The first faint rays of dawn were just beginning to spill through the window when David finally succumbed to exhaustion. He lay with his cheek against her soft shoulder, his arm around her waist, still possessive even in sleep.
Though equally tired, Elizabeth remained awake, her eyes tracing the planes and contours of his slumbering face, unwilling to abandon consciousness for fear this might all somehow become mere dream. The deep contentment was too intense to relinquish, the emotional afterglow too strong not to savor to its fullest. But for all her happiness, she also knew the acute fear abiding deep within all lovers, the knowledge she might somehow lose that which had become the dearest thing in her life. This danger was all too real. And it was solely due to her that David must now be exposed to it, for she had purposely lied to him. She wasn’t nearly as determined to see this through as she led him to believe. Yet it was a necessary deception. Without it, David would be forced to make a terrible choice in a no-win situation. He would sacrifice everything to protect her. She believed this with all her heart—just as she also knew the price it would eventually exact on both of them. How long, she wondered, before the consequences of this would inevitably erode his feelings for her? A year? Only months? Her lie had effectively removed any chance of this happening. The simple truth of the matter was, for all her confident words, she really was capable of walking away from solving her grandfather’s mystery if that’s what it took to keep David safe and with her always.
Now she only prayed she’d done the right thing.
* * *
“The old girl is Russian, of course,” said Mahmoud Wassef, “and hardly what you would call a beauty. But she’s both capable and sound, and gives excellent service. Acquiring her on such short notice was no mean feat, for my cousin Ammar was extremely reluctant to rent her out. I had to give him my personal assurances you gentlemen wouldn’t abuse her in any way.” The midday heat was at its zenith, and he looked from David to Gobeir with an expectant smile, understandably eager to adjourn to the comfort of his office. “So then, she is acceptable to you, yes?”
Gobeir looked a bit dubious, but willing to defer to David’s judgment in the matter. “It’s up to you, old boy. Think she’ll do?”
The object of this discussion was a badly dented GAZ-69 light truck, somewhat bigger than the desert jeep parked alongside it in the ministry lot. In David’s estimation she appeared more than adequate as the necessary backup vehicle needed to haul the bulk of their provisions. He’d seen these models before, and didn’t doubt their reliability. Initially used as combat support vehicles within Egypt’s Armed forces in the late eighties, many had long since made the transition to civilian use throughout the country. He walked around her a second time, fingering the patchwork canvas covering that bore little resemblance to the original. Wassef was right about one thing; she’d definitely seen better days.
Yet despite her battered appearance, the truck’s transmission seemed fine, and there remained plenty of good tread on the tires. Too, the short test drive outside of town had pretty much eased his initial concern about the soundness of the engine. All things considered, he saw no major problems.
“Well,” he said to an anxious Wassef, “if this is the best we can get, I guess your cousin has himself a deal.”
The man’s heavy face expanded into a wide grin of satisfaction.
“Excellent, Professor! I was worried you might not approve of my choice.” He stepped to the rear of the truck and lifted back a section of the covering. “As you can see, I’ve taken the liberty of providing a couple of extra gasoline cans, three large water containers, plus a spare tire and battery.” He dropped the flap, moving to the second vehicle. “And as you’ve already seen, the jeep has its own spare tire and is in excellent condition. In case of any emergency, there’s a two-way radio, of course, and you’ll also find a flare gun and an assortment of mechanic’s tools tucked under the driver’s seat. Just a precaution, to be sure, yet always practical to have along.”
Gobeir shook his hand. “We’re very appreciative of all you’ve done, Mahmoud. If there’s anything we can ever do to repay your kindness—”
“Think nothing of it, Dr. Gobeir. Believe me when I say the pleasure—and the honor, sir—is entirely mine. Now, if everything here is to your satisfaction, then perhaps we should go up to my office. The passes you require were prepared and put on my desk—plus, of course, there’s still that other matter you requested over the phone this morning. Due to its somewhat sensitive nature, it would be best if we discussed it a bit more privately.”
