The Khamsin Curse (16 page)

“What about Ali Pasha?” he
said. “Jurgen was in his shop when we arrived. Ali Pasha was
wrapping something very carefully for him. It could have been
anything - military secrets, coded messages or fake treasures. And
you just said you thought it was Japhet who attacked Major, er,
Gideon Longshanks. That puts Ali Pasha square in the frame.”

“Gideon Longshanks told me he
saw Ali Pasha at the papyrus workshop in Luxor. He didn’t see
Mallisham. What’s more, he saw Mrs Baxter with Colonel Moran
sitting outside a coffee shop. They were having coffee and holding
hands. That means she came back to the Sekhmet, deposited her kilim
rug in her cabin and went to meet Moran. The meeting must have been
pre-arranged back in Cairo.”

Dr Watson cringed inwardly; he
had grown more than a touch fond of Mrs Lorna Baxter. “Holding
hands?”

“Yes, there can be little doubt
they are having an affair.”

“The dirty blighter could be
using her for his own ends.”

“What use could she be to
him?”

“Future employment with the
cattle king,” he suggested off the top of his head. “Though I admit
that has nothing to do with espionage.”

“Mrs Baxter picked up two items
from Ali Pasha, is that right?”

“Yes – a statuette and a
papyrus.”

“And then she met up with Moran
for coffee?”

“Are you thinking she passed
something onto him?”

“It’s possible he is using her
as a courier. No one would suspect a respectable American lady of
espionage. She is free to come and go. I wonder if she actually
brought the kilim on board and then went to meet him for coffee or
whether she took the rug with her. Kilim rugs have symbols woven
into them. They could just as easily be turned into coded messages
as papyrus scrolls or hieroglyphs on stelae. I need to search her
cabin at the earliest opportunity. If the rug isn’t there, it will
tell us something.”

Dr Watson was loath to think
badly of the attractive redhead but if she was being used as a
courier, an innocent dupe, it was imperative to find out and put a
stop to it before she got in over her head. The same went for his
ex-army chum. He hoped it was only permits he was selling and not
military secrets. “What about Hayter? Did he approach you about
purchasing a permit?”

“Not yet, but Mallisham
mentioned it to me today. I asked him if he could supply one but he
referred me to Hayter. I’ll get onto it tomorrow. From what I can
see we could have three separate, unrelated, illegal things
happening.”

“Three?”

“Bribery of a British official
and corruption of high office; a trade in fake artifacts and-or
real treasures being smuggled out of the country; military secrets
passing to the enemy.”

“We only need to concentrate on
the last one.”

“But how do we tell the trade
in fake artifacts for gullible buyers from the trade in fake
artifacts with coded messages for spies?”

He caught sight of the
mis-matched statuettes on her bedside tables – Anubis and Sekhmet –
both evil as far as he was concerned. “Hmm, yes, and if a British
official is taking bribes for permits he may also be taking bribes
for allowing things to be smuggled out of the country, including
coded messages.”

“I just remembered the night
Gideon Longshanks said he saw Hypatia in the garden of the hotel.
She was waiting for someone. Presumably, Moran. I wonder if Moran
could be using her as a pawn too. There is no way she would be
meeting the colonel for a tryst. She is besotted with
Mallisham.”

“Mallisham could be using her,”
he suggested. “She might be passing things from Moran to Mallisham
or vice versa. The two men might not want to be seen together too
often. She could act as the go-between. I still think there was
something suspicious about the way Moran pushed and then grabbed
that burqa clad woman in the bazaar.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “There was
something odd about it.”

“Getting back to Mallisham; I
noticed he turned his sunburnt charm Fraulein Graf’s way today. If
he is running a racket in fake artifacts she could easily get
sucked into it.”

“That brings us back to
Jurgen…” She was about to add something else when they heard raised
voices coming from the promenade deck. “Shhh,” she warned,
extinguishing the oil lamp.

10

The voices belonged to Mr Lee
and Hypatia. They were arguing about something.

“I don’t want the three
engineers at my party, Daddy.”

“How do you know about the
party?”

