by Overton, Max
"Only what you have told me, Michel."
Sarraj frowned. "When?"
"Two years ago. A rather injudicious letter complaining of...a certain person." Bashir saw the expression on the face of his friend and smiled. "I destroyed the letter immediately. Your secret is safe."
Sarraj inclined his head in acknowledgement.
"So naturally," Bashir went on, "you will need funds, and I need support. I think we can help each other."
Sarraj poured them both another cup of coffee and offered a fresh cigar. He lit his own and puffed contentedly for several minutes.
"What do you want from me? Specifically?"
Bashir considered. "Initially, river transport, an all-terrain vehicle, some men, and of course, supplies for a month. When we find what we're looking for, I'll need men to excavate the site, and trucks to transport the contents, and a secure storage site before I can get the artefacts back to Syria."
"What do you offer in return?"
"Thirty percent of the contents."
Sarraj smiled. "I supply everything, and I'm the one taking the risks. Seventy percent."
"Forty."
"Fifty, and I leave all the tomb artefacts for you. I just remove any gold present."
"If it's in the form of gold ingots, then I agree. If the gold is in the form of artefacts, then they are my share."
Sarraj nodded. "You're very sure of the tomb's existence?"
"Not entirely," Bashir conceded, "But I think it likely. I believe there has never been any hint of a tomb of Pharaoh Smenkhkare having been found, and Princess Beketaten is almost unknown historically. If the tomb of either of them had been discovered within historical times, there would be artefacts from them in the museums. The absence of such things argues for the tombs remaining undiscovered." Bashir shrugged and drained his coffee. "Of course, if the tombs were robbed in pharaonic times then all bets are off."
"But you think they still exist?"
"Yes."
"Where? Do you know?"
"Approximately. The inscription on the walls of the chambers described the place of Smenkhkare's treasury and pointed toward his later tomb. The treasury was almost certainly looted to provide for his grave goods, but I believe if we find the one, we will find the other."
"The archaeologist Howard Carter took years to find King Tut's tomb."
"He did not have a description of its location."
"You are that confident of finding it?"
Bashir grinned. "Yes."
* * *
Sarraj retired to his study after Bashir went to bed. He worked at his desk for an hour, reading through reports and dealing with business arising from them before sitting back and contemplating his conversation with the Syrian Minister. After a few moments, he pressed a button on his desk. Deep within the villa, a buzzer sounded and sent Lieutenant Azib hurrying toward the study. The young officer slipped inside and saluted. He waited silently for his instructions.
"Dr Danielle Hanser led a British Midland University archaeological expedition into the Orontes Valley in Syria last year. Find out everything you can about her, the expedition, and what they found."
"Do you want me to include the Minister in my enquiries, sir?"
"No. Be discreet. I also want to know where Dr Hanser is now. Find me a reliable man at the university I can use."
"Yes sir. What time frame do I have?"
"The agent and Dr Hanser's whereabouts immediately. The main report in a week."
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* * *
Chapter Four
The letter came two weeks later and Dani opened it without thinking as she walked back from the front hall to her kitchen. She scanned the contents and felt her face cool as the blood drained away. The room lurched and she sat down quickly, the legs of the chair scraping over the faded linoleum. Her breath came raggedly and she made a conscious effort to control her despair.
"They didn't believe me," she said wonderingly.
Dani sat and stared at the letter, reading and rereading it until every word, every phrase, was imprinted on her memory. Distantly, she heard the telephone jangle in the hallway, listened to it ring and finally fall silent before starting up again, insistent, refusing to be denied. She got up and went through to pick up the receiver.
"Dani? Are you alright, lass?"
She heard the list of a Welsh voice and smiled, forcing away her incipient depression. "Daffyd."
"Marc's here with me. We just got our letters from the university board. Have you heard anything?"
Dani nodded, her mind turning back to the lines of print that spelled disaster.
"Dani? Are you there? What's wrong?"
She heard a faint mumble of conversation at the other end of the line and collected her thoughts. "Yes. My letter came just now. I've been suspended without pay for six months, position to be reviewed after that."
There was a moment's silence from Daffyd, then, "I'm sorry to hear that, lass, but it wasn't totally unexpected."
Dani could hear conversation at the other end, scraping and clunking noises, and Marc came on the line.
"Bloody hell, Dani, that's over the top. How can they do that?"
The indignation in the young man's voice elicited a smile from Dani. "I take it your letters weren't as drastic?"
"A virtual slap on the wrist. Damn it, Dani, I take it you're going to appeal?"
Dani was noncommittal.
"We're coming over."
"No, don't do that, Marc. I really just want..." The receiver burred in her hand and she sighed and hung up.
Marc lived in a flat with another graduate student across town, while Daffyd rented a room in the College Halls, so either way, Dani knew they would be with her in about half an hour. After a few moments of resentment at their foisting of their well-meant support on her, she relented, realising that she would be glad to see them.
She returned to the kitchen and put on a fresh pot of coffee and boiled a kettle in case anybody preferred tea. A plate of digestive biscuits completed her preparations and she quickly visited the bathroom, splashing cold water in her face. She peered at her image in the mirror and grimaced, dragging a comb through her auburn locks. It would have to do.
