" she asked the sergeant. "The conference is supposed to be at the City Administration Hall."

  The sergeant shrugged. "I have my orders."

  Daffyd lit his cigarette and blew a cloud of strongly-scented smoke over the sergeant, grinning at the man's obvious discomfort. "Ah, orders. The perennial excuse."

  Dani shook her head and opened up her briefcase, pulling out some handwritten sheets of paper, a notebook, and a carved golden scarab. The sergeant glanced at her and looked away again, and Dani realised the soldier had not seen the gleam of gold. She knew that for some reason, the minds of most people failed to register the existence of the artefact.

  "You know what you're going to say?" Daffyd asked.

  Dani nodded. "Just the plain unvarnished truth. We stumbled upon a series of chambers filled with hieroglyphs that told the story of an Egyptian princess. The account indicated the presence of an undiscovered royal tomb and we, together with the Under-Minister of National History, are going to Egypt to find it."

  "Why did you bring the golden scarab with you? Are you planning on showing everyone?" Daffyd saw Dani glance at the soldier. "He can't see it, you know, and I doubt whether anyone at the conference will be able to either. I just wondered why you'd brought it along instead of leaving it in the hotel safe."

  Dani turned the heavy golden object over in her hands, marvelling anew at its weight and lustrous gleam. It was perfect, painstakingly carved by some ancient craftsman, showing legs tucked underneath, antennae pressed closely to its head and ribbed wing cases enclosing its rounded body. A representation of the ancient Egyptian sun god, it had the symbol of the Aten carved on its belly. That feature made it unique as the Aten--the disc of the sun--had been the personal god of the heretic pharaoh Akhenaten, and anathema to the ruling priests of Amun-Re.

  "I just don't like to let it out of my sight," she said. "You know what it means to me."

  Daffyd puffed on his cigarette, filling the interior with blue smoke that eddied and slipped out through the open window. "You really think it came to you on purpose? That it wasn't just a lucky find?"

  "You've read the account on the chamber walls. Do you honestly think there are two golden scarabs like this? This is the one gifted by the god Atum to Scarab three thousand years ago...and now it's come into my possession. It can't just be chance...and didn't it help me find the chambers in the first place? What's that if not purpose?"

  "Alright, lass, I'm not going to argue. I've seen Bashir handle the damn thing and believe it to be no more than a simple rock. That implies something out of the ordinary is going on, though being a hard-bitten scientist I hesitate to call it supernatural."

  Dani returned to her notes and as the limousine sped through the streets of Damascus, the policemen on point duty at the intersections waving the vehicles through without pause, she made a few corrections and additions, honing what she wanted to say to the world's press.

  The vehicles slowed at last and turned into a driveway guarded by heavy iron gates and armed guards, pulling up at the rear of an ugly brick building. The five members of the British team were led through a doorway into a dim corridor and thence up flights of stairs and along uncarpeted hallways to a small room. Men and women withdrew as they passed, though a few curious looks were thrown their way. The sergeant and soldiers showed them into the room and closed the doors, remaining outside.

  The meeting room was almost devoid of furniture and did not look as if it was set up for a press conference. There were only a few chairs around the edges of the room, a table in the middle of the room, but no podium, and nothing in the way of microphones or lighting.

  "What the hell's going on?" Marc muttered. "What is this place?"

  "Well, it can't be the conference venue," Angela said. "There are no facilities."

  "Speaking of which..." Doris added. "Do you think there's a loo handy?"

  Daffyd looked pensive and when Dani met his eyes, he shrugged and looked away. He wandered over to the window and looked out through a grill to a drab interior courtyard. "If I didn't know better," he murmured. "I'd say this was a prison of some sort."

  "It can't be," Marc said. "Bashir wouldn't dare try anything like that. If we're not at the British Consulate by five this afternoon, the ambassador opens our letter and Bashir's involvement becomes public. He wouldn't risk that."

  "What have we overlooked?" Daffyd asked.

  Marc glowered. "Nothing. If Bashir tries anything, we throw him to the wolves. Al, Will and Bob are still out there, remember."

  "I remember," Daffyd said. He pulled out his tobacco and started rolling another cigarette. "But they don't have any supporting evidence."

  "We've got that, though, haven't we?" Doris said. "All the notebooks and photos."

