The Amun Chamber

by Daniel Leston

  This new disappointment only added to the weary cast of Elizabeth’s face. She looked at both of them, moving her head slightly. “This is all so confusing. I mean, she must have had a career! Her name is in Burkhart’s ledger. Doesn’t this prove it?”

  Her logic was sound on the surface, but there was a wrinkle.

  David explained the problem.

  “Not really. That’s where everything gets dicey. According to her file, she never received her degree until a full year later, 1957. Lewis touched on it yesterday; student volunteers were never paid, putting in their time just for the field experience. So the question is, what made this Gabriella Becatti so special as to be on the payroll?”

  “Just what we need,” she said dismally. “More questions without answers. God, we’re really not getting anywhere, are we?”

  The growing strain was telling on her, David saw, and it seemed more than just frustration. She needed to get out of here. “Look, maybe what we all need is time to unwind and think this through. Myself, I’d like nothing better right now than a long shower followed by a relaxing dinner.”

  She required no convincing.

  Neither did Gobeir. He declined their offer of a lift, choosing instead to wait on Rashidi. He picked up a thick folder, adding, “Here, take this with you, old boy. The front office ran two copies, so you can go through Burkhart’s ledger at your leisure. I’ll ring you later tonight, giving us time to work out tomorrow’s strategy.”

  * * *

  David’s concern over Elizabeth’s darkening mood only grew during the drive back to the Sheraton. Something was definitely troubling her, and he felt it went beyond just the heat and tedium of an over-long day.

  The formal interior of the hotel lobby was a refreshing haven from the clamor of the streets outside as he steered her towards the elevator. “You seem . . . preoccupied,” he said tactfully as they rode up to their floor. “I’m told I can be a pretty good listener if you want to talk?”

  She acquiesced with a weak nod.

  Once in her room, he allowed her all the time she needed to organize her thoughts. After drawing back the balcony curtains, she stood for some time gazing out at the still-brilliant sky, her arms folded tightly to her chest. Finally, she heaved a sigh, and said; “I learned quite a lot working with Lewis in the archives today. More than I feel comfortable with . . .” Her voice was subdued. “I guess I really shouldn’t let things bother me so much.”

  “What kind of things?”

  She hesitated; then said, “You’ll think me foolish.”

  “Try me.”

  Unsure, she turned and faced him.

  “I know it’s rather childish,” she said, “but I still can’t wrap my mind around all the unbelievable theft and—and outright plundering—Egypt’s endured over the past hundred years and more. The more I read, the more . . .” She stopped, leaving the thought unsaid. “David, I had no idea how commonplace it all was—or how so many reputable archaeologists had their hands in it. The personal journals that have come into the museum’s possession are filled with examples—names even I’m familiar with! I suppose I was naïve enough to think this kind of activity was a rare occurance. Now—now I’m beginning to wonder if—if maybe—”

  “Your grandfather?”

  She swallowed. “What if there really are things hidden away in his past? Ugly things, David! Things I don’t want to—”

  “Wait a minute. Aren’t you doing exactly what you accused me of doing last night?” He put his hands on her shoulders, feeling the tension beneath. “Look, there is absolutely no evidence to show that Lionel ever did anything wrong.”

  “No? And just what do you call smuggling a priceless artifact out of Egypt?”

  He drew her closer. “It’s not the same,” he said evenly. “If we’re right about his motives, then it wasn’t done for personal gain. Far from it! There’s no shame in what he did, Elizabeth.”

  “But that’s not what everyone will believe, is it? I kept thinking about it all afternoon. The bottom line is, it makes no difference whether we feel his intentions were good or not! When everyone finds out about the disk, my grandfather’s name is going to be dragged through the mud like a common thief!”

  “That’s not the way it—”

  “Isn’t it? David, you heard the scorn in Lewis’ voice this morning when he talked about that—that Ludwig Borchardt. Because of the Nefertiti bust, the man’s name is reviled throughout the entire country . . . And this over just a painted statue! That’s nothing compared to what we’re talking about! Can you even begin to imagine what it will be like if my grandfather’s name becomes synonymous with the loss—or actual plundering!—of the sarcophagus of Alexander the Great?”

