The Khamsin Curse (13 page)

“Mmm,” weighed in the Countess,
“I wonder what prompted Moran’s Orpheus adventure. Was it a
foolhardy act to bag yet another man-eater or was it an act of
extraordinary courage to put the big cat out of its misery?”

Mr Jefferson Lee had come full
circle and his opinion altered accordingly. “A man who is unafraid
to take the tiger by the tail – hey? That’s my sort of man!”

Professor Mallisham’s cabin was
checked by the Countess prior to dinner. Xenia and Fedir stood
guard at either end of the promenade deck. In the bottom of his
suitcase there were two papyri and a number of hand-drawn
facsimiles.

After dinner, the cabin of
Colonel Hayter was checked by Major Nash. A false bottom in the
lining of his suitcase revealed a handful of official permits. The
fact the permits were hidden confirmed he was by-passing official
channels and selling them himself.

8

The ancient kingdom of Thebes
shimmered in the heat haze like a desert mirage. A string of
calashes ferried them from the wharf to the temple complex known as
Luxor.

Dr Watson, adhering to his plan
to keep an eye on Mrs Baxter, hopped into the same calash and made
sure to walk around with her, asking endless questions about the
temples, hieroglyphs and gods, of which she had surprisingly
considerable knowledge. She seemed glad of the male company.

Hypatia Lee and Daisy Clooney
made a threesome with Professor Mallisham. They leapt into the
second calash, overtook the first, and left the others for dust.
When they arrived at Luxor they hurried to the farthest end of the
complex, unlike everyone else who started at the Avenue of Sphinxes
and worked their way to the Hall of Houses at the end. It was clear
they did not want company.

Mr Longshanks, unable to shake
off Colonel Hayter at the wharf, was stuck with his official nanny,
however, soon after entering the massive temple he began weaving in
and out of the columns, moving left and right, backwards and
forwards, frustrating his unwanted shadow. In the Colonnade that
joined the Court of Ramses to the Court of Amenhotep, he began
playing a game of cat and mouse with his minder until such time as
he could give him the slip.

The Countess travelled with
their host, Mr Lee, who had managed to ditch the chip on his big
broad shoulder. On the first night of their cruise he had
instructed Azrafel to keep an eye on the professor to make sure the
sand-grubber was not enjoying any late night trysts with Miss Lee.
When the steward assured him there were no secret assignations
going on, the Texan began to relax and enjoy his Egyptian sojourn.
After five days of cruising calmly upriver to Thebes, he was
visibly less moody.

Countess V had been wandering
around the Luxor temple with Mr Lee and an Egyptian guide for
around an hour when someone hissed at her in the Hypostyle Hall. It
was Major Nash. She hung back, pretending to be interested in a
hieroglyph then hid behind one of the giant columns. The major
sounded edgy.

“I’ve just spotted Mallisham
moving briskly in the direction of the road where the calashes are
parked. He looks like he’s going somewhere in a hurry. I want to
follow him. Keep an eye on Hayter.”

In the blink of an eye he was
gone.

Colonel Hayter was nowhere to
be found but in the Offering Hall the Countess bumped into her
counterpart. A fuchsia scarf was hanging out of his pocket.

“Where’s Mrs Baxter?” she said,
noting the distinctive silk scarf.

He shrugged and looked blank.
“I’ve got no idea. She told me she dropped her scarf in the
Colonnade and asked if I would go back to get it while she sat down
and rested. The scarf was there all right, but when I returned to
where she sat down she was gone.”

“Do you think it was a
deliberate ploy to slip away?”

He nodded glumly. “Where’s Mr
Lee?”

“I left him with the Egyptian
guide when Major Nash signalled that he wanted to speak to me in
private. Mallisham was heading toward the calashes. The major is
following him.”

“Hmm, remember what the major
said about the information that Cambridge chap scratched onto the
wall of the well about the fake papyri workshop. Mallisham might
be…”

“Shhh, someone’s coming. Quick,
let’s dart into the Hypostyle Hall and hide behind a column.”

Together they fled into the
massive hall full of gigantic columns that provided better cover
and watched as Herr Graf and Miss Ursula Graf sailed past.

“Well, well, well,” hissed the
doctor in a surly undertone. “Look who’s here.”