“Oh, don’t be so silly.
Everyone knows.”

“It was meant to be a surprise.
Who told you?”

“What does it matter who told
me?”

“I want to know.” His voice was
growing insistent.

“I can’t remember.”

“Was it Daisy?”

“I told you I cannot remember.
What difference does it make?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise.
I gave strict instructions for everyone to keep it to themselves.
Was it Daisy?”

“It’s not important who told
me.”

“It is to me – I don’t like my
orders being disregarded or countermanded. I will not have it! I
shall have to speak to her again.”

“Please don’t speak to her. Not
tonight. It will put a dampener on the party tomorrow.”

“You’re standing up for her
again. She needs to answer for herself.”

“Please, Daddy, not tonight.”
The voice was pleading.

“She better not be covering for
you again the way she did with that red-neck cowboy in Austin. What
was his name? Mervin or Morgan? And that married gaucho in New
Mexico with the pregnant wife. Pedro or Pablo? If she is covering
for you with that sand-grubber, that’s the last straw! If there’s
anything happening between you and that bone-headed professor
-”

“There’s nothing happening.”
The voice was shrill and unconvincing.

“That’s why you don’t want the
three engineers at your party.”

“What do you mean?”

“They will put the professor’s
nose out of joint.”

“They will not put Max’s nose
out of joint but -”

“Max, now, is it?”

“Everyone uses first names.
This is the twentieth century.”

“I didn’t hear the Countess
address him as Max and I didn’t hear her address her long term
travelling companion as John. Manners still matter. Your mother
would turn in her grave to hear you speak.”

“Don’t drag mummy into this.
Max and I will be working together for the next twelve months here
-”

“Not if I have anything to do
with it!”

“You cannot go back on your
word!” Her voice sounded desperate.

“I can do what I like, young
lady! I will not be played for a fool by my own daughter!”

They heard a pathetic sobbing
sound. It went on for several minutes.

“Don’t cry, Princess. I don’t
like to see you cry. I won’t invite the three engineers to your
party if it will make you feel better.”

“Promise?”

“Take my handkerchief and dry
your eyes. I promise.”

“And you won’t speak to Daisy
until after the party?”

“I cannot see what difference
it will make – before or after.”

“It will make a difference to
me. I don’t like to see Daisy looking like a sad-sap.”

“She always looks like a
sad-sap. Her mother was the same. She made her choice with my
brother and you’d think she was hard-done by. Pappy bought them the
farm in Oklahoma and she still wasn’t happy. She wanted the big
ranch. That’s why she married him even though…”

“Even though what, Daddy?”

“Nothing.”

Everything went quiet except
for the wind whistling across the deck and the rustling of water
reeds. Dr Watson was about to strike up the oil lamp when the
voices started up again, softer, gentler, more appeasing.

“You want
me
to be
happy, don’t you, Daddy?”

“Of course, I do,
Princess.”

“Then you won’t go back on your
word?”

“I’ll reserve judgment until
after the party.”

“Promise? Swear on mummy’s
grave.

“Don’t try to blackmail me,
Hypatia.” The paternal reprimand was underscored by a patriarchal
undertone, uncompromising and stern.

It was midday before the
Sekhmet was ready to say goodbye to Kom Ombo. By then the Countess
had established that Colonel Hayter operated a lucrative side-line
dispensing permits that by-passed official channels.

“He charged me five times the
official rate,” she confided to Dr Watson when he claimed the deck
chair alongside hers and pretended to be interested in his
Baedecker. “I purchased a permit for you too just to see if he had
a ready supply.”

“And did he?”

“Oh, yes, I could have had as
many as I wanted. I bought one for Xenia and another for
Fedir.”

The doctor muttered
blasphemies. It was always disappointing to see a good man turn bad
and Colonel Hayter had been one of the best. “Did you check if Mrs
Baxter still has the kilim?”

She nodded. “I made a huge song
and dance about wanting to see it. She still has it and was happy
to show me. Ursula and Daisy came to have a look too which made my
interest seem less suspicious. The rug was covered with interesting
symbols. Unfortunately, my education does not run to reading
Turkish glyphs.”

