The Amarnan Kings, Book 6: Scarab - Descendant

by Overton, Max

  A second time the jeep got stuck, and an hour later, again. Sarraj stood on the bonnet and surveyed the low dunes ahead of them before shaking his head.

  "We'll have to go around this stretch. There should be solid rock west of us."

  They turned aside, making slow progress out of the sand, and once they reached stony desert once more, headed west, skirting the borders of the sand. It cost them a day and a half, but they eventually made it back to the cliff top and continued north. The site of the second pylon lay ahead of them, now no more than a day's travel away.

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  * * *

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Ali Hafiz hung up the telephone in the Luxor army barracks, from whence he had contacted Colonel Sarraj. He thanked the switchboard operator and left the barracks, heading for his favourite caf�, which by chance was in line of sight of the museum. Sarraj had given him a task--not a difficult one, but one that would require some planning. Hafiz had no qualms about killing people; it was sometimes necessary in his line of work. He ordered a cup of coffee and croissants and sat down to think.

  He considered his targets. The two doctors from England were known quantities and neither seemed troublesome. The florid-faced Englishman in the stained white suit was an unknown but appeared to be just a middle-aged westerner without any claim to fame, while the museum man was an academic and probably a pushover. Hafiz felt relatively sure he could kill them all by himself. His favoured method of despatch was the gun, but he was equally comfortable with knife, garrotte and explosives. Poison he disdained as being a cowardly form of attack.

  Hafiz sipped his coffee and nibbled his buttered croissants, idly watching the people passing on the street. The museum would be opening soon, and a few tourists were already gathering on the steps of the building.

  A bomb would be safest. I could set it and be far away when it went off. Except the Colonel requires it to look like an accident. What else then? A shooting is going to look deliberate, so perhaps I could tamper with the brakes of a car...but whose car? The museum director's? How can I guarantee they will all be in it? Further, how can I guarantee that an accident would be fatal ?

  The museum doors opened and the tourists flocked in, eager for a sight of the exhibits. One of the museum guides came outside and stood on the steps, scanning the surroundings as if looking for someone. Hafiz frowned and shifted his chair slightly so he was sitting deeper in the shadow.

  Is he looking for me? No, I am being foolish - how could he possibly know about me ? He dismissed the man from his thoughts. It will have to be the gun then...or knife...but I must make the killings unremarkable. A mugging perhaps? Even a mugging would look suspicious if four people were killed in one incident. Could I induce them to separate? To kill them in pairs, perhaps? Or bring in someone else ...

  The museum guide walked across to a man leaning against the museum wall and spoke to him. They exchanged a few words before the guide resumed his watchful position and the man wandered off.

  Who is he waiting for ? Hafiz considered the people he knew in Luxor--people in his line of work who would be happy to shed a little blood in exchange for a few pounds. There are one or two. So, how to arrange it? I could just follow them, hoping for an opportunity, but that may never come. I must lure them, but what would bring them to a place of my choosing, unsuspecting ?

  The guide approached two fellaheen who stood near the steps and spoke with them at length before turning back to the museum, the men following him inside.

  At least he has got what he wanted. As to bait...perhaps their companions who must surely be dead in the desert. The woman thinks she left a letter for them--well, let's say I can make her believe they survived, that the letter was delivered and they came to Luxor. They would come to the museum as instructed . Something niggled at Hafiz's mind, but he thrust it away, following his thoughts. Why would they not come to the museum? Police presence? They send the woman a message to meet them at the docks...at night. She comes, we are waiting...it is finished .

  Hafiz considered the bare bones of the plan. It could work, but how would this Mr Marc know where the woman was, if they did not meet outside the museum as arranged? Leave it for now, I will think on it. She comes to the docks...I must find a suitable place--near the warehouses perhaps--with the man, but not the florid man or Zewali. I deal with those two first, and then return to the hotel and kill the others . He reached a decision, drained the cold dregs of his coffee and dabbed at the croissant crumbs on his plate with a moistened fingertip, before rising and slipping out of the caf�.

