by Wilbur Smith
his fingers closed over it, and then let out a sigh of relief.
"Sapper, for a moment there you were very close to death. I would have
broken your neck with my own hands." He thrust the key into the ignition
lock and turned it to the pre-heat position, waiting for the coil light
on the dashboard to turn from red to green.
"Come on!" he muttered impatiently. Those few seconds of delay seemed
like a lifetime. Then the green light flashed and he twisted the key to
start.
The engine fired at the first turn and Nicholas hooted, "Full marks,
Sapper. All is forgiven."
He gave the machine time to warm up to optimum operating temperature,
slitting his eyes against the rain as he waited and looking around at
the hills above him, fearful that the sound of the engine might bring
Nogo's gorillas swarming down on him. However, there was no sign of life
on the rainswept heights.
He eased the tractor into her lowest gear and turned her down the bank.
Below the dam wall the water that was finding its way through the gaps
was less than hub-deep.
The tractor bounced and ground its way through the boulder-strewn
watercourse. Nicholas stopped the machine in the middle of the river bed
while he studied the downstream face of the dam wall for its weakest
section.
Then he' lined up below the centre of the wall, at'the point where
Sapper had shored up the raft of logs with rows of gabions.
"Sorry for all your hard work," he apologized to Sapper, as he
manoeuvred the steel scoop of the tractor to the right height and angle
before attacking the wall. He worried the gabion he had selected out of
its niche in the row, reversing and thrusting at it until he could get
the scoop under it and drag it free. He pulled away and dropped the
heavy wire mesh basket over the waterfall, then drove back and renewed
the attack.
It was slow work. The pressure of the water had wedged in the gabions,
keying them into the wall so it took almost ten minutes to free the
second basket. As he dropped that one over the waterfall, he glanced for
the first time at the fuel gauge on the dashboard of the tractor and his
heart sank. It was registering empty. Sapper must have neglected to
refuel it: either he had exhausted the fuel supply or he had not
expected ever to use the machine again when he abandoned it.
Even as Nicholas thought about it the engine stuttered as it starved. He
reversed it sharply, changing the angle of inclination so that the
remaining fuel in the tank could slosh forward. The engine caught and
cleared, running smoothly and strongly once again. Quickly he changed
gear and ran back at the wall.
"No more time for finesse," he told himself grimly.
"From here on in it's brute force and muscle."
By removing two of the gabions he had exposed a corner of the log raft
behind them. This was the vulnerable and part of the wall. He worked the
hydraulic controls lifted the scoop to its highest travel. Then he
lowered it carefully, an inch at a time; until it hooked over the end of
the thickest log in the jam. He locked the hydraulics and thrust the
tractor into reverse, gradually pouring on full power until the engine
was roaring and blowing out a cloud of thick blue diesel smoke.
Nothing gave. The log was jammed solidly and the wall was held together
by the keying of the gabions into each other and the enormous pressure
of water behind them. Despairingly, Nicholas kept the throttle wide
open.
The lugged tyres spun and skidded on the boulders under them, throwing a
tall shower of spray high into the air and churning out loose rock and
gravel.
"Come on!" Nicholas pleaded with the machine. "Come on! You can do it."
The engine beat faltered again as she starved for fuel.
She spluttered and coughed, and almost stalled.
"Please!" Nicholas begged her aloud. "One more try." Almost as if it had
heard him, the engine fired again, ran unevenly for a few moments, and
then abruptly bellowed at full power again.
That's it, my beauty," Nicholas yelled, as it lurched hammered against
the wall.
an With a sound like a cannon shot the log snapped and the top end of it
flew out of the wall, leaving a long, deep hole through which the river
poured triumphantly, a thing -'solid column of dirty grey water.
"Thar she blows!" Nicholas shouted, jumping down from the driver's seat.
He knew there was not enough time left for him to drive the tractor out
of the river bed. He could move more quickly on his own feet.
The current seized his legs, trying to pull them out from under him. It
was like one of those childhood nightmares when monsters were pursuing
him and, despite his every effort, his legs would only move in slow
motion.
He glanced back over his shoulder, and at that instant he saw the
central section of the dam wall burst, blowing outward in a violent
eruption of furious waters. He struggled on another few paces towards
the bank before the deep and turbulent tide picked him up. He was
helpless in its grip. It swept him away, over the waterfall and down,
down into the hungry maw of the chasm.
these are the royal crook and sceptre of the Pharaoh," cried von
Schiller in a voice that was gusty and faint with emotion as he lifted
them out of the cedarwood chest.
"And this is his false beard and his ceremonial pectoral Wo, emblem."