Back inside his air-conditioned office, Wassef loosened his tie before taking his chair. Since receiving Gobeir’s early call, he’d put in a very busy day. Pleased with his accomplishments, he smiled affably. “Did you encounter difficulties getting your provisions together?” he asked. “Food? Proper clothing?”
“We don’t anticipate any problems,” answered Gobeir. “My able assistant and Miss DeCaylus have been taking care of this all morning.”
“I must say, gentlemen, I really don’t envy you your excursion. Our desert temperatures at this time of year run very high, as much as one hundred and fifteen degrees during the worst of the day. And at night—well, the sudden drop can be quite startling to the uninitiated. However, I’m sure you’re both well aware of this, so I’ll say no more on the subject.”
He eased forward, pushing two manila envelopes across the desk.
“The smaller one holds all your passes. You’ll be required to show them at a military checkpoint about an hour or so south of Matruh. That’s also the point where the road ceases to be paved, I’m afraid. Except for the final stretch leading into Siwah, the intervening section is strictly a desert road, though I’m told it’s reasonably well maintained. If you keep within the posted speed recommendations, you should have no problems.”
“And this envelope?” asked David.
“That contains two copies of the most current government map we have on the entire region. It’s extremely detailed and will be quite invaluable should you perhaps wish to make any side-excursions off the main road. My suggestion is you keep one with each vehicle.”
Unfolding one for a quick check, David nodded in appreciation. It was exactly what he hoped for. Basically, Wassef had provided everything they needed. Almost, but not quite. One thing was still lacking. “And about the other matter we discussed?”
“I’m getting to that, Professor.”
Wassef removed two Enfield .38 caliber revolvers from his desk drawer, each with a leather clip-on holster. He then said, “When we were outside I advised you of the flare gun beneath the jeep’s front seat. Beside it you’ll also find a .30 caliber Garand semi-automatic rifle wrapped in a blanket. Ammunition for it—plus these two here—are in a box behind the water containers.” He handed the guns over. “Please realize that I’m loaning these to you from my private collection, and solely because of my high regard for Dr. Gobeir. If anyone were to ask, these didn’t come from me—at least not insofar as my position with the ministry is concerned. I’m sure you can appreciate the distinction.”
“We understand completely,” Gobeir assured him. “Very decent of you, indeed. Our request was based purely on a reluctance to venture so far from—”
“Please, no explanations are necessary. Truth be known, gentlemen, I’d also seek a like measure of security were our circumstances reversed. After all, a wise man takes every reasonable precaution against unforeseen events, does he not?”
* * *
Twenty minutes later a patient Mahmoud Wassef sat alone at his desk, puffing on a pipe as his secretary placed his second call of the day to Siwah Oasis. He anticipated no problem reaching the man he sought at the town’s police department. It was exactly one o’clock, mid-way through the extended lunch break enjoyed by the Siwah staff. With the exception of one man, their office building should be empty.
The phone jingled and he picked up.
“I have Siwah District on line tw
o, sir.”
“Thank you.”
He depressed the button, visualizing in his mind the young officer who he knew was awaiting his call. “I take it you’re alone, Ibrahim?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very good,” Wassef said, setting his pipe aside. He must select his words with care, for it would be imprudent to impart more than what was necessary over an open phone line. “Listen closely. Everything went exactly as expected. Their plans are to leave at dawn tomorrow. You already have the coded phrases and check-in times, so use them without fail. Ammar is positioned to monitor your radio frequency at all times. I need not remind you the importance of carrying out all of your instructions precisely as given.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Excellent. I trust you won’t fail me.”
Wassef replaced the phone, confident his orders would be followed to the letter. The loyalty of Ibrahim was unquestioned, his abilities proven and finely honed. And too, the element of surprise would weigh in their favor—by itself, a most formidable ally. It’s done, he thought, heaving a sigh of satisfaction. His only lingering concern was the matter of the weapons. Yet supplying them was unavoidable. In fact, it was quite the intelligent decision. After all, this Manning fellow gave every indication of being very resourceful. With or without help, he’d almost certainly have acquired firearms of some sort before leaving. Better that Ibrahim knows exactly what they are, thus no unpleasant surprises.
