by Overton, Max
"Because we have no proof..."
"And because bloody Bashir is a Syrian government Minister whose word is more believable than that of a handful of academics and students," Al said. "Plus he's spread lies about us looting the place and the fucking university believes him. They suspended Dani, and reprimanded Marc and Daffy."
"So this is why Dr Hanser has gone to Egypt?" Nick asked. "To find this tomb and clear her name? That's a marvellous story. I'd love to write it up."
"You can't print any of it," Doris said, looking alarmed.
"That's true," Angela added. "We gave our word to the university and if they found out we'd said anything, we might get expelled."
"So why did you tell me?"
Al shrugged. "Because somebody should know."
"A journalist can protect his sources..."
"They'd guess," Al said. "You can't say anything."
"Who are Marc and Daffy?" Nick tried to ease the subject away from prohibitions on doing the story. He did not want to have to promise not to publish and then break his promise.
"Daffyd Rhys-Williams, one of our lecturers, and Marc Andrews, a postdoctoral student."
"They were on this...er, expedition to Syria? What do they think? Could I talk to them?"
"They've vanished too."
"Gone to Egypt?" Nick asked. "With Dr Hanser?"
"Who knows?" Al said. "They didn't tell anyone where they were going."
"I heard Rome," Doris said.
Al shrugged. "Whatever."
Nick digested this information for a few minutes, cataloguing the information in his mind. "So all the people who are really in the know have disappeared. Is there anything else you can tell me?"
"I think we've said too much as it is," Angela said. "You can't use it. Promise..."
"Who would believe me?" Nick asked with a wry chuckle. "No, this has been a fascinating tale told over a few convivial drinks, but I can't see an editor agreeing to publish the unsubstantiated words of a few students. I think your secret's safe enough."
Angela looked at her watch. "We've got a lecture." She glanced at Doris and got up, smoothing her skirts. "Thanks for the drinks, Nick. You won't print anything, will you?"
Nick smiled. "I have no desire to see you lovely ladies get into trouble."
Angela smiled uncertainly and hurried off with her friend. Al drained the last of his beer and stifled a belch before staring at the journalist.
"You're going to write the story, aren't you?"
"What would be the point? Nobody would believe me."
"I'm sure you'll find a way." Al rose to his feet unsteadily. "I look forward to reading it."
Nick frowned. "You want me to write it? I thought you were against the idea."
"If you do, you'll drop us all in the proverbial faecal matter, but it'd be worth it to expose that bastard Bashir." Al turned away and walked toward the university, leaving Nick to stare after him.
* * *
"I can't see you've got enough to make it stick."
"I tried to talk to the university but the Vice Chancellor's office just said 'No Comment' and the professor of Hanser's department hinted she was deranged."
"Well, there you have it. If you can't back up the students' story, you've got nothing. Now, Nick, I've got this nice little piece you might be interested in, down in Cornwall. Lovely at this time of year and..."
"Dr Rhys-Williams is held in high regard in academic circles," Nick interrupted. "A number of his colleagues are incensed at his reprimand. Now that he's disappeared..."
"You're not going to let this go, are you?"
Nick grinned. "You know me so well, Percy."
"Why involve me?"
"Who else would I involve? You're my agent and I'm sure you can get me a top deal for this story."
"Not as it stands. Now, about this Cornwall piece..."
Nick grinned again. "Did I tell you I contacted a friend in Damascus? It seems that Minister Bashir has taken a leave of absence and gone down to Cairo. Perhaps there's something to this story of an undiscovered tomb after all."
Percy tapped a pencil against his front teeth, frowning. "What do you plan on doing?"
"I thought I might head down to Egypt myself and see what I can find. Can you imagine being in the party that discovered an undisturbed tomb? I could name my price for an exclusive and your ten percent would be one hell of a lot. Interested?"
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* * *
Chapter Twelve
The Bedouin caravan changed its course to an easterly direction, angling away from the little towns of Abu Minqar, Mut and Kharga, and skirting the oasis of Barqis. Zufir had in mind a small village on the outskirts of the cultivated land of the Nile Valley, not far from the town of Edfu. Here, they would be able to guard their prisoners without disturbance, yet be close enough to a centre of population to send a ransom demand and receive the money when it arrived.
Their prisoners--Dani, Daffyd and Marc--suffered binding of hands and feet and being strapped to the backs of their camels, their reins in the grip of their captors. Muammar was allowed to remain free. None of the tribesmen were prepared to bind the nephew of their Sheik, but they also made it quite clear--in the face of his reluctance to join them openly in their enterprise--that they would brook no interference. Consequently, the young Libyan rode apart from his erstwhile companions and made no effort to influence their condition. At night, he camped with the tribesmen and let one of them feed the captives and see to their needs. After a day or two of keeping to his own company, he relented and assured the men that he would willingly cooperate, writing the ransom note for them.
"I must interrogate the prisoners though," Muammar told Zufir that evening, when the campfire had burned down to embers. "If the university authorities are to give any credence to our demands, they must be certain we actually have them in our hands."
"What will you ask them?"
"I don't know, but they will have to reveal something that only they and the university authorities would know."
