The Amarnan Kings, Book 6: Scarab - Descendant

by Overton, Max

  Colonel Sarraj pored over a map of the area back in his office at the army barracks, listening to reports coming in from the field, crossing off houses and streets one by one as the inhabitants were sieved and discarded in the search for the fugitives. The telephone rang and, in the absence of a secretary, Sarraj answered it himself.

  "Yes? I'm busy; keep it short."

  "You'll make time for me, Colonel Sarraj." The silky voice over the wires snapped Sarraj to attention.

  "General Gamal. Of course, sir. How may I assist you?"

  "I have a report in front of me of rioting in Luxor. What's happening?"

  "There is some disturbance, sir, but nothing that can't be contained. An escaped prisoner went to ground in the bazaar and I've instituted a search."

  "Who is the prisoner?"

  Sarraj paused. "A man and a woman wanted for entering the country illegally."

  "Sounds like a police matter to me. Why involve the army?"

  "One of my men was attacked by their accomplices. I thought it proper to involve myself."

  The general grunted. "Leave it to the police--that's my advice. What are you doing in Luxor anyway? Your regiment is in Cairo."

  "I would rather not say over an open line, sir."

  The general paused. "I hope you have a very good reason for being away from your station, Colonel."

  "I do."

  "Very well. You may send me a couriered report explaining your reasons. In the meantime, hand over control of that fiasco in Luxor to the police. Let them carry the blame if the fugitives escape."

  Sarraj hung up and pushed the map away from him, thinking about his options. I can delay a report a week, maybe two or more--and I can invent some plausible reason anyway. Will that be enough time? Relinquishing control to the police need not be a problem. If I don't find the woman in the bazaar, I can have the docks and roads out watched. She'll turn up sooner or later, and even if she doesn't, it may not matter . He decided to continue searching until sunset and then allow the police to take over.

  * * *

  Dani and Daffyd ducked behind a curtained stall a few yards into the bazaar and gathered their wits. The stallholder, a silversmith, sensed an opportunity and tried to sell them some of his wares, holding out little coffee pots or plates, jewellery or cups, and jabbered away at them in Arabic. Dani tried to ignore him.

  "What now? They're going to be after us in a few seconds."

  "I don't know, lass. We're back to being penniless and without anything save what we're wearing. We need to find somewhere to hole up and get these chains off. We're a bit conspicuous with them on."

  "How's your hand?"

  The chains clinked as Daffyd raised his hand to look at his bruised fingers. "Funnily enough, it doesn't hurt much. The fingers look bad but..." he moved them experimentally and winced, "...the pain isn't nearly as bad as I anticipated."

  They heard raised voices and the sound of running booted feet, and slipped away, down a narrow alley, trying to hide their chains from people. They attracted many stares, and a few people called out to them, but the sounds of potential pursuit died away and they found refuge in a crowded market, standing and looking at a stall filled with baskets of produce.

  "I think we're in trouble," Dani murmured.

  "I wonder if anybody would sell us a bolt cutter." Daffyd said.

  "Maybe if we had money." Dani rattled her chains as she examined the linkages, searching in vain for a weakness.

  "I wonder if I might be of assistance."

  They turned, startled at the English voice, and found themselves looking at a florid-faced man in a wrinkled white suit and homburg. The man smiled and raised his hat, revealing tousled sandy-coloured hair.

  "Pardon me for intruding on a private conversation, but I couldn't help hearing you say you were in trouble. I'm only too happy to help a fellow Englishman out--and a lovely lady of course."

  "Er...and you are...?"

  "Yes, of course...proper introductions...I'm Nicholas Evans. I regret to say I've left my business cards at my hotel, but I daresay you'll take my word for it."

  Daffyd nodded. "Of course." He hesitated, wondering whether they could trust the man. Evans was looking at them expectantly, so he cleared his throat and said, "Sorry, yes. My name is Jones, William Jones, and this is my er, wife Marjorie. We er, had a spot of bother with the police--lost our passports, you see--and er, ended up with these." He held up his handcuffs and chain.