Nahoot knelt beside him on the floor of the tomb under the great statue
of Osiris. All the ill feelings between them were forgotten in the
wonder of the moment as they examined the fabulous treasures of Egypt.
"This is the greatest archaeological discovery of all time," von
Schiller whispered, his voice tremulous. He pulled his handkerchief from
his pocket and dabbed at the perspiration of excitement that trickled
down his cheeks.
"There is years of work here," Nahoot told him seriously. "This
incredible collection will have to be catalogued and evaluated. It will
be known for ever as the von Schiller hoard. Your name will be
perpetuated for all time.
it is like the Egyptian dream of immortality. You will never be
forgotten. You will live for ever."
A rapturous expression crossed von Schiller's features.
He had not considered' that possibility. Up until this moment he had not
considered sharing this treasure with anybody, except in his particular
way with Utte Kemper, but Nahoot's words had awakened in him the old
impossible dream of eternity. Perhaps he might make arrangements for it
to be made accessible to the public - but only after his own death,
naturally.
Then he thrust the temptation aside. He would not debase this treasure
by making it available to the common rabble. It had been assembled for
the funeral of a pharaoh.
Von Schiller saw himself as the modern equivalent of a pharaoh.
"No!" he told Nahoot violently. "This is mine, all mine.
When I die it will go with me, all of it. I have made the arrangements
already, in my will. My sons kn
ow what to do. This will all be with me
in my own grave. My royal grave.
Nahoot stared at him aghast. He had not realized until that moment that
the old man was mad, that his obsessions had driven him over the edge of
sanity. But the Egyptian knew that there was no point in arguing with
him now later he would find a way to save this marvelous treasure from
the oblivion of another tomb. So he bowed his.head in mock acquiescence.
"You are right, Hell von Schiller. That is the only fitting manner to
dispose of it. You deserve that form of burial. However, our main
concern now must be to get all of it to safety. Helm has warned us about
the danger of the river, of the dam bursting. We must call him and Nogo.
Nogo's men must clear out the tomb. We can ferry the treasure in the
helicopter up to the Pegasus camp, where. I can pack it securely for the
journey to Germany."
"Yes. Yes." Von Schiller scrambled to his feet, suddenly terrified at
the prospect of being deprived of this wondrous hoard by the flooded
river. "Send the monk, what is his name, Hansith, send him to call Helm.
He must come at once."
Nahoot jumped up to his feet. "Hansith!" he shouted.
"Where are you?"
The monk had been waiting at the entrance to the burial chamber,
kneeling in prayer before the empty sarcophagus which had contained the
body of the saint. He was torn now between religious conviction and
greed.
When he heard his name called he genuflected deeply, and then rose and
hurried back to join von Schiller and Nahoot.
"You must go back to the Pool where we left the others-' Nahoot started
to relay the orders, but suddenly a strange, distracted expression
crossed Hansith's darkly handsome features and he held up his hand for
silence.
"What is it?" Nahoot demanded angrily. "What is it that you can hear?"
Hansith shook his head. "Be quiet! Listen! Can't you hear it?"
"There is nothing-' Nahoot began, but then broke off suddenly, and wild
terror filled his dark eyes.
There was the softest sound, gentle as the sigh of a summer zephyr,
lulling and low.
"What do you hear?" von Schiller demanded. His hearing had long ago
deteriorated, and the sound was far beyond the range of his old ears.
"Water!" whispered Nahoot."Running water!'
"The river!" shouted Hansith. "The tunnel is floodingr He whirled round
and went bounding down the funeral arcade with long, lithe strides.
"We will be trapped in here!" screamed Nahoot, and raced after him.
"Wait for me," von Schiller yelled, and tried to follow.
But he soon fell behind the two much younger men.
The monk, however, was far ahead of both of them as he took the flight
of stairs up from the gas trap two at a time.
"Hansith! Come back! I order you," Nahoot cried despairingly in his
wake, but he caught only a flash of the monk's white robe as he darted
into the first twist of the labyrinth.
"Guddabi, where are you?" von Schiller's voice quavered and echoed
through the stone corridors. But Nahoot did not reply as he ran on in
the direction which he thought the monk had taken, passing the first
turn in the maze without even glancing at the chalk marks on the wall.
He thought he heard Hansith's racing footsteps ahead of him, but by the
time he had turned the third corner he knew he was lost.
He stopped with his heart racing savagely and the bitter gall of terror
in the back of his throat.
"Hansith! Where are you?"he screamed wildly.
Von Schiller's voice came back to him, ringing weirdly down the
passageways, "Guddabi! Guddabi! Don't leave me here."
"Shut up!" he screamed. "Keep quiet, you old fool!'
