by Tom Hunter
Pressing the button for the elevator, Faroukh came to stand by her as she waited for it to descend.
“Good morning, Shafira,” he beamed. “And how are you this beautiful morning?”
“Oh, er, fine, fine.” Shafira barely glanced at Faroukh as she gazed up at the numbers above the elevator counting down the floors until it would arrive, her foot nervously tapping away the seconds.
“I do hope that you aren’t still burning the candle at both ends,” he advised. “I keep telling you, this place does not reward hard work. You are better to do what everyone else does. Clock in at 9, do what you can for the next few hours, then head home the minute the clock strikes five.”
“That sounds lovely,” Shafira murmured, barely aware of what Faroukh was saying.
“You’re not listening to a word I say, are you?”
“What?” Shafira blinked, attempting to push away the image of Haisam’s dead eyes.
“It’s all right,” he reassured her jovially. “I’d probably tune out if I were you. The youth of today think they know it all. Until you get old and discover that you know nothing!”
He laughed at his own joke, nudging Shafira with his elbow, but she didn’t join in.
“Hey, are you all right, Shafira?” Faroukh asked, frowning. “Now that I can see you, you’re looking a little pale. Are you feeling okay?”
Shafira said nothing. How did you tell a colleague that their boss had been brutally murdered? Was it even her place to say anything before the news was made public? Would she get into trouble with the police if she discussed the Director’s death with anyone before she spoke to them?
She was saved from having to reply by the ding of the elevator announcing its arrival.
“After you.” Faroukh bowed, stepping back so she could go in first. “You know, if you’re not feeling well, it’s not too late for you to go home. I’m sure I could cover for you.”
“That’s very kind of you, but there’s no need,” Shafira assured him, as the elevator sped up to their floor. As the doors opened again, the first thing Shafira noticed was the uniformed police officer standing outside her cubicle chatting to one of the secretaries. The woman laughed coquettishly at something the policeman said, but when she saw Shafira walking towards them, her mood shifted in an instant as she glared at her colleague.
“That’s the woman you’re looking for,” the secretary said coldly, turning away as Shafira came to stand next to the officer.
“Are you Shafira Khouri?” asked the policeman, checking in his notebook that he had the right name.
“I am.” Shafira’s heart leapt to her throat as the policeman tutted and read over his notes, seeming to take an eternity to remind himself of the details of the case he was investigating.
“Is there somewhere private we can talk?” he asked at last.
“Meeting room three is free, Officer Ali,” suggested the secretary helpfully. “Just through that door there.”
“Thank you, Rasheeda,” smiled the officer. “And thank you for the coffee too–just what I needed!”
“You’re welcome.” Rasheeda blushed, fiddling with her hair as she wiggled her fingers in a goodbye wave before returning to her desk to gossip with the other secretaries.
“What’s going on, Officer?” asked Shafira. “Have you found Director Haisam’s body?”
“I think it best if we discuss this in the meeting room,” replied the policeman curtly, indicating to Shafira that she should lead the way.
Once inside the meeting room, the policeman gestured to Shafira to take a seat as he closed the door behind them. She sat down, clasping her hands together to stop them shaking.
“Have you found Director Haisam’s body?” Shafira repeated as the officer flicked through his notebook to find a blank page.
“Before I update you on our investigation, I’d like you to go over once again what happened last night,” Officer Ali told her.
“I was walking home after work,” Shafira began. “Usually I’d go straight to my house, but it was so lovely I decided to take a detour through the park. As I walked past some bushes, I heard a thud that was so loud that it scared the birds from the trees. I went to see what had made the noise and I saw a man kicking and punching someone. At first I thought it was a mugging, but it soon became clear that something more serious was going on. When the attacker was finished, they shoved the body in my direction, which is when I saw that it was Director Haisam. Luckily, I was hidden by the bushes or I might have been killed too.
“As I watched, the murderer wrapped the Director’s body in a bag and then left, so I went to get help. I saw a policeman by the entrance to the park, so I gave him my card, told him what had happened and went home.” She hung her head in embarrassment. “I should have waited for the officer to return, but I was afraid. I didn’t know whether the killer had seen me or if he’d come back, so I decided to wait for the officer in the security of my own home, only nobody came to check on me.”
“Were you drinking last night?” asked the officer abruptly.
“Was I-? No!” Shafira blushed. Could the policeman still smell whisky on her breath? What did it matter if she’d had a drink or two after what she’d witnessed? She was stone cold sober when she saw Haisam die.
“It’s just that we have a rather peculiar situation here,” the officer explained. “It’s this alleged death that puzzles me the most.”
“Alleged?” Shafira frowned. “Officer, I can assure you that Director Haisam was dead. Nobody could have survived what he went through. I saw it with my own eyes. Somebody killed him, and you need to find the murderer before they strike again.”
“We found blood in the park in the area you directed us to,” the policeman confirmed. “Given the seriousness of your allegations, we wanted to test it immediately, so we came to the Ministry to try and obtain a DNA sample to confirm the identity of the victim. I’m sure you can imagine our embarrassment when we found the Director in his office working late. He was most surprised to learn that he was supposed to have been murdered a few hours previously.”
