Eagle of Darkness

by Christopher Wright

  "Let's go, Mamoud. Time to get back to Râs Banâs and wait for further orders."

  Chapter 52

  Institute of Egyptologists, England

  THE THREE men in black coveralls crouched outside the rear of the large house, keeping in the shrubbery.

  "God knows what all that disturbance was about at the front door," said the leader. "But it's quiet enough now. Get in and get the job done. All the outward signs of an electrical fault, and you start in the computer room."

  The three mercenaries pulled their ski masks over their faces and picked up their bags.

  "My task is to destroy their computer backups in the safe," said the leader. "We meet outside the main gates in five minutes. Do you both know the face of Dr. Wynne, the man we have to eliminate?"

  The two subordinates nodded.

  "Right," said the leader tersely. "Go get him."

  SAM HEARD the sound of breaking glass. "If that's Denby Rawlins, it means he's escaped again. Where's Panya?"

  "Gresley Wynne took her into the kitchen," whispered Tolley who had just returned from a quick look round the ground floor. "She's having a cup of tea. No, here she is now."

  Panya stood in the doorway. "Anyone in?" she called softly.

  Sam stood up. "Was that you breaking a window?"

  She took hold of Sam's hand. "It was somewhere round the back. I thought it was one of you two."

  Tolley went to the door. "I'm going to the office to get my recorder and then we'll find that new prophecy."

  Sam told him to be quick as he settled down with Panya behind the largest cabinet. The computer room was silent apart from the hum from the cooling fans inside the cabinets. Enough light came from the illuminated panels for them to see the room clearly. He pulled Panya close to him as the door from the hallway opened. Two figures stood silhouetted against the faint glow, speaking in hushed, urgent voices. Then came a hiss of spraying liquid.

  Suddenly the fumes reached them. Choking fumes, like the pungent liquids used for dry cleaning. Panya stood up, retching.

  Sam struggled to bring her down, but panic had given her a strength he was unable to deal with.

  As abruptly as they had arrived the men had gone.

  "Is there another way out?" Sam asked, holding his sleeve to his face. The fumes made the back of his nose raw, his throat full of the taste of blood.

  "There's a door to the store." Panya pulled him to the back of the computer room. "I'm going to press the alarm, even if we do get caught." She reached out, breaking the small glass panel. Instantly a bell rang in the corridor.

  Quickly Sam pulled Panya through the door. The fumes had not yet penetrated the store room. "Who are they?" he asked.

  "I couldn't see." Panya retched violently as she turned on the light. "There's another door out to the corridor, but it's usually locked."

  "Switch the light off," warned Sam. "It might be seen under the door."

  The explosion burst open the door from the computer room, filling the store with orange light and black smoke.

  "Panya!" Sam bent over her sprawling figure. The smoke smelt deadly.

  Then he saw the way out. He grabbed hold of the handle. Perhaps it wasn't locked. He tugged, and the door opened. Dense smoke swirled through the passageway. Bill Tolley shouted something from the top of the stairs. It was definitely Bill's voice.

  Sam pulled Panya along the corridor to the back door. If he could get it open, there would be fresh air in the garden.

  The door opened easily, letting in a rush of air that fueled the flames further down the corridor. From the darkness Sam heard Dr. Wynne shouting. Other voices joined in. Frantic voices, filled with panic.

  Long orange flames lit the long corridor, but the smoke made it impossible to see any detail. Sam pushed Panya out into the cold air and closed the door, staying inside the building.

  Someone pushed past him, running out through the door. He stood back as another person came. Further down the corridor he could hear a man shouting, followed by a cat.

  Flames now roared through the building. The last person out had left the door open, and the fresh air cleared a path of visibility as far as the main stairway.

  And all the time the noise of the fire bell made it difficult to think.

  Someone shouted again from inside the house. It sounded like Bill Tolley.

  "Come this way," Sam yelled.

  The outside door swung shut as Sam entered, caught by air rushing in to feed the eager flames. The dense black smoke began to build up again in the corridor.

  It was an old fire-fighting trick. Sam had been through it all on aircrew training. The air at ground level should be clear of smoke. Lowering himself flat, he pressed his face to the wooden floor and worked his way forward. The darkness was now absolute.

