Golden Relic (20 page)

"Mmm, oh yum," Sam said, following suit. "But I have to say, Maggie, the coffee looks strong
enough to stay in shape without the cup."

"Hello, hello, you want perfume?"

"
La' shukran
," Maggie snapped at the bearded man who had approached their table.

"They don't give up, do they," Sam commented.

"Never," Maggie laughed. "You know the Khan started life as a caravanserai, built by Sultan
Barquq's Master of Horses in the 1300s. It was a simple inn and way station for caravans, and I
don't mean the sort that retired Australians drag around the country behind their cars. Merchants,
travellers and their trains of camels used to rest here and do a little trading. When the Ottomans
took over Egypt in the 16
^th
century it grew into a fully-fledged Turkish bazaar
attracting traders from all over the known world. It was…"

"Maggie," Sam interrupted earnestly, "I thought you said the fez guy wouldn't find us here."

"It was a hundred to one against that he wouldn't" Maggie remarked. "Where is he?"

"Loitering by the spice stall behind you."

"Well, we'll just let him loiter while we finish our food, and then we'll lose him again."

"Is he still with us?" Sam asked 15 minutes later as she and Maggie stopped to investigate a
stall of 'authentic' relics from the Valley of the Kings.

"Yes," Maggie replied, ignoring the merchant who was explaining that the recently-carved figurine
she was holding was a centuries-old statuette unearthed near the tomb of Ramses III.

They continued walking, pretending to take interest in carvings, jewellery and a bizarre-looking
vegetable floating in soup, until they turned another corner and stopped to buy a bottle of
water.

"Perhaps we should split up," Maggie suggested.

"No way, Maggie," Sam stressed.

"Okay, but let's see what he does if he thinks we've separated. I won't get lost here, so how
about we wander down to that perfumery on the next corner, have what looks like a serious
arrangement-making conversation, then I'll tap my watch and walk off. You stay right there, don't
move no matter what, and I'll come back in 10 minutes."

"Okay," Sam agreed reluctantly, "in the absence of a sensible plan, that will have to do I
guess."

Twenty minutes after Maggie had pointed up the street, recited a bawdy limerick as if it was the
most important information she'd ever imparted, tapped her watch and disappeared into the crowd,
closely followed by the guy in the fez, Sam was still standing on her own - waiting. She had so
far managed to fend of marauding children wanting to sell trinkets by saying '
imshi
' a lot,
and had also deterred several grown-up shopkeepers and hawkers with her very firm "
la'
shukran
", but now she was starting to get worried.

She checked her watch again. It was 5.45 and all was not well. When she looked up, the situation
got suddenly worse as she noticed the guy in the fez was striding back up the street towards her
with what could only be described as serious intent. There was still no sign of Maggie.

Sam had little choice but to stand her ground but just as Mr Fez reached out, apparently trying
to grab her arm, another man barged between them shoving him out of the way and sending Sam
sprawling backwards over a box. She struggled to her feet and took off down the short alley next to
the perfumery and rounded the next corner only to find herself in a cul de sac with a donkey.

'Shit," she exclaimed, turning to go back the way she'd come only to find Mr Fez had already
found her.

"Nowhere to go, Miss Detective," he said.

"Yeah? What is it you want exactly?" Sam asked, moving so that she could see back down the alley,
or rather be seen by anyone passing.

"The key," he answered simply.

"What key?" Sam asked, backing up against the wall.

"Do not fool with me. Give me the key from the safety deposit box or I will take it from you," he
said, pulling out a decidedly nasty-looking knife as he moved closer. "Is it worth dying for?"

"No, not all. You can have it, just don't hurt me, okay," Sam pleaded, pulling a set of keys from
her belt pouch and removing one from the ring. As he reached out for it, Sam swivelled on her left
foot, raised her right one and slammed it into his knee. He went down in a screaming heap on the
ground. The only problem was that he was still between her and the way out. As she kicked him again,
she realised that someone was calling out as he ran down the alley towards her.

"Thank goodness," Sam said. "Oh shit," she added. The help that was on the way had obviously come
for Mr Fez. It was the other man from the hotel lobby, the swarthy-looking gent who had tried to
hide his bad suit behind the newspaper.