“But… but I don’t understand,” stammered Shafira. “How did he look? Was he bruised?”
“He was fine,” replied the officer. “Not a scratch on him. He was more than happy to supply us a sample for us to compare against the blood. We are waiting for the lab results to confirm, but even without them, I think it safe to say that you were mistaken about the victim–assuming there was even a victim in the first place.”
“But there was!” protested Shafira. “You said yourself you found blood at the area.”
“There are plenty of explanations for why there was blood there,” the officer told her. He carried on talking, but Shafira wasn’t listening. She was distracted by the sight of the Director walking past the meeting room window. She watched as he stopped to talk to staff, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries as he made his way through the department.
The detective was right. Director Haisam was in perfect health.
“I’m sorry, Officer Ali,” murmured Shafira. “I guess I must have been mistaken after all. I’m sorry for having wasted your time.”
“Perjury is a serious offence,” the policeman warned. “I’m afraid I have to inform you that your case will be referred to my superiors who may decide to charge you. I must request that you remain in Cairo until we have concluded our investigations. Should it transpire that there was a victim after all, we will still need to identify who they were, since you were clearly mistaken about it being the Director and you will be required to give evidence. Make sure that we have your updated contact details at all time.”
“Yes, of course.” Shafira stood as the man got up to go, her mind whirling. She wasn’t perjuring herself. She knew what she’d seen. There had to be a rational explanation for what had happened last night, but whatever it was, the police weren’t interested in uncovering it.
She escorted the officer to the elevator. As the doors closed behind him, she turned
and watched the Director as he smiled and joked with Rasheeda and the other secretaries. There wasn’t a scratch on him.
It made absolutely no sense. Something was very wrong here. Shafira was determined to find out what it was.
Twenty-One
Basile ducked into the tent that served as Waleed’s jail cell, a bowl of porridge in his hand.
“Thanks for keeping an eye on him,” he said to the porter who was currently sitting with the prisoner. “I’ll take over from here. I’d like to have a word with him in private.”
“I’m not sure that that’s a good idea,” countered the porter. “He’s a tricky character who almost persuaded one of the guards to set him free. You should have some back up with you, just in case.”
“I’m sure I can deal with un petit salaud like him,” Basile reassured the porter. “Besides, Waleed and I have things to discuss. Private things.”
“Are you sure?” The porter looked dubious.
“I’m sure,” Basile insisted. “We’re wasting enough resources on him as it is. Go and do the job we’re paying you to do.”
“If you say so.” The porter shrugged and walked out, leaving Basile alone with Waleed.
“Hope you’re hungry,” Basile said to Waleed, dragging over another chair to sit opposite him as he spooned out some porridge, shoving it into Waleed’s mouth without caring if any fell down his clothes.
“Thank you,” mumbled Waleed, through his food. “Nobody brought me any dinner last night so I’m starving.”
“You’re lucky to get anything at all,” Basile told him. “After the stunt you pulled, we should be staking you out in the middle of the desert for the fire ants.”
Waleed sucked air through his teeth. “You’re a harsh man,” he said. “Have you been spending too much time in the company of Samuel McCarthy?”
“Samuel’s not harsh,” protested Basile. “He takes a dim view of thieves, that’s all. And I can’t blame him.”
Waleed barked a laugh. “I get it. You don’t want to risk your standing in the camp. But it’s all right. You’re among friends now. You can tell me the truth. Samuel won’t learn about anything you say from me.”
“Hold your tongue.” Basile roughly shoveled another spoonful of porridge into Waleed’s mouth. The man grinned as he chewed, which only angered Basile more.
“See–I can see Samuel’s influence finally coming out in you,” Waleed chuckled. “I told you that you should take lessons from the American. I’m glad to see you finally listening to me.”
“Don’t think I can’t see what you’re doing,” warned Basile. “You’re trying to get under my skin. I know your sort. All you want to do is cause trouble. No doubt that’s why you’re claiming that the Bruard have infiltrated the camp. It’s just another one of your little mind games. For all we know, it’s you who is the Bruard agent. You’ve been cagey and suspicious from the moment you first came here. You were leaving to meet up with your masters and you’re annoyed that we’ve thwarted your plans.”
“I’m no Bruard.” For a moment, Waleed lost his swagger, as he practically spat out his words.
Basile was taken aback by Waleed’s intensity, but he tried not to let it show. “The Ministry will be here in day or so. If you don’t give them the answers they want, you’ll be turned over to be questioned by the government’s expert interrogators and make no mistake–they will make you talk.”
“The Ministry is coming?” mused Waleed. “An interesting development. Are you not curious as to why the Ministry is sending one of their own to visit the camp after all this time? They wouldn’t be coming just for little old me. What else is going on, I wonder?”
“It’s no great mystery,” Basile told him. “Either their experts saw something in McCarthy’s recording he missed or they’re as concerned as we are by the possibility of the Bruard using the cave.”
“That’s one explanation,” conceded Waleed, smirking.
“What?” snapped Basile. “What are you trying to say?”