  * * *

  As Hafiz hurried off toward the docks, the two fellaheen came out of the museum, one of them clutching a sheet of paper and, with smiles on their bearded faces, set off in the opposite direction. They worked their way through the streets to a small hotel, where they looked at the sheet of paper again, and then at each other, before entering and climbing to the third floor, and room eleven.

  Nick opened the door and his eyebrows lifted slightly as he recognised the peasants he had seen outside the museum. "I think I have some friends of yours inside."

  "Marc? Is that you?" Dani called from inside the room. "My God, get in here at once."

  Daffyd shouldered past Nick and wrapped Muammar in a fierce embrace, thumping his palms on the man's back. The Libyan looked startled, and then grinned, returning the embrace. Daffyd turned back into the room where Dani and Marc were hugging and slapped his friend on the shoulder.

  "We thought you were dead, boyo. That bastard Sarraj hinted as much."

  "Tosh, Dafs," Dani chided. "I knew they weren't, whatever he said."

  "You got our letter then? I wasn't sure if you would after that snake in the grass Hafiz turned us in. I thought he might have destroyed the letter instead of giving it to the imam."

  "He tried to," Muammar said. He went on to explain the fortunate turn of events that had led to the delivery of the letter and their journey to Luxor.

  "How have you been living these past few days? If your cousin could only lend you a little money?"

  "Hand to bloody mouth," Marc said. "I looked for signs of you and Bashir during the day, while Muammar earned a pittance as a porter to enable us to eat. We slept rough."

  "All down to that bugger Hafiz," Daffyd said.

  "Indeed, Hafiz has a lot to answer for," Muammar said. "I look forward to our next meeting."

  "Ditto that," Marc growled. He turned away and sneezed.

  "Are you all right?"

  "I'm fine. Just a bit of a cold."

  "You just stay clear of Hafiz," Dani said. "With any luck we'll never see him again."

  Marc jerked his head toward Nick, who had closed the door and stood watching with an amused smile on his face. "Who's this?" he whispered.

  Daffyd made the introductions, and Nick shook hands with Marc and Muammar. "Pleased to meet you," Nick said. "Er, I know it's a bit presumptuous of me, having just been introduced and all that, but would you call me Nick rather than this dreadfully formal Mr Evans? I tend to look over my shoulder expecting to see my father when anyone says 'Mr Evans'. These two delightful people have made me thoroughly welcome and a friend of a friend and all that..."

  "Happy to, Nick," Marc said, "Provided you call me Marc. This here is Muammar." They all shook hands again.

  "Well, now that that's all out of the way," Dani said. "What do we do next?"

  "Are we still heading off today?" Daffyd asked. "Dr Zewali will be expecting to hear from us."

  "Heading off?" Marc asked.

  "Dani's figured out where the tomb is, so we're heading off to beat Bashir to it."

  "And who's Zewali?"

  "Director of the museum. He's coming with us as the official part of the group. We're all illegals, remember?"

  "Except yours truly," Nick murmured.

  "Fine, but can I get some grub first?" Marc said. "I'm bloody famished."

  "A bath and clean clothes would be much appreciated t
oo," Muammar added.

  They left the two young men to get cleaned up, while Dani and Daffyd went to buy food, and Nick plumbed the bottom of his shrinking wallet to buy some basic clothing. Dressed and cleaned, the two of them sat in Nick's room and ate steadily from the dishes of food brought up from a restaurant, while the others sat around and watched them.

  "I 'phoned Zewali," Nick said. "He recommends waiting until tomorrow morning, rather than leaving this afternoon and having to camp on the western bank."

  "Good," Marc said indistinctly, dipping a crust of bread in the gravy of a rich lamb stew. "I could do with a good night's kip in a decent bed. Speaking of which..."

  "I think I'll have to rent another room," Nick said. "We can't all squeeze in here."

  "Can you afford it?" Daffyd asked. "You've been damned generous and we've got no way of paying you back until we get back home."

  Nick nodded. "As long as we don't splash out on luxuries. I'll wire my agent for an advance on an article that'll blow his socks off. I'm sure he'll cooperate."