“Nothing unusual in that. Let’s
say hello.”

Brusquely, he grabbed hold of
her arm. “Wait! Look who he’s just met up with.”

It was Colonel Hayter. The two
men immediately appeared to be at loggerheads over something. The
exchange wasn’t heated but words were accompanied by emphatic
gestures – crossed arms, shake of heads, squared shoulders. The
body language spoke volumes.

“Give me that scarf,” she said
when Miss Graf walked off and left the two men to argue it out.
“I’ll catch up to Ursula Graf. You wait here until Herr Graf goes
then catch up to Hayter and see if he’s got anything to say for
himself. It would be interesting to know what was being discussed.
Be subtle.”

She nabbed the scarf and walked
briskly after the fraulein, waving coyly at the two men who briefly
paused to acknowledge her presence. She caught up to Ursula Graf in
the Colonnade.

“Oh, hello, Fraulein Graf. How
lovely to see you again. Did you see an American lady with red hair
come past here?” She gave a jaunty wave of the scarf, painting
fuchsia circles in the air. “She is a fellow passenger on our
paddle-steamer and she dropped her head scarf in the Hypostyle
Hall. I wanted to return it in case she is planning to visit a
mosque.”

Miss Graf seemed unsurprised to
hear the Countess’s voice. “Hello, Countess Volodymyrovna. No, I
didn’t see anyone with red hair pass by here just now but about
half an hour ago I saw a lady with red hair hurrying along the
Avenue of Sphinxes. I thought it was strange to see someone
hurrying because of the midday heat, especially a lady. She looked
like she was running to meet someone.”

“She was probably hurrying to
meet Dr Watson,” supplied the Countess with patent falseness. “He
must have started for Karnak ahead of her and she was trying to
catch him up.”

“Well, in that case, I hope the
doctor didn’t wait for her to join him. He would have been waiting
in vain. She stopped suddenly at one of those stalls by the side of
the road. When she finished paying for her purchase she turned and
went to the road where the calashes are parked.”

“Mrs Baxter has such a good eye
for a bargain. I am so envious of her ability to spot a hidden gem.
I wonder what she bought.”

“It was a kilim. A small
Turkish rug. If you will excuse me, I see my uncle waving for me to
re-join him. Good afternoon to you.”

Miss Graf turned and walked
back the way she had come.

The Countess began the hot and
dusty trek toward the Avenue of Sphinxes to check out the traders
who sold kilims when she bumped into Miss Lee and Miss Clooney
sitting on a large stone block, fanning their faces with their
guide books. They had lost sight of Professor Mallisham in the
Court of Amenhotep and enquired if she had seen him anywhere.

“I haven’t seen him since we
left the Sekhmet this morning,” replied the Countess in all
honesty.

“Was that Miss Graf we saw you
talking to just a moment ago?” asked Miss Lee who had taken to
wearing a peacock feather in her hair to symbolize the goddess
Ma’at.

“Yes.”

“I didn’t realize her father
had killed himself,” said Miss Lee sympathetically, fingering the
feather to make sure it was still in place. “Max told us it was a
scandal involving fake artifacts. I thought the man accompanying
her was her father.”

“I thought it was her husband,”
said Miss Clooney facetiously.

“The man with her is her uncle.
He’s also an archaeologist.”

They were joined a few moments
later by Mr Jefferson Lee. The cattle king had dismissed his
Egyptian guide and was looking red-faced and ready to expire. He
was returning to the Sekhmet for a bourbon with plenty of ice. It
was almost time for lunch. The three ladies decided a Pimms would
go down well.

In the meantime, Dr Watson
managed to latch onto his ex-army chum. They sat down in a tiny
pocket of shade. The sun was high overhead and shadows were at
their shortest.

“Was that Herr Graf I saw you
talking to?”

“Yes,” said the colonel,
mopping his face with a damp handkerchief soaked with perspiration.
“He’s a regular visitor to Egypt. Have you met him?”

The doctor nodded dourly. “He
was on the Queen of Cairo with us. I cannot say I like him much. He
hogged three deck chairs and was extremely rude when I asked if one
of them was vacant. He was staying at The Mena House too. The
Countess seems fond of his niece but I cannot take to either of
them.”

“I don’t have anything good to
say about him either. He’s always badgering me for special
treatment – now it’s a permit for his niece.”