Panting heavily, the blood pounding in his ears, he
111, Timor:
tried to listen for the sound of Hansith's feet. But he heard only the
sound of the river. The gentle susurration seemed to emanate from the
very walls around him.
"No! Don't leave me here," he screamed, and began to run without
direction, panic-stricken, through the maze.
/4' ansith took each twist and'turn unerringly, with the terror of
dreadful death driving his 7 feet. But at the head of the central
staircase his ankle twisted under him and he fell heavily. He tumbled
down the steeply inclined shaft, bumping and rolling the full length,
gathering speed as he went until he reached the bottom and lay sprawled
on the agate tiles of the long gallery.
He dragged himself to his feet, bruised and shaken by the fall, and
tried to run on. But his leg gave way under him again, and he fell in a
tangle. His ankle was badly sprained and would not carry his weight.
Nevertheless he dragged himself up a second time and hobbled down the
gallery, supporting himself with one hand on the shattered wall.
When he reached the doorway and crawled through it on to the landing
beside the generator the sound of the water came up the tunnel. It was
much louder now - a low, reverberating growl which almost blotted out
the soft, discreet hum of the generator.
"Sweet loving Christ and the Virgin, save me!" he pleaded as he
staggered and lurched down the tunnel, falling twice more before he
reached the lower level.
On his knees he peered ahead, and in the glare of the electric lights
strung along the roof of the tunnel he could make out the sink-hole
below him. He did not at first recognize it, for it had all changed. The
water level was no longer lower than the paved floor on which he
sprawled. It was brimming, a great swirling maelstrom, and the water
pouring into it was being sucked away through the hidden outlet almost
as fast as it entered from the tunnel mouth on the far side. The pontoon
bridge was tangled and half, submerged, bobbing and canting and rearing
as it fought its retaining cables like an unbroken horse on a tether.
From Taita's pool'a roaring river of water was boring down the far
branch of the tunnel across the sink-hole.
The tunnel was flooding rapidly, the water already reaching halfway up
the walls, but he knew that it was the only escape route from the tomb.
Every moment he delayed, the flood became stronger.
"I have to get out through there." He pushed himself to his feet again.
He reached the first pontoon of the bridge, but it was careering about
so madly that he dared not attempt to remain upright upon it. He dropped
to his hands and knees, crawled out on to the flimsy structure and
managed to drag himself forward from one pontoon to the next, "Please
God and St. Michael help me. Don't let me die like this," he prayed
aloud. He reached the far side of the sink'hole and groped for a
handhold on the roughly hewn walls of the tunnel.
He found a hold with his fingertips and pulled himself into the mouth of
the tunnel, but now the full force of the water pouring down the shaft
struck his lower body. He hung there for a moment, pinned by the raging
waters, unable to move a pace forward. He knew that if his grip failed
he would be swept back into the sink-hole and sucked down into those
The electric bulbs strung along the roof of the tunnel ahead of him
still burned brightly, so that he could see almost to the open basin of
Taita's pool where the bamboo -scaffolding would offer escape to the top
of the chasm. It was only two hundred feet ahead of him. He gathered all
his strength and pulled himself forward against the raging waters,
reaching forward from one precarious handhold to
the next. His fingernails tore and the flesh smeared from the tips of
his fingers on the jagged rock, but he forced his way onwards.
At last he could see daylight ahead of him, filtering from Taita's pool.
Only another forty feet to go, and he realized with a surge of relief
and joy that he was going to make it out of the deadly trap of the
shaft. Then he heard a fresh sound, a harsher, more brutal roar as the
full flood of the burst dam poured down the waterfall into Taita's pool.
It found the entrance to the tunnel and came down it in a solid wave,
filling the passageway to the roof, ripping out the wiring of the lights
and plunging Hansith into darkness.
It struck him with such force that it seemed to be not mere water but
the solid rock of an avalanche, and he could not resist it. It tore him
from his insecure perch and plucked him away, tossing him backwards,
spinning him down the length of the shaft that he had gained with so
much effort, and hurling him into the sink-hole beyond.
He was swirled end over end by the crazed waters. In the darkness and
wild confusion he did not know which direction was up and which down,
but it made no difference for he could not swim against its power, Then
the sink'hole seized him full in its grip and sucked him swiftly and
deeply down. The pressure of the water began to crush him. One of his
eardrums burst, and as he opened his mouth to scream at the agony of it
the water spurted down his throat and flooded his lungs. The last thing
he ever felt was when he was flung against the side wall of the
sink-hole, travelling as fast as the falling waters, and the bones of
his right shoulder shattered. He could not scream again through his
sodden lungs, but soon the pain faded into oblivion.
As his corpse was drawn swiftly through the subterranean shaft it became
mangled and "dismembered on the jagged rock sides, and was no longer