A sardonic smile now played across his heavy lips as he leaned back in his chair, for he fully recognized the rather ironic nature of this situation. The loaned weapons were originally the property of his late father, a powerfully built man every bit as broad as his son, yet one who enjoyed the physical stature of being a full head taller. In the eyes of many, he’d been a virtual giant. If anyone could appreciate this wry twist of events, he knew, it surely would’ve been him!
* * *
From the vantage point of his weathered front porch, seventy-three year old Chester McQuinty watched with growing interest as the late-model Volkswagen worked its way up the dirt road, finally coming to a stop not twenty yards from where he sat.
There were two men inside.
Curious as to who they might be, he set his open can of beer down beside the discarded empties, wiping his lower lip with the back of his hand. It was only a few minutes into sunset, too dark to make out the license plate without the aid of his spectacles. But it made no difference. He’d already pegged it as a rental. Beneath the chalky coating of dust it looked just too damn new for anyone of his acquaintance.
Strangers, then . . .
He eased his stocking feet off the low railing and stood up from his chair, studying the lean, middle-aged man in pressed khaki shirt and matching slacks who stepped out of the car and walked towards him. The man’s driver—and a right big bloke he was by the shape of him—chose to remain behind the wheel.
“I’m looking for a Mr. Chester McQuinty,” said the stranger, mounting the two shallow steps in one easy stride. “Would this be you, sir?”
“Right as rain,” he replied. “But most folks hereabouts jest calls me Quint.” His instincts rarely failed him, and now he felt encouraged to think maybe his recent run of bad luck was about to change. This clean-shaven fellow had the definite smell of money about him—and fancy gents of his sort usually had only one reason to look him up. “Is there something special I kin do for yuh, mate?”
“I hope so, yes,” said the man pleasantly. “My friend and I want to arrange a few days of hunting in the high desert country. I understand you’re the man to see. We’re told you sometimes organize small expeditions for the right price. Is this so?”
McQuinty knew from long experience how the game was played.
Affecting an expression of disinterest, he idly scratched his grizzled chin. “Well now,” he said, “I reckon it’s been a spell, but yes, yuh could say I done a fair bit of that in my time. Yuh boys figure on poppin’ a few gazelle, do yuh?”
The man nodded. “Then I assume we can do business?”
“Oh, now jest yuh hold up there a tad,” he said, feeling himself somewhat rushed. He reached down and retrieved his can of beer, appraising the man up and down a second time. “No offence mister, but I gotta wonder to myself jest what brings yuh all the way out here. I mean, seems like anyone round these parts knows there’s a little pizzant travel agency in town that kin do the same thing for yuh—and for damnsight less money. So it kinda don’t make a whole lotta good sense yuh comin’ to me, now does it? Leastways not to my way of thinkin’, mate.” He took a slow swig of his beer. “See what I’m saying?”
Not offended, the man smiled.
“Your point is well taken, sir. However you underestimate your reputation. The people we spoke to say you’re the best hunting guide in the entire area. Certainly, the most experienced.”
“And do they now?” The old-timer knew bullshit when he heard it, but this too was all part of the game. “Guess that’s kinda flatterin’, ain’t it? Still and all, I dunno if I can help you gents out.” Pausing for effect, he casually spit over the porch railing. “And these folks, did they also tell yuh I don’t come cheap?”
“It was mentioned, yes.” The man lit a cigarette, his eyes never leaving McQuinty’s face. “Perhaps you should simply name your price and we’ll see where we stand.”
“Well, I suppose I—” He stopped, detecting movement out of the corner of his eye, and it startled him to discover the second man was now out of the car and brazenly examining his two prized Land Rovers parked alongside his house. That someone this big could’ve done this without his seeing was unnerving. Now how the fuck did I miss that? he wondered. Sweet Jesus, maybe I really am gittin’ old!
“You were saying, sir?”
“What—? Oh, yeah. Okay mister, jest gimme a second here. Now when exactly was it yuh wanted to strike out?”