Just make a run for it, Sam told herself but Mr Fez had other ideas. His groan turned to a growl
as he launched himself off the ground at Sam and slammed her head and body back into the wall. The
whole world turned upside down, in a sickening swirl. Sam was vaguely aware that the other man was
still shouting, then a fist connected with her jaw. She slid down the wall and into a very dark
place.

Sam strolled, vaguely, along the Corniche el Nil wondering how on earth she'd got
from the cafe in the Khan with Maggie back to the Nile Hilton without her. But the hotel was there,
up ahead on her left, its windows reflecting the last rays of sunset. She closed her eyes to enjoy
the gentle breeze that brushed her face and when she opened them again she noticed a group of
people, including the hotel concierge and the Miss Marple triplets, gathered around something on the
ground near the gangplank of a multi-sailed white yacht moored to a pontoon.

It was none her business, but Sam was curious so she joined the circle to see what they were
looking at. A man was lying face down on the ground, with an arrow in his back.

"It's definitely suspicious," said one of the Miss Marples.

"Death on the Nile," another nodded. "Very spooky."

"Very bizarre," Sam commented.

"Are you all right?" asked the man next to Sam, placing his hand gently on her arm.

"Very bizarre," Sam emphasised looking into the concerned face of Hercule Poirot. Don't be silly,
she thought. It's not Hercule Poirot, it's Peter Ustinov. Wow!

Sam blinked and the great actor morphed into…into - Moses? She screwed her eyes shut
and then heard a deep and gentle voice call out "
Gamal, shy bi-nannah
".

Sam opened her eyes again. Oh good, it wasn't Moses gazing down on her. But the very old,
red-turbaned and long-bearded man, wearing a green - what was is it? - ah,
galibeya
and holding a wicker fan, did look remarkably like Charlton Heston.

"Can you sit up?" he asked.

"Yes, of course," Sam replied, but found she only had enough strength to ease herself onto her
elbows. She was lying on a divan in the corner of a shop jam-packed with Pharaonic
'antiquities'.

"May I help?" Moses Heston offered, holding out his hands.

"Yes please," she replied, allowing the big man to lift her up and back onto a pile of cushions.
"
Shukran
," Sam smiled.

He nodded and then beckoned to a skinny teenage boy with huge bright eyes who stepped forward and
handed him a glass.

"
Shy bi-nannah
," he said offering the drink to Sam. "Mint tea."

"
Shukran
," Sam said again and took a sip. "Am I still in the Khan?"

"Yes. I am Ahmed Omar, this my shop. And this my grandson, Gamal. He find you."

"My name is Sam, Sam Diamond.
Shukran
Gamal."

The boy grinned and sat crossed-legged at his grandfather's feet.

"Did he take anything, the Turkish who attacked you?"

Sam shook her head, she was still wearing her belt pouch and could feel the money belt still
under her jeans. "He was Turkish?" she said. "But there were two men."

Ahmed and Gamal had a long conversation during which Gamal gesticulated a great deal before
finishing his story by punching his fist into his open palm.

"Gamal say the Turkish man pushed you into the wall, then he hit you in the face. He say the
Mexican…"

"Mexican?" Sam interrupted.

"Yes, the Mexican tried to stop the Turkish from hurting you more. When the Turkish ran off, the
Mexican went to see you are okay. He saw Gamal and sent him to get help for you. When I arrive
there's no Turkish, no Mexican, just you. I carry you here."

"I don't know how to thank you, Ahmed," Sam smiled.

"No need. It is enough that you are not hurt too much. But why are you alone here?"

"I wasn't," Sam explained. "I was with another Australian woman, but we got separated."

"Not good," Ahmed shook his head. "Where you staying?"

"Nile Hilton."

"Long way. Maybe Gamal can take you to a taxi," he suggested.

"If there was telephone anywhere around I could call someone," Sam said hopefully.

"Yes, yes, good idea," Ahmed pronounced. He reached over to the table behind Sam, and handed her
a mobile phone. "I am businessman," he laughed when he saw her surprised look.

Sam pulled Emil's business card from her pouch and punched in the number. "Emil?"

"Yes, Emil," he said.

"Emil, this is Sam. You know, Sam and Maggie."

"Yes Maggie."