He was relieved Lorna Baxter
still had the rug in her possession. “What about the two items she
picked up from Ali Pasha. Did you ask her what they were?”

“No, I thought that would have
been pushing my luck. But I asked Mr Lee if he had purchased
anything in Cairo. He told me he bought a nephrite and lapis lazuli
statuette of Ma’at which Hypatia had seen earlier that week in the
souk. Mrs Baxter picked it up for him from Ali Pasha’s shop. He’s
going to give it to his daughter for her birthday. I pressed him
further, hinting about a second item, but he was firm he had only
bought one statuette. I pretended I collected papyri but he looked
unenthusiastic. When he started yawning I gave up.”

Dr Watson hid his smile.
“You’ve been busy this morning.”

“What about you?”

He scratched his neck where an
insect had bitten him during the night. “It may be nothing, but
Hypatia, Daisy and Lorna Baxter all own a burqa. Mrs Baxter bought
them in Kom Ombo. It’s supposed to keep the sand and grit off their
clothes. Ursula Graf owns one too. I overheard the ladies talking
about it.”

Countess V pouted unhappily.
“I’m kicking myself for not buying one. They are perfect for
protecting one’s clothes. A bit like the pinny Mrs Hudson wears but
all-encompassing. Are you still thinking about that incident with
Colonel Moran?”

He nodded pensively. “There’s
something not right about it.”

She finally agreed with him.
“Yes, it was as if he was waiting for the woman in the burqa to
come along. As soon as she disappeared, he did too. I keep
picturing what happened in my mind’s eye. I’m no longer sure
whether he pushed her or tried to grab hold of her. Something about
the incident keeps eluding me.”

Holy of Holies. Every religion
had their holy places, their sacred sites, their places where their
god dwelled, where priests presided and mortal man feared to
tread.

Philae was called
Unapproachable. It was claimed that no birds flew overhead and no
fish swam in the waters that lapped its shores.

Philae was the last place where
the religion of Egypt prevailed.

Philae was the last place where
the last hieroglyph was carved.

Philae was beautiful.

There were many temples for
many gods because it was the last stronghold for a religion that
was gasping its last, but most importantly it was the burial place
of Osiris. The early Christians erased many of the images they
considered profane but they left Horus intact because the mythology
of Horus was that of Jesus. Gods came and went. Myth was
everlasting.

Construction of the Lower Aswan
Dam was moving along at a steady pace. A canal to the west of the
first cataract allowed shipping traffic to pass while work
continued. A lock dealt neatly with the problem of the rapids. As
the Sekhmet passed through the canal, she steered toward the
eastern bank of the river and the north-eastern end of the island.
By the time she docked near the Arc of Diocletian, the ancient
temples washed with sunlight and surrounded by palms that swayed in
the breeze looked like a heavenly dream and the Sekhmet like the
perfumed barque of Cleopatra.

There was just enough time for
an excursion before the sun dipped below the purple hills to the
west. Extra servants had already arrived by the score to help set
up for the surprise birthday party for Hypatia. Everything had been
made ready in the grand Kiosk of Trajan, a roofless hypaethral
temple that still had half its walls and all its columns intact,
perfect for keeping out the wind while seeing the stars.

A lamb was turning on a spit
where a makeshift kitchen had been established, torcheres were
ready to set aflame to provide heat and light and ambience, an
array of low tables inlaid with mosaics were surrounded by velvet
divans, a scatter of silk cushions and Persian rugs. One could have
been excused for thinking Cleopatra was expecting to entertain
Julius Caesar or seduce Marc Antony. It added to the timelessness
of the dream.

Gideon Longshanks, wearing a
dusty suit that looked like it had gone fifty miles in a
saddle-bag, was waiting to greet them at the top of the incline
where the Arc of Diocletian stood in front of the Temple of
Augustus. A garbled story about bumping into an old friend in
Luxor, missing the boat and hitching a ride on a freight train
headed for Aswan was accepted. And why not? He played the part of
the capable Eastern advocate who could navigate his way out of
trouble to perfection.