  The shouting stopped.

  The fire bell continued.

  Somewhere ahead was Bill, unconscious but perhaps still alive. Sam reached the stairs, his arms moving out sideways, his fingers hoping to make contact with a human form.

  But he could feel only emptiness.

  Then he heard a loud knocking. Suddenly the smoke no longer burnt his eyes and his throat. He could feel a blast of fresh air coming from under a door. Someone started banging on it from the inside.

  He raised himself and reached up for the handle, but the door was locked. He felt a key and turned it. The door was flung open, knocking him backwards as a man fell onto him and stayed motionless.

  He lifted the limp figure onto his shoulder and ran for the exit, not daring to cough or take another breath as a wall of flame tore after him.

  Panya was sitting on the path as he emerged from the house. "Sam? Is that you, Sam?"

  Sam looked back at the Institute. Flames now leaped from the upstairs windows. Fresh tongues of flame and black smoke followed the sound of breaking glass. The noise from the fire almost drowned the alarm bell. "I've rescued Bill Tolley," he gasped.

  "It's not Bill," said Panya, shining the flashlight. "You've rescued Dr. Wynne."

  Sam watched the yellow circle of light shine on the frail figure in a maroon silk dressing gown.

  "I'll go back and look for Bill Tolley," Sam shouted, struggling as Panya held him back.

  "You're staying here," she insisted. "No one could still be alive in there."

  The alarm bell went silent as the blaze consumed the wiring. The sirens of the approaching fire engines drifted above the roar of flames and crackling timber. A window on the top floor opened and a man appeared.

  For a moment he stood on the sill, one hand on the central frame, a raised arm holding an ornate red binder.

  "I've got the whole prophecy," he shouted.

  A blast of fire engulfed Bill Tolley, embers scorching his clothes and hair. One loud scream. It might be pain. Or perhaps rage.

  Then he fell outwards.

  Chapter 53

  The Lodge, Institute of Egyptologists, England

  "I OWE YOU my life." Gresley Wynne put his arm around Sam's shoulder, his grip becoming firmer as he spoke. "The fresh air in the basement would not have lasted much longer."

  Sam looked at his watch. It was nearly midnight. So much had happened in the past three hours. Trapped in the corner of Panya's small living room and unable to move away, he nodded cautiously. "I did what I could to help."

  The doctor of Egyptology wore his maroon silk dressing gown over a pair of trousers that looked much too long, and the reason might be that they were slipping down from the waist. Sam felt anxious.

  "Of course I shall never get over the loss of a dear and personal friend." The man shook his head slowly, his eyes fixed on Sam. "Denby Rawlins was the founding member with me. The firemen discovered him upstairs in his room, dressed as an Egyptian priest. A death like that is a terrible waste of genius."

  "I'm sorry," said Panya. "It all seems so unnecessary."

  "Death is not always a dreadful thing, Mrs. Pulaski. As a Christian yourself, I'm sure you know that very w
ell. The Egyptians prepared their dead for a journey into the afterlife. I shall of course do the same for our dear friend."

  Sam recalled seeing a television program showing how the ancient Egyptians prepared the dead by drawing their brains out through the nose, using a long metal hook. The program had made his feel sick, but maybe Dr. Wynne was only speaking about the type of service that would be held. "Mr. Rawlins certainly liked dressing up as an Egyptian priest," he said.

  "Ah yes, a harmless diversion that made our friend feel closer to the civilization we studied." Gresley Wynne paused. Then, "It is the end of the Institute of course. All the computers were destroyed in the fire."

  "You could buy new ones," said Sam.

  "Unfortunately the programs and backup tapes were also lost. I know nothing about computer programming. No, I can never recover from this tragedy, and of course the devastating news from Frau List. But if the two cylinders are absolutely identical, then we do not have a problem.."

  Sam took the opportunity to move to be with Panya. "Dr. Wynne, we got into the Institute to find the prophecy, but we didn't start the fire."

  "Young man, I respect your honesty. I had already prepared for bed, but I went down for one last look at the computers. Three men started that fire, according to your reporter friend."

  "Bill Tolley? I didn't realize he was alive," said Sam in surprise.