"No, it's Sam. I am in the Khan el Khalili, and I have lost Maggie. Could you come and get me,
please?"

"How you get there, Sam?"

"Ser-veece taxi - very bad drive," Sam said.

Emil cackled with laughter. "Where you are?"

Sam held the phone away from her mouth, "Ahmed, could you tell Emil where we are, and ask the
best place to meet him, please."

When Ahmed finished talking he disconnected the call. "He say 15 minutes. Stay here."

Exactly 15 minutes later Emil walked jauntily into the shop of Ahmed Omar but stopped dead and
did a double take when he saw Sam propped up on the divan.

"Did taxi crash?" he asked.

"No, why?"

"Very big hurt, Sam," Emil stated, tapping his own chin then pointing at Sam's.

"A very big Turkish hit me," Sam explained. "I am okay though," she added, although as she got to
her feet she realised that her ribs hurt like hell.

"Come, bike not far. I take you back to hotel."

"Bike?"

"Yes bike. Limo too big for Khan. Not fit."

Sam thanked Ahmed and Gamal again and started to follow Emil out of the shop. She stopped when
she noticed something at the back of a counter near the door.

"Ahmed, could I buy this?" she asked, picking up a beautiful, hand-sized stone carving. It was
Hatshepsut, a small replica of the head she'd seen in the Museum. She reached into her pouch, took
out her wallet and removed 30 pounds. "Is this enough?"

"It is not real, Sam Diamond," Ahmed admitted.

"I know, Ahmed. But I like it very much."

"It is my work," he said, smiling graciously. "But this is too much."

Emil made a strange gurgling sound, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Ten for Gamal," Sam offered. "Okay?"

Ahmed pressed his right palm to his chest and gave a slight bow.

"What you do, Sam? Promise to marry grandson?" Emil asked, as he led the way down the street
towards an area crowded with small cars, wagons and livestock.

"No Emil, I did not."

"Very strange. You offer 30 he should say 90. It only worth five," Emil shrugged.

"Not to me, it's not," Sam stated.

After a literally hair-raising ride through the streets and evening traffic of
Cairo, Sam climbed off the back of Emil's motor cycle in front of the Nile Hilton. She glanced
towards the river, relieved to see there was no crowd gathered around a dead body. There was no
white boat either.

With Emil in tow, Sam decided to see if Maggie was in the bar before checking their room.

"Sam!" Maggie exclaimed with relief, waving her over to the table. "I'm so glad you thought to
come back here. I couldn't find you anywhere. Emil? What are you doing here?"

"I am rescuing," Emil said proudly.

Sam sat in the chair opposite Maggie and glared at her. "I need a beer," she said. "Now."

Maggie's eyes were suddenly wide with horrified concern. She reached out and gently touched Sam's
face. "My god, what happened?"

"I was attacked by a knife-wielding suspicious Turkish fez who did
not
want to sell me
perfume."

"I thought I lost him," Maggie stated. "It took ages to get him off my tail, and when I returned
you were nowhere in sight."

"That's because when he lost you, he came looking for me. And there I was, waiting," Sam
growled.

"I'm sorry, you're right, it was dumb idea," Maggie acknowledged. "Emil can you order us two
Stellas and something for yourself, from the bar, please."

"So what did he want?" Maggie asked when Emil was out of earshot.

"What did he want? He wanted the key, Maggie. And what's more he knows I'm a cop. And the other
man, the Mexican, he's following us too."

"The Mexican?" Maggie repeated, as though she thought Sam had been hit a little too hard.

"Yes Maggie, the Mexican," Sam stated, and then explained exactly what had happened.

"But Sam, I've got the key," Maggie said, when Sam had finished. "What did you give him?"

"The key to my locker at work."

"Why did you have that with you?"

"I've got all my keys with me," Sam said.

"What on earth for?"

"I don't believe you, Maggie," Sam was astounded. "I was left alone, by you, in a foreign bazaar,
where I was attacked by a Turk, rescued by a Mexican and helped by an old Egyptian who looked like
Charlton Heston. This was followed by a warp-speed ride down Sharia Talaat Harb on the back of
Emil's motor cycle, yet you want to know why I brought my house keys."

"It's a reasonable question," Maggie said trying not to laugh.