  “It won’t come to that.”

  “But there’s no way it can be stopped! It finally dawned on me before you came back. It’s inevitable! Unless we actually find out where the gold disk came from, we’ve got no choice but to turn it over to the Egyptian authorities—and this means a full disclosure of how we came by it. The press is going to have a field day digging out and printing everything they can find on my grandfather—and probably my father, too!”

  He saw tears building in her eyes, the frustration and near panic of something beyond her ability to control. And her fear wasn’t without justification. Yet he also knew it was far too early for either of them to be contemplating the worst.

  “Listen to me, Elizabeth,” he soothed. “We are not going to let this happen. You have to believe the two of us are going to accomplish exactly what we set out to do. One way or another, we’re going to solve this, okay? No matter how long it takes.”

  She forced a weak smile, wanting to accept his judgment.

  “Maybe I just needed to hear it said,” she whispered, the panic now receding from her eyes. “I—I normally don’t let things get to me like this.” She paused, struggling for the right words. “It’s hard to explain, but back in the library I suddenly found myself overwhelmed by it all. I guess I was just over-tired and depressed.”

  “And probably hungry, too? You haven’t eaten anything since breakfast.”

  “More like starved,” she said, her smile deepening. “Think we can do something about that?”

  “Definitely. Right now, if you like.”

  “Sounds great. Just give me fifteen minutes to freshen up and change”

  “Take as long as you need,” he said, releasing her with reluctance. “I’ll be in my room whenever you’re ready.”

  The pleasure of holding her lingered with him as he walked down the hall and unlocked his door. So much so, he didn’t immediately notice the layered cigarette smoke filling his room. When he did, it was already too late. A gaunt figure sat at the far end of his couch—and the revolver in his hand was aimed squarely at David’s chest.

  The elderly man’s eyes were fixed, his look deadly serious look. He was Egyptian, tall and lean and grizzle-faced; and despite his advanced years there was no hint of frailty or lack of purpose as he gestured David away from the open door. “Please close it and remain calm,” he said, “for I mean you no harm.”

  “You have an odd way of showing it.”

  The man actually smiled. “If killing you was my intent, you’d already be dead. Now, the door, if you please . . .”

  David was less than reassured, but complied. “Just how the hell did you get in here?” he asked. He wasn’t merely buying time. He really wanted to know.

  “In due course, Professor Manning. You are David Manning, are you not?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  The man’s weathered features briefly creased into an even deeper smile as he butted out his cigarette. The ashtray was close to overflowing, a good indication of just how long he’d been waiting. “Not that it much matters,” he said, “but my name is Yasir Haleem. I’m here at the request of a mutual friend—one who for reasons of advanced age and poor health deeply regrets not being able to come to you in person.”

  Thi
s description fit only one person.

  “You were sent here by Sharif?”

  “My respects, sir. He said you’re a man of perception. I see this is so.”

  “As you say, he’s a friend. So why the gun?”

  “A fair question. Let’s call it a small precaution on my part. I know the unfortunate events of your meeting with Sharif’s son last night, thus I felt you might be on guard against possible reprisals. I needed every assurance you would hear me out.” He flicked the gun slightly. “I believe you Americans refer to this as an ‘attention grabber’, do you not? And you must admit, so far it’s proven an effect way of getting your attention.”

  “So was breaking into my room,” observed David. “Your idea or his?”

  “Nothing so crass was necessary, I assure you. You see, Mr. Khafaghi has a wide range of contacts and loyal friendships across Cairo. Among these are people employed in several of the finest hotels. There was really no need for me to pick your lock like a common thief.”

  “How comforting. Well, I’ll certainly sleep easier knowing this.” He leaned back against the bureau, crossing his arms. “Now where does this leave us? If my attention was all you wanted, you have it.”