  Nick went off to wire his agent while the others spent pleasant hours in the hotel room catching up on the events of the last few days. The young men told of their narrow escape in the desert, first from Hafiz and then from hunger and thirst.

  "It's the first time I've eaten bugs, and believe me, it's the last."

  "It was a strange rock formation," Muammar said. "We owe it our lives--a water seep where I wouldn't have expected one, a cave, and the rocks at the top full of sparkly bits..."

  "Mica, I think," Marc added.

  Nick, who had just arrived back, spoke of his surprise at running into Dani and Daffyd in the street. That led to their story and they told of their betrayal by Hafiz and the start of their interrogation by Sarraj and Bashir.

  "Who is this Sarraj?" Marc asked.

  "An army colonel," Daffyd said, "But why he's interested is anyone's guess."

  "I know him," Muammar said. "Or rather, I think I know of him. There is talk within army ranks in Libya of an Egyptian colonel who has his eyes on the Presidential palace. Sarraj's name was mentioned, though nobody is prepared to swear he is the one. Nasser succeeded not so many years ago and he was a colonel too. Now, maybe, there is another one prepared to risk all for a great prize."

  Dani went on to describe their escape against all odds from the army barracks. Marc was particularly intrigued that Dani thought Nazim had the golden scarab in his possession.

  "I genuinely think he intended to give it back to me," Dani said.

  "But why?" Marc asked. "If he viewed it as a worthless rock he wouldn't keep it, and if he knew what it was there's no way he'd be handing it over."

  "If he's intent on handing it back, he'll try again," was Nick's opinion. "I hope he does; I'd really like to see this fabulous object I've heard so much about."

  Daffyd grinned. "You might see it, but not really see it."

  "Stop teasing the man, Dafs."

  There came a knock on the hotel door and Nick went to open it. One of the hotel porters handed him a slip of paper. Nick shut the door and turned to the others, a faint crease of puzzlement on his brow as he perused the words on it.

  "I say, Dani, do you know of another Marc Andrews in Luxor?"

  "No. Why?"

  "This is a note from Marc. Did you write it?" Nick held out the piece of paper.

  Marc scanned it. "This is bloody nonsense. Listen. 'Dear Dani, we have arrived in Luxor as per your instructions but we are unable to meet you at the museum as arranged because of a police presence. Please meet us tonight at ten o'clock at the warehouse on Al-Obouri Street. Come only with Daffyd. Yours, Mark Andrews.' Honestly, does that sound like me?"

  "It does sound a bit formal," Daffyd conceded. "What with the 'Dear' and 'Yours'..."

  "Not to mention the 'as per your instructions'," Dani added.

  "And why would I sign myself 'Mark Andrews? How many other Marcs do you know? And he miss-spelled it too--with a 'k'."

  "So who sent it?"

  "Bashir or Sarraj. Trying to recapture us," Dani said.

  "I doubt it," Daffyd said. "If they knew we were here, they'd just send the police to come and arrest us. Besides, they told us Marc and Muammar had died in the desert. They'd scarcely use their names as bait, even if they knew it wasn't true."

  "Who else then? Who knows about the rendezvous?"

  "Hafiz," Daffyd stated. "Us two, and Ali Hafiz. He read the letter we left for them in Edfu and believes them dead in the desert so he thinks he can use their names as bait."

  "Indeed, it must be Hafiz," Muammar said. He bared his teeth in a snarl. "I will go in your stead, Dr Hanser, and he will get more than he bargained for."

  "I'm going with you," Marc added. "I've got a score to settle too."

  "I'd strongly recommend ignoring it," Nick said. "Look, he's an unknown quantity, and from what you said earlier, he's proficient with a gun. Even if you surprised him, all it takes is one stray bullet and one of you is dead or injured. Even if you aren't, the police will get involved and you're illegals. Then your quest is over before it starts." Nick smiled to take away the sting of his words. "Besides, you owe me a bigger story than a waterfront mugging."