"Do so," Zufir said. "But Alif will accompany you."
Muammar shrugged, knowing Zufir did not fully trust him, but also that Alif understood no English.
Marc glared at Muammar when he squatted in front of the captives. "You've got a bloody nerve," he said.
"I'm disappointed," Dani said quietly. "I thought we were your friends."
"As indeed I am, Dr Hanser, but these are my uncle's men and I am in their power as are you." Muammar leaned closer, blocking Alif from seeing Dani's face. "My companion does not understand English, but he is good at interpreting facial expressions. Please maintain your belief in my worthlessness."
"No bloody difficulty there, you bastard," Marc growled.
"What are you saying to them?" Alif demanded.
"I am telling them that we do not wish them harm but require their cooperation." Alif grunted, and Muammar turned back to Dani. "If I had raised a sincere objection, I would be bound alongside you. Instead, I have a measure of freedom."
"To do what?" Daffyd asked.
"I'm working on that. In the meantime, a ransom letter will be sent to your university, demanding a thousand English pounds. Naturally, the university will need to be assured that you are really in their grasp, so you must tell us something that could only come from you."
"Can you get them to free my arms enough to let me have a smoke?" Daffyd asked. "I'm gasping for a fag."
"I think not, Dr Rhys-Williams," Muammar said with a smile. "Anyway, I'm told smoking is bad for you."
"Opinion is divided on that score, but I suppose I'll survive."
"What is he saying?" Alif asked.
"He wants to smoke."
"I will ask Zufir later."
"So," Muammar went on, "may I please have some fact from each of you by which the university will know we truly have you in captivity?"
"Hmm, I'd have to give that some thought," Dani said.
"Not too long, pl
ease, Dr Hanser." Muammar sat down on his haunches and leaned back, admiring the scattering of crystal lights scattered over the velvet heavens. He waited.
"I've got something," Daffyd said. "Tell them that on the wall of my room in the university, above my desk, is a print of Joseph Wright of Derby's 'Experiment on a Bird in an Air Pump'."
"That is an art picture? The university will be able to access your room?"
"Yes, and yes."
"What about you, Dr Andrews? Do you have something for me?"
"My address is on file at the uni. Have them contact my mother and ask what my aunt Lavinia gave me for Christmas last year. It was a god-awful yellow tie."
"I shall ask about the tie. Thank you. Dr Hanser?"
"Tell them that a Mr Parker from the Foreign Office was at the Vice-Chancellor's meeting that decided to suspend me. I don't imagine his presence is common knowledge."
"Thank you. That should suffice." Muammar rose to his feet and brushed the sand off his trousers. "Is there anything you need? Aside from Dr Rhys-Williams' addiction to tobacco?"
"How about a knife so I can cut my fingernails?" Marc growled.
Muammar smiled but did not answer.
"I'd appreciate a little bit of privacy when I need to relieve myself," Dani said, not meeting anyone's eyes. "It's not as if I'm going to run away. Where would I go?"
Muammar nodded. "I'll see what I can arrange."
The journey through the western desert of Egypt to the edge of the cultivated lands took them a week. Zufir sent two men on ahead to arrange suitable accommodation and nodded his satisfaction at the arrangements they made in the tiny village of Amr ibn El-Aas. For a small sum, the headman of the village rented out two isolated huts some distance from the dirt road that wound toward Edfu. The huts were in the middle of farmland, far enough away from other habitations that there would be no nosy neighbours carrying stories of captive foreigners to the authorities. Each hut, half derelict, had missing boards and a cracked, cobwebbed window. They contained nothing but empty sacks which had once held chemical fertiliser and pesticides, and a rickety bench that ran along one side. Spiders hung in dusty webs, but even the rats and mice common to agricultural areas had deserted the place for more fruitful climes.
The three foreigners were locked into one hut, and the tribesmen, rather than occupy the other, camped beside it. One of them went into the village to secure writing materials, and Muammar bent his head to the task of concocting a ransom note. The first part was easy--the declaration that they held the three foreigners and the demand for money. Zufir had grown greedy and now wanted a thousand pounds for himself and each of his men.
"A thousand for you too if you want it," Zufir said.
Muammar, intent on presenting a united front, rapidly agreed, writing in 'seven thousand English pounds'.
"They are to tell us immediately that they agree to our terms," Zufir went on.
"How are they to do that?"
"What do you mean?"
"Am I to put a return address on the letter so they can send a reply?" Muammar asked. "Then the police will arrive to arrest us. Or should I just put 'care of the headman'? I'm sure he won't give us away for the reward."
"What reward?"
"There is bound to be one offered. Egypt welcomes foreigners for the tourist money they bring into the country. The government is not going to be pleased you have kidnapped some."
"Then what do you suggest?" Zufir demanded.
Muammar considered the problem. "Perhaps..."
"Yes? What?"
"The government should put a notice in the Egyptian Gazette agreeing to the terms and we will then write and tell them where to leave the money."
"Yes, that is good. Write it." Zufir watched as Muammar wrote the letter, hating the fact that he could not read the flowing Arabic phrases. "Say that we will kill our prisoners unless we hear back in a week."