“Permit?” Dr Watson feigned
ignorance.

“Foreigners need a permit to
work on archaeological sites. He purchased a permit for himself.
He’s always poking around, hoping to stumble across that one big
spectacular find, in between snapping up treasures to sell to
private clients or museums, but he forgot to purchase a permit for
his niece. She’s an archaeologist too apparently. Her father was a
distinguished Egyptologist but his reputation was ruined by greed.
The way Jurgen Graf goes on you’d think it was
my
fault he
forgot to purchase a permit for the pretty fraulein. He now expects
me to supply one at the drop of a hat.”

“Can you do that? Supply a
permit at the drop of a hat, I mean?”

Hayter bit his lip; rivers of
sweat were trickling down the side of his face and soaking into his
grimy collar. “Why do you ask?”

Dr Watson was on top of his
game; the heat had not melted his brain cells. “Oh, I just wondered
if the Countess could get one before we get to Philae. She was
hoping to do some pottering around. She fancies herself as an
amateur archaeologist.” He gave a short, light, risible chuckle.
“You know what these rich types can be like. They think the normal
rules don’t apply to them. I don’t think she realizes she needs a
permit to go poking around ancient sites.”

“Is she English?’

“Ukrainian.”

“Well, then, yes, she can visit
the site and wander around, but the moment she starts assisting
Mallisham or sifting sand or removing shards of pottery she will
need a permit. Did you say she was rich?”

“Extremely! Rolling in the
stuff!”

Hayter looked past the doctor’s
shoulder; his face was suddenly flushed. “Have you seen that
Eastern advocate chap around? He wandered off and got lost more
than an hour ago. I’ve been searching for him ever since.”

Dr Watson managed to sound
convincingly vague. “I saw him about half an hour ago in the Court
of Ramses, or was it the Court of Amenhotep? He was looking for
you. He wandered off and I didn’t see him again after that. He
probably returned to the Sekhmet for lunch. We should probably head
back now too. I’m famished.”

Hayter pushed to his feet and
seemed to wobble like a nine pin that had taken a hit. The doctor
caught him by the elbow to stop him toppling over.

“Are you all right?” he asked
with genuine concern, overlooking the fact his chum might be up to
the eyeballs in something shady.

“It’s just this damned heat,”
whined the colonel, trying to steady. “It makes me feel
light-headed when I stand up suddenly. It saps a man of strength.
My appetite hasn’t been the same since I arrived in Cairo. The
smell of food makes me come over all queasy. But I could use a cold
drink, that’s for sure. A gin and tonic will hit the spot.” He
glanced back over his shoulder one last time; his shirt was
drenched in sweat. “I hope that Longshanks fellow got back to the
Sekhmet in one piece. I would hate to see him end up like that
Cambridge chap.”

Countess V had changed into a
muslin dress trimmed with blue embroidery and was splashing on some
refreshing eau de toilette, rather than the French
parfum
she favoured in the evening, when Dr Watson caught up to her in her
cabin to relay the news that the argument between Hayter and Graf
was most likely related to a permit for his niece.

“If Hayter approaches you about
acquiring a permit,” he added, “act as if you are interested and
money is no object. It’s the only way we will know for sure if he
is taking bribes.”

She nodded to show she
understood. “Have you seen Major Nash? Did he return to the
Sekhmet?”

“I only just returned myself.
But Hayter said something worrying. He said he hopes Longshanks
doesn’t end up like the Cambridge chap.”

She was thinking the same thing
herself and her heart sank. “Do you know if Professor Mallisham has
returned?”

He shook his head. “Did you
catch up with Mrs Baxter?”

She shook her head as well. “We
aren’t very good at this espionage game are we? Everyone seems to
be running rings around us. Mrs Baxter apparently returned to the
paddle-steamer before anyone else. According to Hypatia, she bought
a kilim rug from a street trader and came straight back here. You
better change quickly for lunch. I’ll go and see if Major Nash has
returned.”

“We better stop referring to
him as Major Nash, even in private, just in case someone overhears
us.”

“You’re right,” she agreed.
“Gideon Longshanks it is.”

When they sat down to lunch
half an hour later, Mr Longshanks was the only member of the party
who had still not returned and the order was given to continue
upriver without him.