  The man nodded in satisfaction; then lowered the gun to his knee, angling the short barrel towards the carpet. “Sharif wishes to personally make amends for the grave insult done to you. He knew nothing of your attempt to contact him yesterday, and sincerely hopes you don’t hold him responsible in any way for what occurred. If you’re indeed his friend, you will accept his complete innocence in this matter.”

  “I never doubted it.”

  “Good. Then you’ll certainly honor the request he now makes of you.”

  “Which is?”

  “That you accompany me to him without delay. I have a car and driver waiting for us below. We can leave immediately.”

  David glanced at his wrist. Though scarcely six minutes had elapsed since leaving Elizabeth’s room, there was a real danger she might walk in at any moment. After last night, this was definitely something to be avoided.

  “Assuming I believe you—and I’m not sure I do—why must it be right now, this minute? Not to alarm you, but I’m expecting company at any moment now.”

  “All the more reason for haste,” said the man. “If it’s truly important for you to speak with Sharif, I cannot guarantee any future opportunity will even be possible. I’m not here to plead with you, only to state the facts. The choice is yours.”

  The sudden gravity in his voice implied more than was actually said, and David studied his face closely. “Is Sharif really this ill?”

  “I fear so. He’s lived a long and full life, but the final call of Allah is upon him. It cannot be denied.”

  David weighed the situation carefully. Was the man telling the truth—or was he manipulating him to his own purpose. “You’re very convincing in what you say,” he acknowledged, “but you’ll understand if I remain skeptical. How do I know this isn’t a clever ruse concocted by Abdel seeking revenge for last night?”

  “Again, a fair question. In his great wisdom, Sharif anticipated your probable reluctance. Thus he devised the simplest of solutions.” He abruptly stood up from the couch; then turned the revolver in his hand, offering it to David. “Please take it, Professor. If at any time you feel yourself being led into a trap, feel free to use it on me. A fair payment for any deceit, you might say.”

  “Very generous of you,” said David. “I’ll be sure to keep that option in mind.” A quick check of the gun’s cylinder showed the chambers were all loaded. He lifted his shirt and concealed it under his belt. Having it in his possession tipped the scales considerably. He then penned a brief note on the hotel stationary, placing the sheet on the coffee table where Elizabeth was certain to find it. “Okay, Mr. Haleem—or whatever you real name is—let’s go.”

  “You intend leaving your room unlocked? Hardly a wise practice.”

  “Coming from you, that’s almost funny. How far to Sharif?”

  “At most, thirty minutes. My driver is unarmed, by the way, but please feel free to check him out if you—”

  “Count on it.”

  * * *

  Haleem’s silent companion drove the white Citroen deep into the northern suburb known as Bulaq, one of the oldest and most densely inhabited sections of modern Cairo. Riding in the back seat with Haleem, David kept a watchful eye on both men, his hand cautiously on the revolver.

  The colorful history of this particular stretch of land along the east bank of the Nile was known to him. Initially settled on marshlands drained by the Mamaluks in the late middle ages, the district was for centuries the city’s principle river port, a vigorous link in Egypt’s lucrative spice trade with the west. But Bulaq’s former importance was now gone, the omnipresent signs of squalor along the congested streets attesting to its demise. The long decline first began in earnest with the departure of the last of the great trading families early in the nineteenth century; now the entire area was swamped beneath successive waves of rural immigrants, the transformation into overcrowded poverty complete.

  Interestingly enough, physical evidence of Bulaq’s once prosperous past was still occasionally visible wedged between the decaying buildings of concrete and mud brick. An unexpected number of the old, merchant mansions from the Ottoman era had somehow managed to survive the cruel onslaught of time and overpopulation, though most were in such deplorable states of dilapitation as to be hardly recognizable.

  But not all.

  Haleem’s man parked before an imposing, two-story building which was a clear exception to the rule. The solid outer façade of the ancient residence was deceptively plain, the lower floor constructed of rectangular limestone blocks, the upper overhung with latticed mashrabiyah windows set on large corbels. Not an expert, David could only guess at the structure’s great age as he got out of the car.