  "You'll get it," Dani said, returning Nick's smile. "And nobody's going to this meeting. I'm not risking my friends over some silly idea of revenge. He's not worth it."

  "Damn it Dani," Marc said. "He tried to kill us and turned you over to Bashir. We can't just let him go."

  "We've got more important things to worry about--like our quest. First thing tomorrow morning we're off to stop the others plundering Scarab's tomb. I won't let anything get in the way of that."

  "How did he know you were here?" Nick asked quietly.

  "What? Who?"

  "This Hafiz chappie. How did he know Dani and Daffyd were here at this hotel, in this particular room? He didn't just send a note to every hotel room in the city."

  "He's right," Daffyd said. "And that means if we don't go to meet him, the next thing that'll happen is he'll be round here looking for us. Whatever he means to do, he'd rather it was done in a dark, secluded street, but if he can't have that, my guess is he'll settle for this room."

  "Then we can't stay here," Dani exclaimed.

  "Or we eliminate him," Marc growled.

  "Like I said before," Muammar stated.

  "I think we've got to do something, lass," Daffyd said. "We're caught in a bit of a cleft stick."

  "We could go to another hotel."

  "Insufficient funds, old chap," Nick said. "At least, until my agent wires me some readies."

  "We could leave anyway, even if we had nowhere to go. If he can't find us, he can't do anything."

  "And what if this Hafiz chappie is watching the hotel?" Nick asked.

  "If I see him, I'll nobble him," Marc said.

  "And if he's hired some thug to watch the hotel? He'll just follow us and report back to Hafiz."

  "I'll go and see him--alone," Dani said. "He may not mean us harm. He may have some other motive."

  "There's no way you're seeing him alone, lass," Daffyd said. "Besides, he asked for me too."

  "And Muammar and I are going as back-up," Marc declared.

  "He'll spot you and disappear."

  "Unless you go back to being simple fellaheen," Nick said with a grin. "If he never spotted you around the museum, your disguise must be good. He'll never suspect a couple of lounging peasants."

  "And what's your role, Nick?"

  "Me? I'll be there to cover the story. Lots of action and excitement, don't you know?"

  They debated just what they were going to do, how they were going to approach Ali Hafiz and how they were going to get the better of him. Marc pointed out that they had numbers on their side.

  "We're four to one--five to one if you count Dani."

  "Just you try not counting me," she muttered.

  "And if he has accomplices?"

  "Then we'll just have to deal with them to
o."

  "He'll have a gun."

  Marc shrugged. "We still have to deal with him."

  Muammar enquired about the possibility of buying a gun. He explained that his people were usually armed and knew how to use firearms. Even a pistol would lower the odds, he said. Nick explained that even if they had the money to buy one, he had not the faintest idea where to look for it.

  They talked about other possibilities--threatening him with a steak knife filched from a caf�, finding wooden staves or even rocks, a coil of rope to tie him up--but could reach no real conclusions.

  "I think we're going to have to play it by ear," Daffyd said. "We can't know what's possible until we see the situation."

  "Let's just hope it's not too late by then," Marc muttered.

  At eight o'clock, Marc and Muammar changed back into their fellaheen clothes and slipped out of the hotel, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. They would make their way down to Al-Obouri Street and saunter along its length with Muammar chattering inconsequentially in Arabic. If they spotted Hafiz, they'd attempt to keep him in sight but, on Dani's insistence, promised not to take any overt action until the others turned up.

  An hour later, Nick, Dani and Daffyd walked out of the hotel quite openly and turned in the direction of the warehouse. A street or two later, Nick bade them a loud farewell in case they were being watched, and turned down a side street. As soon as he was out of sight, he doubled back and observed Dani and Daffyd walk into Al-Obouri Street.

  The street was well-lit at either end, street lights casting bright pools of light over road and pavement, but in the middle, near a number of cliff-sided warehouses, the road disappeared into inky blackness, the darkness alleviated only by the faint orange glow of the surrounding city. Their footsteps sounded loud on the pavement, far louder than the hum of nightlife that leaked through the gaps in the buildings, the sound echoing off the warehouse walls.