"Give them a month. The message has to go all the way to England, and Egyptian bureaucracy moves slowly."
Muammar continued to write, adding in the identifying information that he had been given. He read it over carefully and considered telling the authorities where they were, but decided that if the police or army stormed the huts, people were likely to be killed. He addressed it to the Minister of the Interior in Cairo.
"Why not to their university? They will be the ones paying."
"Because they are in England. The Egyptian Government must be approached first. They will talk to the English and forward the letter to them."
Zufir shrugged. "Whatever you think. Remember that you stand or fall with us."
"It is enough," he said. "Have one of the men take it into Edfu and post it. He will need to put it in an envelope, address it and put a stamp on it. He will need money for that."
"He can do that in the village."
"The village will not have a post office. Edfu does. Even then it is not a perfect solution. The post office will mark the letter as having come from Edfu and give the government a clue as to our whereabouts, but there is little we can do about that. Esna might be better, or even Luxor, as they are farther away and bigger."
"Edfu will do. The village is not Edfu." Zufir took the letter and perused the flowing script, unaware that he held the page upside down. He took it to Tahir and gave him detailed instructions.
The little group settled down into a routine. The tribesmen sat around talking and drinking coffee, or took it in turns to graze the camels. Zufir had a man guarding the prisoners at all times, keeping them locked in their dirty, pest-ridden hut, only allowing them out three times a day to relieve themselves, eat and stretch their cramped limbs. Muammar kept himself to himself, thinking. He knew that the government would react, but that their reaction might be too slow to keep the tribesmen satisfied. If the letter was even delivered to the Minister of the Interior, he would want to consult with his colleagues before replying. The chances were good that the letter had got lost somewhere in the labyrinthine convolutions of bureaucracy.
Twice a week, one of the men would go into Edfu and pick up copies of the Gazette, bringing them back for Muammar to read. So far there had been nothing in the way of a reply. If a response did not come soon, Muammar knew, Zufir might give up and kill the prisoners, vanishing back into the desert. Muammar knew he must take a chance, relying on the tribesmen's inability to read.
"There," he exclaimed when the latest batch of papers was delivered to him. "They have replied." He tapped a small news item concerning a car crash in Cairo.
Zufir grabbed the paper and stared at the printed words. "What does it say?" he demanded. "Do they agree?"
Muammar took the paper back and smoothed it out. "The government agrees to pay the money on behalf of the English university..."
Zufir let out an ululating cry of triumph, quickly picked up by the other men. The noise drowned out Muammar's words and he waited patiently for the shouting to die down before continuing.
"They say they will only pay the ransom if the prisoners are alive and in good health."
Zufir grunted. "They are, aren't they?"
"So far."
"Then that is good. Where do we tell them to leave the money?"
"Somewhere in the desert," Muammar said. "You will be able to see them approach and be certain there is no ambush planned. Pick a spot and I will write and tell them."
"Very good, Muammar al-Hadi," Zufir said. "You are good at kidnapping. We must do this again."
Muammar wrote again, explaining within the letter just what he was doing. He instructed the government to take the money to a particular rocky outcrop on the Kharga road and leave it under a certain stone that would be positioned there.
"You can set up the stone ahead of time and keep it in sight. Then you will know when they drop off the money, and can also watch for an ambush," Muammar explained to Zufir. "If you are surprised, you can easily flee into the desert."
"We take the prisoners with us? To exchange when the money has been
paid?"
"They might be an encumbrance. Better to leave them here. I will stay and guard them."
"You, Muammar al-Hadi? Why would you seek such a menial part? You will come with me and share in the handover of the money."
Muammar shrugged. "And what if something happens to the prisoners while we are gone? Your men do not understand English. We could return to find them dead."
"What would it matter? We will have the money."
"The government would be most angry. The terms are the money in exchange for live and healthy prisoners. If we broke those terms they would hunt us down."
Zufir laughed. "They could try, but the badaw� can vanish into the desert where none can follow."
"Why take the risk? Especially if they suspected we were men of Sheik ibn Hawid. Let me look after the foreigners until you return with the money. Then we can release them unharmed and disappear into the desert."
Zufir stroked his beard and considered his Sheik's nephew, weighing up the man once again. "Very well. You, Alif and Tahir will remain with them."
The new letter was sent, and more days passed until Muammar judged enough time had elapsed. He pointed to another brief article in the latest Gazette.
"They will leave the money in five days' time at the outcrop."
"Then we must leave immediately to be sure they are being honest," Zufir said, his eyes lighting up with anticipation. He took Tahir to one side and spoke to him at length before calling his men to him. They mounted their camels and rode away.
Tahir said little after his companions had left, but insisted on Muammar tending to the needs of the prisoners while he mounted a vigilant guard with his rifle.
"Tell them I will shoot if they cause trouble," Tahir said. "Tell them!" he shouted when Muammar hesitated.
"The others have gone off to pick up the ransom," Muammar told them. "This man has been left in charge and he is not a reasonable man. I ask you to give him no cause for anger."
"How long will they be gone?" Daffyd asked.
"About a week."
"And then we'll be freed? You said the ransom is being paid."