  "The reporter has been taken to hospital with concussion and critical burns." Gresley Wynne moved towards Sam again. "Can I confide in you, Mr. Bolt?"

  "It depends." He stayed close to Panya, but felt a certain pity for the doctor.

  Gresley Wynne went to the window and pulled back one of the curtains. "Mr. Bolt, dark forces are at work."

  Sam shook his head. "Please don't bother me with your Egyptian mumbo jumbo. You're not the only person to suffer in the fire. My car's burnt out."

  "You misunderstand me, Mr. Bolt. This tragedy is the work of human hands. My labor here has always been of a serious and scientific nature. Isn't that so, Mrs. Pulaski?"

  Panya nodded.

  "So you see, Mr. Bolt, I find it impossible to believe the fire to be anything other than a plot by an outside organization."

  "A rival set-up?"

  "I have wondered about that." Gresley Wynne pulled his maroon dressing gown tighter around his body and looked out into the night. Through the bare trees the remains of the Institute could be clearly seen as a dull red glow. "I cannot imagine how anyone with an interest in the past could show the sort of jealousy that destroys academic achievement."

  "Well, someone did it," said Sam. "Are those firemen staying all night?"

  Gresley Wynne let the curtain drop and turned back to face the room. "I believe so, Mr. Bolt."

  Panya went to pull the curtains closed more tidily. "You can stay here if you like."

  Sam stared. There were only two rooms, and Panya wouldn't let anyone share with her, which meant... "Is that wise?"

  Gresley Wynne smiled. "Very kind of you, Mrs. Pulaski. Yes, I would like that very much. Thanks to Mr. Bolt's prompt rescue of me from the cellar, the doctor has given me a clean bill of health. I have so much to discuss with you both before we go to bed."

  Sam looked up. He'd have to keep talking all through the night if he was sharing the room with Gresley Wynne. "What do you want to discuss?"

  "Mr. Bolt, your friend from the press..."

  "Bill Tolley," said Panya.

  "Indeed, yes. Mr. Tolley had a red file in his hand when he fell. We all saw him."

  "The prophecy," said Sam.

  "No, Mr. Bolt, not the prophecy."

  "The police said it was."

  "That was not the prophecy."

  "It was," said Panya. "I picked it up before the police interviewed us."

  "I read it, Mrs. Pulaski. Do you think I do not know the words of the prophecy by now?" Gresley Wynne sounded agitated. "I have no doubt that Mr. Tolley thought he had the genuine article. Why else would he have brought it to the window?"

  "I think you're confused." Sam felt as irritated as he probably sounded. Bill Tolley had clearly found something worthwhile in the burning building, and he'd known it.

  "Mr. Bolt, let us try to be friends." Gresley Wynne sounded a little calmer now. "I read words in that binder that were never in Olsen's revelations. What is the establishment that will tremble from the sky to the abyss? It sounds similar to the prediction for the Cairo mosque, but it is not the same. Andy Olsen would have informed me immediately if he had made further discoveries. And there are other changes. I run a tight ship here."

  "Then it looks as though one of the sailors disobeyed the captain," said Sam. "You ought to be grateful to Bill Tolley for finding the full version before it got burnt up."

  "But he didn't save anything, Mr. Bolt. The red binder contains false words. The final page is not the voice of Aten."

  "Just spell it out," said Sam. "What are you saying?"

  "You don't understand, Mr. Bolt, but I believe that Mrs. Pulaski knows."

  Panya nodded. "Either Bill Tolley was deliberately setting us up with a fake, or someone planted the papers on him for a purpose."

  "Good. You're a bright woman. Mr. Tolley was your friend. So tell me, was he setting us up, as you put it?"

  "Unlikely," said Panya.

  "Then someone wants the false words found."

  "Cairo," said Panya. "It's all to do with Cairo."

  "Egypt certainly, Mrs. Pulaski. The power of Aten is at its strongest in Egypt. We are living in fantastic times."

  Sam thought back to the discussions with Bill Tolley. "Suppose there never was a prophecy. Suppose it was all false, right from the word go." He looked at Gresley Wynne. Perhaps he'd been too blunt with the old turkey. "I'm not trying to blame you."

  Gresley Wynne walked over to the window. "It was a lifetime's work for me."