The doorbell chimed and she went to let her friends in, embracing them each in turn and leading them through to the sunny kitchen and its pleasant aromas of freshly brewed coffee and flowers. Dani refused to be drawn on the contents of her letter until everyone was seated, with a full cup and biscuits in hand. Then, in answer to Marc's repeated enquiry, she pushed the letter across the table to him. He scanned it quickly, snorted derisively, and passed it on to Daffyd.
"They suspended you without pay and with loss of seniority," Marc said. "How the hell can they do that? We have right on our side."
"When did that ever matter, boyo?" Daffyd asked. He took out his tin of tobacco, hesitated, and put it away again. "The word of a Syrian Minister obviously carries some weight."
"Bloody McClelland...and Bielish. It's all departmental politics, you know. You're going to appeal, aren't you?"
"I'm not sure there's much point," Dani said, sipping her tea. "It's only for six months. I can survive that."
"Unfortunately, that's the least of it," Daffyd said quietly. "You'll be up for review, possibly reinstated, but your Head of Department will look for someone else to lead the next field expedition. Graduates will be encouraged to look elsewhere for supervision. If you're happy just to lecture to undergraduates, that's fine, but if you want decent research opportunities in the future, you need to fight it."
"I'm not sure I can--fight it, I mean. I can protest the decision, of course, but I've got no evidence, nothing to counteract Bashir's lies."
"I'll bet you could recite whole passages of the account," Marc said. "That must count for something. Where else would you have come across the story of Scarab?"
"They'd just say I made the whole thing up. Unless someone discovers the tomb in Egypt and t
he location matches the description I'd given them, there's nothing."
"Perhaps someone will discover it."
"Who? The only person likely to is Bashir, and if he does he'll just plunder it and keep quiet."
"So what are you going to do, if not fight the decision?" Daffyd asked.
Dani shrugged and looked out the window.
"Dani?"
"Enough of me. What did your letters say?"
"An official reprimand," Daffyd said. "I'm to refrain from any public statement of events, and I'm not to discuss it in any way that might reflect badly on the university. Other than that, I can continue lecturing and conducting research as before."
"And mine was even more lenient," Marc added. "I just can't talk about what happened. You bore the whole burden of blame."
"Well, I was expedition leader."
"Yes, but we all agreed on the cover up. We're all to blame."
"What about the others?" Dani asked. "Have the students suffered in any way?"
"They're undergrads. They'll be assigned new supervisors and given a talking to, but no blame will be laid at their door, as long as they say nothing."
"Good. I'd hate it if their careers suffered because of my mistake."
"It was down to all of us, Dani," Daffyd said. "Don't be a martyr to this."
"I'm not, but you know the truth of it. I found the golden scarab and used it to find the chambers. It was my determination to find out what happened that influenced the rest of you."
"We didn't need much persuading, lass," Daffyd said with a smile. "We all wanted to know what happened."
"A pity Bashir took the golden scarab," Marc mused. "That object alone would convince anyone there was something to our story."
Daffyd saw the expression on Dani's face. "You alright, lass?"
"I'll survive."
"Bashir won't do anything to the golden scarab," Marc said. "It's too valuable an artefact. He might keep it, but he won't destroy it."
"He doesn't know what it is. To him it's just a curio, a simple piece of sandstone. He only confiscated it because he didn't know why I had it. When he tires of it, he's likely just to throw it away."
"Would that be the worst thing in the world?" Daffyd asked. "It came to you once. At the risk of sounding dreadfully sentimental and unscientific, if you're meant to have it, it'll find its way back to you."
"Or it may be gone forever. I don't think I could bear that."
The three sat in silence around the kitchen table, the rectangle of sunshine creeping across the floor and walls as they drank their coffee and tea. Daffyd twice took out his tobacco and put it back in his pocket unopened. At last, Marc pushed back his chair and stretched, eyeing Dani.
"I don't mean to sound insensitive, but the golden scarab has gone. If you find it again, that's fine, but if not you have to ask yourself what you're going to do. You can't prove anything against Bashir, so you have to just put up with what the university has thrown at you. You're suspended for six months. Alright, you say you can survive that but what then? What will you do after the six months--providing they reinstate you? Continue lecturing at Midland, or look for another position?"
"It's a bit early for major decisions," Daffyd said. "You need to get used to the idea first. Why don't you take a holiday, get away for a few weeks?"
Dani nodded. "You might be right. There's nothing I can do around here."
"Attagirl. Have you got family you can visit? Close friends?"
"No. I'm going to Egypt."
"What? Jesus, lass, I don't think that's a good idea."
"Why not? Everything that interests me is in Egypt. If I can get down there before Bashir gets his act together, I might be able to get to the tomb before him."
"Why? To prove you were right?"
"To protect the tomb. To protect Scarab."
"Do you know where it is?" Marc asked.
Dani hesitated. "You know the descriptions as well as I do."
"Can you remember enough detail?"
"I think so. I was the one immersed in the account, remember? I translated every word of it."