  "Dear me," Evans said, raising his eyebrows. "That won't do at all. You must be the cause of all the hoo-hah going on a street or two over. You can't just explain the problem to the police?"

  "They don't believe us. We need to get these chains off and get to the British Consulate."

  Evans smiled and raised his hat again. "Well, I can't leave a lovely lady, and countrymen to boot, in such a fix. May I invite you to my hotel--it's just around the corner? We could have a cup of tea and chat about what to do."

  "We don't want to get you into any trouble," Dani said. "Our chains are a little conspicuous."

  "Hmm, perhaps some disguise is called for." Evans purchased a few lengths of cheap cotton cloth from a nearby stall and draped it over their hands and arms in such a way as to look as if they were carrying the fabric. "That should suffice, I think."

  Evans' hotel was a small, homely establishment a stone's throw from the bazaar and, despite the prevalence of armed patrols starting to close off the streets; they managed to walk past without being challenged. Possibly they were aided by the fact that at that time, the police were looking for a man and a woman, rather than a party of three Europeans. At the hotel, Evans took Dani and Daffyd up to his room--third floor, room eleven--and ordered a pot of tea and a plate of biscuits to be sent up.

  "It would be more comfy down in the hotel lounge, but I think until we can divest you of your, uh, jewellery, we should be more circumspect."

  "We're very grateful, Mr, er, Evans," Dani said, "But I don't understand why you're going to such trouble for us. If the police or army catch you, they won't be happy."

  "My dear Mrs Jones, didn't I make myself clear? You are countrymen and...er, countrywoman, of mine, in trouble over some silly misunderstanding. If I can help in any way, then I'm delighted to be of service."

  There was a knock on the door, and Evans opened it to reveal a porter carrying a tray with tea, three cups, and a plate spilling over with almond and sesame biscuits.

  "Ah, capital. On the table if you please, Abdul. Thank you." Evans slipped the porter a coin and showed him out. "Now, Mrs Jones...may I call you Marjorie...would you like to be 'mother' and pour the tea? Help yourselves to biscuits. I'll pop out for a bit and see if I can't find something to use on those chains of yours." Evans tipped his hat and hurried out, closing the door behind him.

  Dani shrugged and poured the tea. She almost knocked the pot over with her chains as she picked up her cup, but cradled it in both hands and sipped the hot liquid. Daffyd stirred plenty of sugar into his and wolfed down half a dozen biscuits before sitting back and guzzling his tea.

  "Ah, that hits the spot," he said, smacking his lips. He took another biscuit and dunked it, slurping up the soggy mass before it could crumble.

  Dani looked pensive as she nibbled on an almond biscuit. "What do you think of this Evans chap? Can we trust him?"

  "Not sure about that." Daffyd poured himself another cup, this time with only a little bit of sugar. "He turned up exactly when he was needed, which is a little suspicious. He might be in league with Sarraj or Bashir."

  "If he was, he'd have handed us over immediately." Dani refilled her cup and settled back as comfortably as she could. "There's another way of looking at it, Dafs. We escaped because of the golden scarab and it brought us to this man. It channelled the power of the gods..."

  "We escaped through pure luck, lass. No need to read anything else into it."

  "Nazim had the scarab though--I felt it. I reached out and prayed to Atum and the guard s
tumbled and fell on the table, breaking it..."

  "That was fortuitous, I admit..."

  "...and then Sarraj shoots Bashir..."

  "Remind me to thank him," Daffyd said with a laugh.

  "...and I clobber him with my chains."

  "A lucky shot."

  "That was the gods helping us, not blind luck. And what about your hand? Dislocated fingers should hurt like billy-o. Do they?"

  Daffyd frowned and found he could now move his fingers without pain. Even the bruising and swelling had lessened. "That's odd."

  "Just accept the gods were helping us."

