by C J Turner
The hapless Sipah cowered closer to the rocks where he had fallen, as if hoping that they would shield him from his master’s wrath, but before the hideous threat could be carried out, the strange old man emitted a hoarse exclamation of satisfaction.
‘Hold, do not be so hasty, my friend. Your servant has done well and should be rewarded, not punished,’ his bony hand was shaking with excitement as it tightened on the turquoise amulet, and triumphantly he raised his clenched fist above his head in exultation.
‘This is the one! I have found it! At last, I have that which was stolen from me and now nothing will stop me from finding her again!’
Chapter 13
Blake settled himself on a convenient boulder and peered down into the gloom. The land fell away steeply below him and even without the aid of the night binoculars, he could see the dim glow of the camp. Using that as his starting point, he scanned out, leaning forward slightly in his concentration to find his mark.
So deeply preoccupied was he with his search, that he had no forewarning before the stunning blow to his head toppled him to the ground.
Amunet winced in sympathy as she watched them roughly haul Blake’s body away. She had come up too late to warn him and could only stand helplessly by as his recumbent body was dragged relentlessly back down the path.
‘Am I entirely surrounded by witless fools?’ screamed the grey man as the prisoner was thrown in front of him. ‘Did I tell you to bring him here? Did I? You fools, now he has seen me! Get rid of him, get rid of him for good, once and for all!’
Blake stumbled to his knees, allowing his head to loll helplessly as he flicked a quick glance to either side.
He had recovered a little, and although he had a colossal headache and could feel a cold patch on the back of his head and something wet trickling down his neck, he was already weighing up the opposition.
He recognised Sipah as one of his own men, mistakenly as was now obvious, who was crouched against the rocks watching the scene sullenly from behind a puffy split lip. Excellent, thought Blake. Behind them in the black interior of the canyon, he sensed movement and muffled noises that suggested donkeys and their attendants. So, the two in front of him, who seemed to be in charge of operations, Sipah (who did not appear to be in great shape), the muleteers and the two thugs behind him. The Professor thought that in his present state, the odds were not in his favour. His surroundings were behaving oddly, suddenly zooming in close, then receded rapidly away, leaving him giddy and disorientated.
One thing though, he was certain of. The grey person in the blood stained robe, who was still berating his henchmen with such vituperative abuse that they had backed away in terror, was known to Blake and he watched him with dawning suspicion.
The crazy old man had stopped hopping around dementedly waving his arms in the air, and was now crouched possessively over something he kept pawing at in his hand, still mumbling incessantly under his breath. He had seemed oblivious to the mayhem going on around him but now he looked up impatiently and muttered something to his grey companion, who nodded and called his men to order. When the old man passed close by, such an unpleasant, noxious stench emanated from his filthy rags that for a moment Blake felt he was about to vomit. By the time he had himself under control, the situation had moved on.
It seemed that his two assailants had got their orders wrong. Their master had not intended them to bring the living body of the Professor before him. They were to rectify their error immediately. In the meantime, the rest of the party would go ahead and the two unfortunates would have to catch up as best they could. It seemed to Blake that his guards relaxed a little when they heard this, and he guessed that they did not care for this night sojourn in the lonely, haunted hills of ancient Thebes, and would not rush to follow their master to the rendevous.
Anxious to make up for their earlier lapse, the two thugs now hurried to carry out their orders with alacrity; one on either side of him, they roughly seized his arms and dragged him back up the cliff path. He made himself a dead weight and concentrated on getting ready to make a break for it, if a chance presented itself.
The men were sweating hard when they at last rounded a corner and Blake, lifting his head slightly, saw the ground ahead abruptly fall away with nothing beyond except the deep blue, silver studded bowl of the night sky. His two guards stopped and shifted position so that now they were behind, pushing him forward.
It was now or never. Blake tensed, digging his heels in, but before he could make a move, a dark shape came plummeting down from above, colliding heavily with the man on his right. His head smashed against the rock face, and he subsided with a painful grunt.
His partner was still holding Blake’s left arm at a painful angle behind his back and now he swung the Professor round to face this new adversary. But Blake suddenly jerked his full weight back, taking his captor by surprise and crushing him against the cliff face. Twisting round, he drove his fist repeatedly into the man’s face, aware that the other member of the gang was on his feet again and stumbling towards him.
***
‘Did you have to push them over the side of the cliff?’ Blake expostulated accusingly. ‘That’s called murder, you know!’
They were in a small cave they had found, set well back from the path that wound round the cliff edge.
‘No, it’s called self-defence, actually! Anyway, better them than us, and I did not push them exactly – more guided! It was not my fault that they ran in the wrong direction. Anyway, I noticed that you were not holding back, especially when the first one recovered and tried to brain me with the rock. I must say, you’re still pretty fit for your age!’ Amunet countered mischievously. She was dressed in the vest and shorts she had worn under her robe, and was squatting by his side attempting to tear strips off the said robe for bandages.
The cloth was proving tough and Blake, ruefully rubbing his skinned knuckles, watched with fascination as she raised the material impatiently to her mouth and tore it between sharp little teeth.