Daffyd nodded. "I remember, and I still haven't the faintest idea how you did it. I've seen trained Egyptologists, professors who've spent lifetimes with old inscriptions and manuscripts have trouble with hieroglyphs. Hieratic script I could understand, but hieroglyphs? You just read it as if it was the pages of a novel. How the hell did you do it, lass?"
"I told you. I studied and..." Dani shrugged, "...my family comes from there."
Daffyd muttered something in Welsh under his breath. "Sorry, Dani, but I can't accept that. You'd have to be brought up with the language to handle it that well. It's just not possible otherwise."
"Jesus, Daffy," Marc interjected. "You were there. You saw her perform and we know she wasn't born to it. She's just damn good at what she does. Stop giving her a hard time."
Daffyd grimaced and took out his tin of tobacco once more. This time he opened it and added the strong, rich odour of cured tobacco mingle with the coffee and floral scents. He stirred the dark shavings with his forefinger for a minute, before shaking his head, putting the lid back on and slipping the tin back into his jacket pocket. "You're right--I apologise. So, Dani, you think you can remember enough of the tomb description to find it?"
"I think so--yes."
"They're pretty vague, and Egypt's a damned large and mostly inhospitable place," Daffyd said. "Even if we'd ended up on a fully-funded expedition like we'd hoped, it was always going to be a long shot. The descriptions are three thousand years old, for God's sake."
"The golden scarab," Dani said. "I could have found it with that."
"But you don't have it," Marc objected. "Bashir does."
"Then I'll just have to get it back."
"How? Are you just going to march up to him and demand it? He'll either laugh at you or have you locked up."
Dani shrugged. "I'll think of something."
"Lass, think of something else to do for six months. You haven't got a hope in Hades."
"You think I should do nothing?" Dani demanded. "Just give up and let Bashir win?"
Daffyd frowned and pulled out his tobacco tin again. He opened it again and stirred the fragrant flakes with a forefinger.
"If you're going to roll yourself a smoke, I'm opening a window."
"Eh? No, I'll refrain, but Dani, nobody's asking you to give up on this. I think you should protest the university's decision at the very least. We'll help you with that, but...well, haring off to Egypt? I really don't think that's a good idea."
"What about you, Marc? Do you think I'm mad too?"
"No, no, of course not, but...er, you've got to admit it's a bit sudden. You just need to think about it a bit more. Then Daffyd and I will help you any way we can."
Dani looked from Marc to Daffyd, reading concern in the faces of her friends. She sighed and swirled her cup, watching patterns form in the tealeaf detritus in the dregs. "You're probably right."
"No more hare-brained schemes?" Marc asked.
"No more dashing off to Egypt?" Daffyd asked.
Dani smiled. "Nothing precipitate, I promise."
"You'll take a holiday? Relax for a while?"
"I'll think about it."
Daffyd and Marc left soon after, having extracted a vague promise from Dani that they would meet up again in a few days to have a drink and talk about the future. Dani closed the door on her friends and returned to the kitchen where she tidied up, before changing into comfortable clothes and heading into town. She had in mind a certain course of action, and though Chesterfield would not provide the means, it would at least give her the building blocks. Whatever the outcome, she did not want to be too open about her plans just yet. Her trip to town involved a visit to her bank and to the only travel agency, where she made enquiries about a number of destinations. Returning to her flat, she wrote letters and posted them off.
Then all she could do was wait. The British Postal Servi
ce was efficient, but she still had to wait on slower moving foreign embassies. In the meantime, she frequented the university library and researched places and events that related to her intended destination. Daffyd called, but she put him off, pleading tiredness. Marc phoned, and she avoided him too, not wanting to reveal her plans until she was completely ready. When Daffyd called again, more insistently, she could only put him off by proposing a date to get together for that promised drink. Three weeks passed, and Dani found one excuse after another not to talk to her friends. Then the postman delivered the letter she was waiting for. She ripped it open in the hallway, dropping the envelope as she eagerly scanned the single page inside. A frown creased her forehead and she read it again, before crumpling the letter and dropping it beside the torn envelope.
Dani was home when both Daffyd and Marc came calling, determined to find out why she was avoiding them. She ignored their knocking and telephone calls for nearly an hour, even Marc shouting through the letterbox, until eventually she gave in and opened the door.
"What the hell's up?" Marc demanded. "Didn't you hear us?"
"It's really not a good time," Dani said.
Daffyd looked at her carefully, noting her unbrushed hair, her crumpled clothing, and bags under her eyes. "What's wrong, lass?" he asked gently.
Dani shook her head. "I'm just tired. I haven't been sleeping well, and I need to... Can you come back later?"
"We could, but I think it would be better if you told us what's wrong now."
Dani turned and stumbled back to the kitchen. The two men followed, and stared at a very different room from the one they had sat around in a month before, drinking tea and coffee and enjoying conversation. The air was stale, dirty dishes were piled up in the sink, and the flowers in the vase on the table were dry and dead. Marc whistled with amazement and started to run water into the sink, opening the cupboard under the sink to take out dish detergent and a scrubbing brush.
"Leave those," Dani snapped. "I didn't let you in to wash up."
"So why did you let us in?" Daffyd asked. "I got the distinct impression at the front door that you didn't want to see us."