  Daffyd snorted but did not laugh. "If you say so, lass, but are you really sure Nazim had the scarab?"

  "I saw it. He was going to give it to me, but you yanked me away before he could."

  "Hmm, so if the scarab is still in Nazim's possession, how did it influence this Evans chap? I thought that you had to have it close for it to work."

  "So did I."

  "Can you still feel it?" Daffyd asked. "Can you still make it work?"

  Dani put her cup down and concentrated, reaching out with her mind, feeling for the familiar texture of the scarab's presence. "It's not there," she said in a stricken voice. "Or rather, it is there, very faintly, but I can't grasp it with my mind."

  "Don't stress out over it, lass. It came when you needed it--it'll come again."

  Evans returned, brandishing some small metal tools. "This should do the trick." He looked in the pot and dribbled a few sips of cooling stewed tea into a cup and dashed it off with a sigh. "Once we have these chains off you, we'll head out for a bite to eat."

  Daffyd picked up the tiny tools and examined them. "What are these?"

  Evans winked. "Some people might call them burglar's tools. They all have other uses of course, now...let's see." He seated himself comfortably and picked up the tools, inserting them gently into the lock on one of Dani's handcuffs. The metal clicked and scraped against the mechanism.

  "That actually works?"

  "Shh." Evans was not looking at the tools, but rather listening to the faint sounds and feeling their resistance against the tiny tumblers of the lock mechanism. "Ahh, there..." One handcuff sprang open and he moved on to the next. He took less time to spring this lock and only minutes more to free Daffyd.

  "I could have made a living at this," Evans said with a grin.

  "So what is it you actually do?" Daffyd asked, rubbing his wrists where the metal had chafed them.

  Evans looked around and slid a slightly battered looking business card out from the pages of a book where it was keeping his place. He slid it across the table. "Nicholas Evans Esquire, freelance journalist, at your service."

  Dani looked at Daffyd. "This could be just what we need," she said quietly. "Blow this thing wide open."

  Daffyd considered her words. "Go public, you mean? Force them to be honest?"

  "As we originally planned in Damascus."

  "This sounds rather interesting," Evans commented. "Go public about what, if I might ask?"

  "Mr Evans..."

  "Nick, please."

  "Nick then...I'm afraid we haven't been totally honest with you."

  "You mean you're not Welsh?"

  Daffyd grinned. "You think I'm putting this accent on, boyo? That's not our secret."

  "Our names aren't Marjorie and William Jones, Nick," Dani said. "We're not even married."

  "Well, I'm broadminded."

  "Nick, I'm trying to tell you something. Will you just shut up and listen?"

  Nick said nothing--just smiled.

  "My name is Danielle Hanser and this is Daffyd Rhys-Williams..."

  "By George!" Nick leapt to his feet, dropping his cup. "The Syrian account? Scarab and Smenkhkare?"

  Now it was Daffyd's turn to leap up. "How the devil do you know about that?"

  "It's a long story."

  "We've got the time."

  Nick nodded. "I'll tell you, if you'll tell me your story."

  "So you can print it?"

  "That's what journalists do, but I'll run the finished article past you first."

  "Then, Nick, you have a deal," Dani said. "Now, you said something about getting a meal? I'm famished."

  Return to Contents

  * * *

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Colonel Sarraj handed over the search to the local police at sunset. The bazaar had been closed down and scoured amidst sporadic rioting and violence, and house to house searches conducted in all the neighbouring streets, without result. Another call had been received from General Gamal in Cairo, and the tone of the conversation deteriorated markedly when the general learned that Sarraj was still pursuing the fugitives against his express advice. Gamal made it plain that he would brook no further recalcitrance on the issue, and ordered the colonel to terminate his involvement in the pursuit of the fugitives and fax his report on why he had deserted his regiment to him by the following morning.