  "You'd better sit down," Panya said, giving Sam a black look.

  The elderly man breathed in deeply. "Your pilot friend has a valid point, Mrs. Pulaski. I was suspicious, yes. Very suspicious. But it was like riding on a train out of control once Andy Olsen joined us. The faster it went, the harder it was to jump off." He stared out into the darkness. "The result is over there, a glowing mass of debris."

  "But it's not just the house, is it?" said Sam. "Right in the middle of Cairo a mosque was blown up. And Egypt's on fire too. Nuclear fire. Just like your prophecy said."

  Gresley Wynne shook his head. "You cannot blame me for that."

  "Of course we can't," said Panya.

  "Hold on," said Sam, looking at the doctor. "This miserable specimen could have fixed it all, just so he can be proved right."

  Gresley Wynne shook his head. "Do you really think I could organize explosives?"

  "Well, someone did it," Sam shouted. "Someone bloody did it!"

  "I'm going to phone Cardinal Fitz." Panya sounded decisive. "He needs to be warned."

  "Is he in danger?" asked Sam.

  Panya picked up the phone. "I think the whole Unity group is in danger."

  "Seems to me the whole world is in danger," said Sam. "There are madmen out there with nuclear weapons."

  Chapter 54

  Cheltenham, England

  "I CAN PATCH you in to the call, Admiral." Withington wiped his forehead. "I hope this work is finishing soon. I have to return the kit before anyone misses it."

  Spaxley slipped a pair of headphones over his ears. The man was a nervous rabbit. Endermann or Kramer had something on him, and it must be a powerful lever. "Make sure the recorder's running."

  The red light on the console flashed, picking up the tones from the dialing code of whoever was making the call.

  "It's an international," said Withington looking at the long list of digits appearing on the display. "Egypt. Cairo."

  Spaxley held one of the earpieces. "And it's definitely from the Institute?"

  "The woman's private line in the Lodge. She's using a long distance phone card. I recogniz
e the code."

  "Quiet," warned Spaxley as a man answered the ringing tone with the name of a hotel.

  "I'm phoning from England," said a female voice. "I have to speak to Cardinal Fitz urgently."

  The hotel clerk sounded sleepy and obviously annoyed at the lateness of the call. "You phone another time, in the day. It late here in Cairo. The guests all asleep in hotel now."

  "Then ring through to his room and wake him up." The woman's insistence came over stronger than the Egyptian's inertia.

  "Very well, I wake him for you." The emphasis implied that it was the caller's fault if the Cardinal vented his anger on the night duty clerk.

  A drowsy voice came on the line. The woman apologized for the late call.

  Spaxley looked at Withington. "Damn her. That's Panya Pulaski the housekeeper. Can you cut this line?"

  "Cut it?"

  "Can you cut them off?"

  "It's not easy. This tap is for listening, not for action. Give me a minute."

  "As fast as you can."

  Withington studied his circuit diagram as the woman spoke.

  "Michael, you've got to listen to me. The explosion at the al-Sûfiya mosque was meant to kill our group. You mustn't hold a replacement service tomorrow."

  "My dear Panya, there was no need to wake me to tell me this. We have our enemies, but the good Lord is watching over us all. I intend to honor our commitment to peace and understanding. We are meeting at the church of Saint Sergius in the early evening. God will protect us and guard us."

  "I think he wants me to warn you."

  Cardinal Fitz yawned. "Not at four in the morning."

  "The explosion wasn't an accident, Michael. When the Hindus destroyed the Ayodhya mosque in northern India in nineteen ninety-two, Muslims retaliated by attacking Hindu temples all over the world. Someone's trying to start another holy war: Muslims destroying churches, and Christians destroying mosques. And the Jews will be blamed for it all."

  "Panya, my child, do you have evidence?"

  "I need to see you, Michael. Please."

  "Perhaps in a day or two..."

  "Now. It must be now."

  "Cut it!" yelled Spaxley, and Withington pressed two buttons on the keyboard.

  "Michael? Cardinal Fitz?" the woman shouted anxiously, but got no response. She spoke to someone who was with her. The words came through clearly on the headphones. "They've cut the line, Sam. They were listening, and they've cut the line. I need to get to Cairo and help Cardinal Fitz."