Blake winced.
‘Oh, I couldn’t let you have all the fun – we geriatrics like to get some action too sometimes!’ he replied absently, unable to tear his eyes away.
Mistaking his expression, she looked up and grinned at him, happily unrepentant.
‘Anyway, I can live with that – they were trying to kill us and I bet it would not have been the first time those two gorillas had committed murder! We certainly could not have left them free to run back to their creepy boss and his weirdo friend! What’s more important now is that they have got away with the necklace and how are we going to get it back?’
‘They may have got the necklace, but I can guess where they are making for – I still have the print-out!’ Blake rejoined smugly, retrieving a folded square of paper from his shirt pocket. ‘Luckily, they didn’t have time to search me!’
She looked at him blankly and he realised that of course, she knew nothing of his findings on the scarab. Rapidly, he told her about the computer-enhanced image. Spreading the printout on the floor of the cave, he jabbed at the paper with strong brown fingers.
‘See, these faint signs here are not all hieroglyphics as I thought at first, they are references to a location, perhaps a rock formation, or the outline of a hill, I can’t tell for sure. This is the ‘akhet’, the ancient sign for the horizon, and here is the rising sun and is meant to be a compass point, I think. So we know where to make a start tomorrow morning and I’m hoping the rest will become apparent when we get there.’
‘I cannot wait until then! I must follow them now and if you think that you know where they are heading for, you must tell me!’ Amunet exclaimed angrily.
‘They won’t be able to get far without going back to civilisation for the right type of equipment, and by then, we’ll be already there, waiting for them.’ Blake replied coolly.
‘Where? Where is there? You think you know, don’t you? Please, you must tell me – it is my right to know this,’ she demande
d vehemently.
‘Your right! That’s rich, you little spitfire!’ he grabbed her by the shoulders, spilling the makeshift bandages out of her hands. ‘I think that I have the right to know where you come in on all of this madness. Why is the amulet so important to you? You have obviously got your memory back and recalled some other useful talents besides, so isn’t it about time you told me the truth for once?’
She read the hard challenge in his eyes and her eyes dropped before his angry expression.
‘I need to know - what is your real name anyway? You can make a start by telling me that – amongst other things!’
‘It is Amunet,’ she conceded sulkily, ‘But that is not im…!’
‘Amunet - unusual, but pretty – it doesn’t really suit you!’
‘Thank you, always so polite,’ she replied, making a face at him, ‘It is an old family name but, please, you have to - . ’
‘Interesting, your family must have a long memory - and I don’t have to do anything, remember - you have to tell me stuff, like how you learnt to fight like that? You’re not S.A.S. by any chance are you?’ he asked with a grin, but the question was only half in jest as he eyed the olive green vest and shorts.
She coloured slightly and looked away; his question hung in the air between them and suddenly arrested, Blake stared at her more intently and then everything fell into place.
‘Bingo! Of course!’ he said quietly, ‘I got the initials wrong, didn’t I? Not S.A.S., but S.C.A. - you’re an agent for the Supreme Council of Antiquities!’
He had been immensely impressed by the economical and highly concentrated way in which she had fought; every blow had counted and when her assailants had tried to retaliate, she was simply not there – her speed in getting out of harm’s way was simply phenomenal.
In the very nature of his work, he had come across the S.C.A., Egypt’s Supreme Council of Antiquities and he knew that to protect their National treasures, this influential Government office employed highly trained professional agents who often had to work undercover, and he looked at his companion with new understanding and respect.
He knew he was right, but she had twisted away from him and now stood a little apart, folding her arms over her chest and giving him a sour look - the message was clear, she was not going to discuss this.
He sought to lighten the mood, ‘Or no, I’ve got it! A little old oriental gentleman found you and taught you the secrets of the univ – , ’ her head came up abruptly as she cast a venomous look at him. ‘Oh no, I don’t believe - ,’
‘What does it matter to me what you believe, you are just wasting time and for you to lecture me about telling the truth – Oh, I wish I had let them throw you off the cliff!’
‘Charming, but I am still waiting to know what this is all about. I think I have figured out some of it but I would like you to confirm one or two details like…’
‘I cannot tell, it is not my secret. My Aunt…’
‘Your Aunt! Christ, what has your bloody Aunt got to do with any of this?’ he roared furiously, very near now to losing his temper completely, and making her jump nervously.
‘She has everything to do with it and you will not speak so disrespectfully of her. You would not dare to shout and bully her as you do me.’ Amunet’s lips pouted sullenly and for a moment, she looked so like a sulky schoolgirl that Blake had to forcibly restrain himself from grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking the truth out of her.
Then at last, wheels turned in his head - cracked or otherwise - and he looked up in sudden consternation.
‘Aunt! Your blessed Aunt! My God! The scarab! I knew I had seen it before. Of course – your Aunt would not be, by any chance…’
Amunet looked up, her eyes aglow with expectation.
… Those eyes … Netta… Naa’il Safwan … the penny dropped …
‘Aunt Hameeda! Of course!’