“No later than tomorrow morning.”
“And, ah, jest how long a jaunt we talkin’ about here? Two days, yuh figure? Maybe three?”
“Plan on five.”
“Five, yuh say?” Pleased, he scratched again at his scruffy cheek. Shit, this was even better than he hoped. “Well, let’s see here; what with both them two trucks, fuel, provisions, the right sort of gear and all—” He made a quick mental calculation, then gave an amount he knew to be more than triple what the agency charged. “Now yuh probably figure that’s a bit steep, I grant, but the way I sees it, yuh probably ain’t in no position to much quibble, now are yuh?”
“The money’s no problem,” said the man without hesitation. If anything, he looked somewhat amused. “But I’m curious. Why are you so sure I won’t ‘quibble’, as you say? Mind telling me?”
McQuinty grinned, exposing staggered yellow teeth. “Took me for a crazy old fool, did yuh? Hell, I knowed what this was about the second yuh drove in. The only sporty boys I ever see out here are those can’t git themselves proper permits to hunt squat! City fellas, they are—and all itchin’ to bag themselves an illegal trophy buck. Jest don’t have the natural smarts to go about it their ownself.” He chuckled. “But it don’t make no nevermind to me. No siree, mate. Jest so long’s we understand each other up front like.”
“Very insightful of you, sir. So you make your customers pay accordingly?”
“Hell, yes! Be a damn fool not to! Like I say, I bin at this friggin’ game a long time. Supply and demand, I always tell ‘em. Only good business. And right fair, too, considerin’ all my risks and such. My terms are simple. Half the money up front, the rest soon’s we git back. How’s this strike yuh?”
“Most agreeable. I like a man with a head for business.”
When the final arrangements were made, McQuinty watched again from his porch as the Volkswagen headed back towards town. Yes, he thought, settling back in his chair, things were looking up. A few more customers like this and he’d be a rich man.
It was his intention to crack yet another can of be
er to celebrate his good fortune, but once his feet were back up on the railing he found himself losing the mood. As to exactly why, he really wasn’t sure.
Eventually, it came to him.
Damned if there weren’t something about those two gents gave him a queasy twinge down low in the pit of his stomach.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
They left Mersa Matruh in the relative cool of early morning, David leading the way south on Rte 45, the descendent of what was known for centuries as the old Masrab el-Istabl.
He and Elizabeth were in the open jeep, Gobeir and Rashidi following in the much heavier truck. Rashidi’s offer to handle the more difficult vehicle was based on prior experience; he’d driven them often during his compulsory stint in the Egyptian military, he said, and was well familiar with their limitations and peculiarities.
While traveling beneath the slanted rays of the rising sun, David used the time to mentally review all he knew of Amun’s ancient temple at Siwah Oasis.
In many ways, it was a truly fascinating place.
Built well over a thousand years prior to Alexander’s daring ride to consult with its famed Oracle, it was a site of such deep religious importance in the Mediterranean world as to actually rival the famous Delphic shrine of Apollo on mainland Greece. Too, the mystical appeal of Siwah was only further enhanced by the very remoteness of its geographic isolation. Lying deep in the barren desert, the oasis was in ancient times only reachable by way of an arduous journey of many days, and always with the risk that those making the pilgrimage might lose their way in the shifting sands; a regular occurrence, according to distant historians.
Upon such legends did the mystique of ancient Siwah thrive.
But the reality of present day Siwah, David knew, mirrored almost two millennia of decline, her long and irreversible descent into obscurity beginning even before the invading Arabs of the seventh century put a final end to the worship of the old gods. Today naked Berber children frolicked innocently in the stagnant, green waters of what was once the Fountain of the Sun, little imagining by the oval’s crumbling appearance that uncounted generations of priests—and perhaps Alexander himself—once submerged themselves in these same waters during Amun’s sacred rites of purification. What little remained of the actual temple was also sadly neglected, for now only tumbled masonry and the barest of outlines marked the site.
The Amun Chamber Page 25