  "Unless Bashir takes them. Then we have nothing."

  "Yes we do. We have the letter at the Consulate."

  Daffyd lit his cigarette and inhaled deeply. "Our trump card. Suddenly, it doesn't seem like very much. Don't forget, we're in a foreign country, and Bashir holds most of the other cards."

  Dani sat down on one of the chairs, out of the way, and opened her briefcase again. She took out the golden scarab and slipped it into
her jacket pocket. A presentiment of disaster was creeping over her and she wanted the artefact safe. "Perhaps I should have left it in the hotel safe," she whispered.

  The door opened, and Under-Minister Ahmed Bashir entered the room, flanked by his aide Nazim, and two soldiers carrying submachine guns. The soldiers took up positions where they could cover everyone in the room, while Nazim placed a chair for Bashir.

  "Good morning gentlemen...ladies," Bashir said. "My apologies for the lack of amenities. The decision was only made an hour ago."

  "What decision was that, Minister?" Daffyd asked.

  "The decision not to hold the press conference after all."

  The five British expedition members stared at Bashir.

  "But there has to be..." Angela started to say.

  "You have to hold one," Marc stated flatly. "Have you forgotten the letter?"

  "Letter?" Bashir asked, smiling. "What letter is this?"

  "You know bloody well what letter," Marc said. "The one to the British Consulate."

  "Ah." Bashir took a piece of folded paper from an inside pocket of his suit jacket. "Would this be the one?"

  Daffyd strode forward and the soldiers' machine guns swung toward him. He stopped abruptly, but Bashir waved the guards aside, holding the letter out to the Welshman. Daffyd took the letter and unfolded it, quickly scanning the neat handwriting.

  "It's our letter." He handed it back to Bashir.

  "You bastard," Marc said, his fists bunching. He took a step forward and the guards' guns came up again.

  "There's no point, Marc," Dani said. "How did you get it?"

  "Suffice it to say that our Postal Service is atrocious and our Military Intelligence quite efficient."

  "So what happens now?" Daffyd asked. "Do we all disappear into some dungeon or shallow unmarked grave?"

  "My dear Dr Rhys-Williams, what do you take me for? We are a civilised people in Syria. You will simply be put on a flight to England later today."

  "That's it? What's the catch?"

  "What's changed?" Angela asked. "Down at the site you were worried we'd tell everyone about your..."

  "Shut up, Angela," Marc said quickly.

  Bashir laughed. "Come, Dr Andrews, did you think I might have forgotten? I remember your threats of exposure and paid heed to them until I secured the letter you sent to your Consulate. However, I have now rendered your threats harmless."

  "You aren't concerned we might go to the papers back in England?" Dani asked.

  "What would you tell them, Dr Hanser? A fairy tale about finding a lost tomb? I think you would find very few people would believe you, and when I revealed that you had been deported for scientific irregularities, your standing at your university would reach rock bottom."

  "We have proof," Marc said.

  "Ah yes, the physical evidence. There are notebooks and transcribed texts from the chamber walls, photographs, and a handful of letters written to your colleagues in England. None of the letters contain proof, and you will not have access to any of the notes and photographs. Without those, you have nothing."

  Minister Bashir turned to his aide. "Nazim, have my orders been carried out?"

  "Indeed, Minister. As we talk, their rooms at the hotel are being emptied of their possessions, as is the hotel safe. All they now own is what they have on their persons."

  "Very good. So, gentlemen and ladies, if you would be so good as to empty the contents of your pockets and briefcase on the table, we can conclude our business today."

  "You won't get away with it, you bastard," Marc said.

  "Really, Dr Andrews, I thought more of you. Don't the English believe in playing the game? You have played and lost, so grin and bear it in a sportsmanlike fashion."

  Marc muttered an expletive but Bashir ignored him.

  "Now, I must insist you place everything you have with you on the table." Bashir watched as the contents of pockets and Dani's briefcase were emptied out onto the polished wooden surface. "Is that everything?" When nothing further was offered up, Bashir sighed. "I can always order a strip search to be made. I have no wish to subject you to such indignities, but I will if you give me no choice."