‘Thank God for that!’ Blake murmured gratefully some time later. ‘At least now I know that we are both on the same side, I can close my eyes for an hour or two without worrying that you might toss me over the cliff while I sleep.’
‘Don’t be so sure!’ Amunet replied briskly as she resuming the bandaging of his head.
‘Ouch, that hurt! I think I can manage the rest by myself now, thank you.’ Blake protested firmly, taking the torn strips of cloth out of her hands.
Shrugging, she walked over to the rest of the discarded robe.
Even after the merciless assault on its capacious folds for bandages, there was still enough of the voluminous material to make a comfortable pillow, and the rest of a cold, hard night lay in front of them.
‘No, you must take it, you cannot possibly rest with your head on bare rock. Besides, you would get your bandages dirty and you do not want to end up with septicaemia. You have to be very careful when you have a weak head!’ Amunet pointed out sweetly, raising an appreciative gleam in the patient’s own eyes. ‘I will be fine over there, I can rest against that smooth bit of rock.’
Blake looked thoughtfully across at the rough abrasive surface of the wall in question and then he deliberately shook out the tightly wrapped robe and laid it on the sandy floor. Taking off his jacket, he rolled it up into a makeshift pillow and carefully laid himself down on the improvised bed. Extending one arm with an enquiring, quizzical lift of his eyebrow, he mutely invited her to join him.
Seeing her hesitation, he murmured softly. ‘You used to enjoy my company once, we must have spend hours looking up at the mountains, talking about everything under the sun.’
‘You talked – I listened,’ Amunet replied shortly. So he had remembered. She walked over and stood looking down at him, a frown troubling her face.
‘Hmm. Well, I recall some very interesting conversations. You trusted me then, Netta.’
His use of her baby name hit hard; he was not playing fair.
‘I was a child, I knew no better. Can I trust you now?’
‘Try me.’
Despite the cold and the hard rocky floor, they both fell asleep for a short while, utterly worn out by the recent exhausting events. Amunet woke first, feeling curiously warm and contented. Blake was still fathoms deep in sleep. In the pearly, opalescent air of the early dawn the intervening years were smoothed away, he looked very relaxed, the replica of the young Blake she had once known. A faint smile hovered on his firm mouth and impulsively, she reached up and gently brushed her own lips to his in a kiss as light as the caress of a butterfly’s wing.
With a suddenness that startled her, his arms were around her pulling her closer. Instinctively she put both hands to his chest to thrust him away and immediately he let her go, but he drew her face gently down to his and what she saw in his eyes filled her with such sudden joy that she fell back into his arms, like an arrow to the gold.
Chapter 14
‘Oh, there you are Blake!’ the tone was very aggrieved. Max was plainly extremely agitated.
He had been seriously worried when Natheer, their reis, had woken him with the grim news that the Professor was missing, and they had immediately organised the men to form a search party.
Luckily, they had met Blake on their way out of the camp just after dawn as the two truants were strolling back and if he and Amunet were not actually hand in hand now, there was a strong suggestion that they might have been. This had not registered at first though with Max, he was far too angry with Blake.
‘Just out for an early morning constitutional were you, with never a word left! Upon my soul, Blake but you are the most inconsiderate, casual - good heavens, Meredith! You here …but what…? How in the …?’
Blake took pity on his friend’s incoherent astonishment.
‘Calm down Max, we can explain everything! But you don’t have to call her by that ridiculous name anymore - may I present Miss Amunet Shafik.’
Despite himself, he could not stop the involuntarily softening of his voice as he made the formal introduction and there was a new intimacy in her smile whe
n she looked up at him, which caused Max, that long suffering gentleman, to stare hard at Blake, suspicion gathering in his mild blue eyes.
‘We are so sorry, Max,’ Amunet exclaimed, the pretty accent in her slightly husky voice mollifying him even before she had slipped her arm engagingly through his. ‘It was too bad of Blake but indeed, he could not help it, he was hurt up in the hills and I found him and had to stay with him till it was light enough for us to see our way back to camp.’
‘Hurt? Oh, I say old man, yes, I can see … your head, but …dark? … It must have been… and how did…?’
‘Coffee, first,’ interrupted Blake firmly. ‘Explanations, after!’
But of course they needed more than coffee and sometime later, clean, refreshed and in Blake’s case, newly bandaged, they finished their meal, replete and with a good deal of satisfaction.
‘That was extremely good, I must say.’ Blake said, ‘Naheer, you may present my compliments to the chef!’
The reis carried on clearing away the plates and shook his head.
‘No chef, Blake Effendi – it was the young Sitt who prepared your meal,’ Naheer announced approvingly, with a wide grin in her direction.
‘Amazing,’ Blake sighed, looking across at Amunet. ‘Is there no end to your talents?’
‘Why? What is so special about knowing how to cook?’ she queried, puzzled.
‘Nothing, my dear, I suppose, but so very few people do these days,’ Max responded comfortably. ‘In England, it seems that most young women take a positive pride in being helpless in the kitchen. They seem to take the view that learning to clash two saucepans together will irrevocably mark them as ‘domesticated’ to the rapid decline of their careers and instant annihilation of their street credibility.’