  The driver remained behind the wheel as David and Haleem entered through a sturdy door reinforced with wrought iron. Inside, Haleem nodded once to a bearded gatekeeper, then proceeded down a baffled corridor into an open courtyard of grand proportions. Here he bid his guest remain as he went on ahead to announce their arrival.

  David used the minutes to drink in the solemn quiet of his surroundings. It was duly impressive, a rare glimpse into a bygone era. Overlooking a central garden of palms and mimosa were additional banks of wooden mashrabiyah casements, their intricate patterned screens not unlike fine embroidery. In typical oriental fashion, the lower floor was clearly designed to accommodate the more mundane necessities of day-to-day living; kitchens, workshops, storerooms—and, too, lesser apartments that doubtless once housed a fair number of servants and retainers. But now all was silent. In comparison to the bustling streets outside, this building had the distinct feel of an empty museum. Save for a large, tethered mastiff dozing in the sun, the only visible evidence of anyone actually living here was a bent, old woman pushing a straw broom near the far side of the courtyard.

  He was pondering the significance of all this when Haleem returned.

  “Sharif is ready to receive you, Mr. Manning.”

  A short walk took them to an open door leading into an exquisite qa’ah, a formal reception room two floors in height and likewise overhung by a balcony of latticed screens. At the further end a frail figure sat waiting on a low, cushioned liwan.

  “He wishes to speak with you in private,” Haleem said. “His strength is failing, so it would be a kindness to keep your business as brief as possible.”

  David returned the revolver before entering.

  * * *

  Back outside, an agitated Hassan parked on the opposite side of the street, staying well behind the white Citroen. Truthfully, he felt himself on the verge of panic. Struggling to hold unto his composure, he barely managed to keep his hand from trembling as he shut off the engine. Damn Manning for this! And to make matters worse, Heikal was watching him far too closely for comfort.

 
“I’m not familiar with this area,” said the big man. “You?”

  Hassan shook his head. Perhaps too quickly.

  Heikal’s eyes narrowed to see this. “What’s got you so jumpy?” he asked. “You’ve been acting strange all day.”

  Hassan shrugged. “It’s nothing. Just bored, I guess.”

  Though Heikal’s annoyance seemed only marginally appeased, he took pressure off Hassan by shifting his attention back to the overcrowded street.

  Hassan used the big man’s momentary distraction to swallow hard, his mouth dry as dust. He blinked rapidly behind his sunglasses, thinking there was only one possible way to learn what Manning was up to with Sharif. But could he pull it off without Heikal getting wise? He knew he must try.

  “Just a thought, Sabir,” he said, attempting to sound casual, “but it might be better if I got out and walked around a little.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Hassan lifted a finger towards the Citroen up ahead. “It’s going to look a bit suspicious if he spots us both sitting here in his mirror. Besides, they’re probably going to be in there for some time. I can scout around the building, maybe sniff something out. So, what do you think?”

  Heikal gave a grudging consent. “Just don’t do anything stupid. I don’t want Manning getting so much as a hint he’s being followed.”

  “Don’t worry. No chance.”

  Hassan got out quickly, slipping unobtrusively across the street and into the crowd. Watching him, Heikal felt a vague twinge of unease. Why, he wondered, did Hassan assume Manning would be there a long time? Somehow the remark seemed rather odd. Come to think of it, so did the little man’s lame excuse for being unusually edgy all day.

  Something was definitely not right here!

  CHAPTER NINE

  As David crossed the worn marble floor he could scarcely believe the one he approached was indeed Sharif Khafaghi. It seemed quite impossible, for the wasted figure bore no resemblance to the corpulent and potent patriarch he met only three years before. A shocking metamorphosis had taken place, a physical deterioration pitiful to behold. Sharif’s emaciated frame was actually skeletal under the loose folds of his galabia—and though the dark eyes brightened in pleasure as his guest drew near, it was sad to see how his once fleshy face had sunken, the skin drawn so tight to the bone as to appear almost transparent in the subdued light.