  After a long hesitation, Dani took the golden scarab from her pocket and laid it on the table. Although she and Daffyd knew it for what it was, a superbly crafted golden artefact from the time of the Amarnan kings, it was apparent nobody saw anything but a rounded brownish yellow pebble. Bashir knitted his brows and leaned across to pick up what looked to be a small sandstone rock, fumbling it as if it proved unexpectedly heavy.

  "What is this?" he asked.

  Dani shrugged, fighting to keep the concern off her face. "A memento of our dig, a fragment of the sandstone cliffs. Nothing of any value."

  "I can see that. What I'm wondering is why you keep it." Bashir turned the rock over in his hands, examining it, rubbing his fingers over its surface.

  "Just as a reminder of an interesting dig. You wouldn't begrudge me a memento, would you Minister?"

  "It has a curious texture and weight. I think I will keep it." Bashir tossed the rock onto the small pile of papers that had come from Dani's briefcase, and turned his attention to his listeners.

  "You will be held here until this afternoon, when your passports will be returned to you, and you are taken to Damascus airport. There is a flight that will carry you home. I hardly need say that none of you are welcome to return to the United Arab Republic."

  "What about our belongings?" Daffyd asked. "We have things that had nothing to do with the expedition--personal items."

  "Never fear, Dr Rhys-Williams, I will allow you your tobacco."

  "That isn't what I meant..."

  "I know what you meant, and it is all forfeit. You will take with you the clothes you wear and your passports. Nothing else."

  "Your actions are barbaric."

  "And your actions have been high-handed and imperialistic," Bashir retorted. "You British no longer have an empire, yet you try to appear so grand and important. Your posturing comes to nothing, however, for Syria is an independent country and our laws apply here. Now run home with your tails between your legs and be thankful I do not hand you over to Arab justice."

  The soldiers ushered the five of them out into the corridor and marched them down flights of stairs again before leading them to small windowless rooms with steel doors. The men were shown into one room and the women into another across the hallway, and the doors locked.

  Dani looked around the small cell, its only furnishings being an upright chair, a narrow pallet bed, and a round hole in one corner whence noxious odours arose. She crossed to the chair and sat down.

  "You might as well make yourselves comfortable," she told Angela and Doris. "We might be here for a few hours."

  "I really need that loo break now," Doris said, her voice trembling. "Do you think they might let me use one?"

  "I think that's what the hole in the corner is for," Angela said, pointing.

  "Oh, I couldn't...not here...not in front of..."

  "It's no worse than the camp latrines," Dani said gently. "A bit less private, but we'll look the other way."

  They all had occasion to use the hole in the corner over the next few hours. There was nothing else to do in the little cell except talk or sit and stare at the roughly plastered cement walls. Dani contemplated the loss of her golden scarab, admitting to herself that its absence preyed on her mind and left a void in her being that she would not have thought possible.

  "It's almost as if the god Atum gave it to me as well as Scarab," she muttered.

  "What did you say?" Angela asked.

  "Nothing. I was just wondering what we can do."

  "There's nothing we can do, is there?" Doris sobbed. "Everything was going so wonderfully a few days ago, and now we've lost everything."

  "Cheer up, Dor," Angela said. "Bashir's taken everything, but it wasn't his to take. It all belongs to Midland University, so they'll kick up a stink and get it back for
us, isn't that right, Dani?"

  "I'm sure that's right," Dani said.

  Privately, she was not at all certain that anything could be done. Even if Bashir and the Syrian authorities played down their expulsion from the country, any attempt to wrest the notebooks and evidence from the Minister would almost certainly lead to charges being laid against the expedition of unscientific behaviour at the least, or even of attempted theft of historical artefacts. As expedition leader, Dani could expect those charges to be aimed primarily at her. The outlook was grim, but she was not going to add to the worries of her companions by voicing her concerns.

  The soldiers came for them a few hours later and marched them outside to a small bus. Any attempt at communication between the expedition members was interrupted by loud shouting and some shoving, and on board the bus they were seated as far apart as possible. Nazim was at the airport to meet them and hurry them through to the departure gate. He handed them their passports.

  "Do not return to Syria," Nazim said. "You will not be permitted to re-enter the country."

  "As if we'd want to," Marc snapped.

  "What about our belongings?" Daffyd asked. "A lot of what was confiscated was personal items that had nothing to do with the chambers and inscription."

  "Everything will be examined, and if it has no bearing on your...on the discovery, it will be forwarded on to you."