  Sarraj seethed at this order and cast around for ways of delaying the inevitable. Unless he could find a very good reason for not faxing the report, Gamal might order him back to Cairo, just when the location of the tomb might be within his grasp. Al-Din had hinted at a discovery concerning the tomb, so a week or two might see enough gold in his hands to launch his coup and then it would be Gamal's career in danger. He called Lieutenant Azib to him and posed a question.

  "What military threats are imminent in this region?"

  "Er, none, sir." Azib looked perplexed and wondered what he could have missed. "None that I know of, sir," he amended.

  "Find something."

  "Sir?"

  "I need a reason to be incommunicado for a few days, but I cannot just invent a reason. If, however, there was an official report of trouble, I could investigate..." Sarraj paused and looked at his aide. "Have that report on my desk within the hour, so I can fax it through to Cairo."

  "Yes, sir," Azib saluted and left, his face screwed up with worry.

  Fifty minutes later, he laid a manila folder in front of Colonel Sarraj. It contained a single sheet of paper with an outline of an attack made on the Kharga Oasis by armed Bedouin two days before. The commander of the Kharga garrison had, despite suffering the loss of several men and all communications, managed to sneak a message through the hostile forces. What made this attack more than a simple case of clan rivalry was the sighting within the attacking party of a known agent of the Free Officers Movement--a revolutionary organisation within neighbouring Libya. This Movement was opposed to Libya's King Idris, and in light of the friendly relations between their countries, the commander felt some military response was called for.

  Sarraj scanned the report and nodded. "Nobody in their right mind would believe this, but it will do. Send it through to General Gamal and tell him I have taken a squad of soldiers out to relieve Kharga. Tell him I will have this report, and the one he asked for, faxed through to him when I return--probably a week or ten days. When you've sent the fax, disable the machine, and have a technician route all calls from General Gamal straight through to my telephone. No one else is to speak to him--it is a matter of State Security."

  He sent for Lieutenant Al-Din and quizzed him about the discovery Bashir had made. Al-Din could shed no light on the matter though, saying he had been asked to pass a message on, no more.

  "I think you will have to see the Minister, Colonel."

  Sarraj thought of sending for Bashir, but decided he did not want him back at the army barracks from whence his prisoners had escaped. He took Al-Din with him and made his way to the hotel. Bashir and his secretary were in the minister's room, poring over maps when Sarraj arrived.

  "You've found something?" Sarraj asked, wasting no time on small talk.

  "Perhaps. Tell him, Nazim."

  "You will recall that the description spoke of a streak of green and a notch in the cliff top as pointers to the tomb?"

  "I remember. What of it?"

  "It was a mistranslation. The
symbol for 'notch' and the one for 'pylon' are similar, so it appears we are really searching for a pylon on the cliff top."

  "What is a pylon?"

  "A temple gateway--a man-made structure."

  "That should be easier to identify."

  "Unless it has crumbled into ruins," Nazim said. "There are no existing pylons on the cliff top in the region we've been looking at, but we've identified three places where they once existed." Nazim pointed at the map. "One here, just north of Edfu, used to be a small temple to the goddess Nut, this one a little south of Esna, thought to be dedicated to Min, and a possible site a little north of Esna--a shrine to Khepri."

  Sarraj studied the map. "You said before that the region between Esna and Edfu was the most likely place for the tomb. That encompasses the pylons to Nut and Min. the other is outside the area. You agree?"

  "That was my thinking," Bashir said.

  "Then we should move on this quickly, before the Englishwoman can."

  "Dr Hanser? I doubt she's going to be a problem. She's probably in hiding somewhere, afraid to show her face. She is here illegally, with no funds and no backing. What can she possibly do?"

  "There is another reason for haste," Sarraj said. "My superior in Cairo is nosing around. We must find the tomb quickly or I will be unable to help you."

  Bashir regarded Sarraj coolly. "I daresay we could manage."

  "Do not even think of reneging on our deal, Ahmed," Sarraj said softly. "You provide the location, I provide the logistics, remember? Equal shares."

  "Of course, Michel. I only meant...I wouldn't dream of cutting you out. We need each other."