“It’s just that I’ve had encounters with the Bruard before,” Waleed confessed. “It is not something I’m proud of, but I once ran a con that went awry, incurring the wrath of the Bruard. I did a lot of research on them in preparation for the scam. I learned how to spot their cells so I could manipulate them better. The Bruard is involved here, of that there is no doubt, but I do not believe that it is how you think it is, my friend.”
“Is that right?” Basile attempted to act nonchalant.
“How is this, my friend?” Waleed offered. “I’ll be more than happy to stay at the camp and assist you in the fight against the Bruard, but in order for me to be effective, I’ll need to be free of my bindings. You help me and I’ll help you. I can’t uncover the spy if I’m trapped in here, can I?”
“I don’t think so,” sniffed Basile. “I can’t imagine Samuel would like it if he knew that you were running around camp unsupervised. It’s going to take him a while to forgive you for putting a gun to his head, even if it was all a bluff.”
“What can I say? I was desperate,” Waleed told him. “But with your support, I think we can find the truth.” He thought for a moment. “How is this for a compromise: what about if you let me investigate the camp without us telling Samuel for three days? That will give me plenty of time to compile a full report on the Bruard agent and what is really going on behind the scenes at camp. If I haven’t found anything after three days then I will willingly hand myself over to the authorities. You can’t say fairer than that, my friend.”
“I don’t know…”
Waleed pressed on. “I’m swift and quiet, so no one will see me moving around and I promise that I’ll be back here in my prison before Samuel comes to check on me. He’ll never know I’ve been gone. Give me a chance to prove myself to you, one way or another.”
“I’m still not sure if we shouldn’t tell Samuel,” said Basile.
“You know what will happen if we do,” replied Waleed. “He’ll tell you that you’re wrong about me, that I’m dangerous, that I should be restrained until I can be handed over to the authorities, blah, blah, blah. If that happens, you’ll never know who the spy is until it’s too late. Samuel is an intelligent man, but sometimes he can be blinkered by his own brilliance. You have much better people skills than he. You always have. It’s why everyone loves you on the camp while Samuel would be eating his meals on his own if you weren’t here. He is your friend. I understand your loyalty to him. But this is not betraying him. This is helping him. Together we will keep him safe. When you unmask the spy, you’ll be a hero. Your name will be on the front page of all the papers, with the details of how you persuaded your quiet little apprentice help you to prove your suspicions. I will just be a small footnote to your brilliance. Don’t you want to be the hero of the story instead of Samuel for a change?”
“It would be nice,” Basile conceded. He paused for a long moment. “All right. You have a deal. I will give you your freedom for the next three days as long as nobody sees you and you return here for questioning whenever Samuel wants to talk to you. If you do not uncover evidence of the Bruard’s involvement during that time, you will let me hand you over to the authorities myself.”
“It is a deal, my friend,” cried Waleed joyously as Basile went round to untie his hands. “Now here’s my plan…”
Twenty-Two
Samuel walked through the dig site, paying careful attention to everything around him as he inspected the progress. Thanks to the generosity of the Ministry, he’d been able to hire a large crew, so they’d managed to unearth a great deal of the palace they’d discovered, but there was still a long way to go before they could consider the site fully excavated. It was a large site, one of the biggest digs Samuel had worked on so far, and with the discovery of the cave adding to his workload, there was still a lot left to do.
“Mr. McCarthy!” beamed one of the workers as Samuel went past. “It’s good to see you here.”
“Good to see y
ou too, Suleiman. Keep it up! You’re doing great.” Samuel made a point of knowing all the workers’ names, even if he’d only met them briefly. It was one of the many little ways in which he won the respect of all his team. Well, almost all. There were always exceptions like Waleed.
“Oh, Suleiman, do you know whether the scrolls we recovered from the library last week are still in storage tent B?”
“Yes, Mr. McCarthy,” nodded Suleiman. “Categorized and ordered just the way you requested.”
“Excellent.”
Samuel headed off to the section of the camp set aside for the safe storage of documentation. After centuries sealed underground, they required strict climate control to preserve them before they were safely transported to the city for further study.
Making his way to storage tent B, Samuel entered the outer part of the tent. Unlike accommodation tents, extra layers had been constructed around the artifact storage tents designed to keep out dust, moisture, bacteria, and anything else that might degrade the documents.
Liberally covering his hands with the antibacterial soap stored by the entrance, Samuel scrubbed up, making sure that his hands were perfectly clean before going into the inner sanctum of the tent. Holding his hands in the air so that he didn’t sully them when he pushed the door open, Samuel turned to push open the entrance with his back. He could hear the sounds of someone shuffling around inside the tent, presumably another archaeologist.
Samuel opened his mouth to call out a warning that the doors were about to open when he heard the familiar crackling sound of a radio tuning in. Remembering what Waleed had claimed about the spy, Samuel bit back his cry, leaning his head against the door to listen in. Samuel strained his ears, but he couldn’t make out any of the words beyond a vague muttering. Leaning closer to try and hear better, the door suddenly gave way beneath him and he fell into the storage tent, landing painfully on his backside.
Ignoring the agony in his lower back, Samuel pulled himself to his feet as he heard the sound of a case snapping shut. Footsteps ran away as Samuel gave chase in the direction of the noise.
