The Khamsin Curse (9 page)

“Go down and see what his beef
is,” instructed Major Nash. “I’m guessing he’s gunning for Mr Lee.
I’ll stay here and keep the demoiselles amused. They are heading
our way. I’ll rendezvous with you later tonight. Do you know where
the lion fountain is in the garden?”

Dr Watson nodded.

“I’ll meet you there at
midnight. Hurry.”

Dr Watson arrived at the door
of Mr Lee’s cabin in time to overhear an angry altercation.

“It’s not enough! If you think
you can rob me…”

“Calm down,” rebuked the cattle
king. “I’m not out to rob you. It’s just the first payment. But I
want to know it’s the real thing I want value for money.”

“Value for money!” spat the
trader. “What do you think you are buying! Bifsteaks! What I give
you is…”

“Yes, yes, but how do I know
you aren’t robbing me blind?”

“You question me! You question
Ali Pasha! If you do not wish to pay I will do business with…”

“Don’t be hasty. I never said I
wouldn’t pay. I’ll give you five hundred greenbacks now and the
rest when I get back from Aswan.”

“You think I am a fool! Pay all
now! Or we are finished doing business!”

“All right! All right! But you
will have to settle for promissory notes. All my greenbacks went to
settle some, er, gambling accounts. I have more greenbacks coming
from Khartoum but they are being delivered straight to Aswan by a
private courier organized by the bank. I was planning to purchase
some antiquities from the professor, you see. You can have the
money as soon as I get back from Aswan.”

“Mallisham will sell you fakes!
You want genuine treasure – you buy from Ali Pasha! I go to Aswan
too! You pay then or we are finished!”

“Well, yes, certainly, if
that’s what you want, I cannot stop you going, but you will have to
make your own way there. The Sekhmet has a full complement.”

“I go by train. I will see you
in Aswan. And you will pay me or I speak to…”

“No need to make threats, Ali
Pasha. You will get your money.”

6

Dr Watson replayed the argument
between Mr Lee and Ali Pasha over and over in his head as he
hurried back to the hotel. The thing he couldn’t understand was why
Mr Lee had lied. They had a spare cabin. Mrs Baxter said so. There
were twelve cabins and only eleven of them were occupied. Ali Pasha
could have travelled with them to Aswan. Clearly, Mr Lee did not
want the antiquities trader on his floating ranch.

Later that evening, when the
doctor was strolling with the Countess through the jasmine-scented
garden, and he recounted the heated discussion, something else
occurred to him.

“The other person who lied,” he
said morosely, “was Mrs Baxter.” This disturbed him more than Mr
Lee’s dissembling and that’s probably why it had taken longer to
sink in. “During a tour of the paddle-steamer, Mr Lee ordered the
steward to make sure to put the boxes of caftans out of sight so
that his daughter wouldn’t see them, presumably so as not to spoil
the surprise birthday. But Mrs Baxter told me she was going to buy
the caftans less than two hours beforehand. She must have been
lying because she must have already bought them earlier in the day.
I think she was keen to rendezvous with Colonel Moran and wanted to
give me the brush-off.”

The Countess picked up on his
aggrieved tone. “Or else she might have been quick with her
purchase and the trader might have boxed them up immediately and
had them delivered to the Sekhmet in record time because it was a
lucrative sale.”

He considered the suggestion in
a favourable light because it was easier than thinking badly of a
woman he was well-disposed to like. “No,” he said sadly. “There was
an empty coffee cup on the table in front of her when Colonel Moran
ordered a second cup for her which means she had been sitting there
for a short while already. She wouldn’t have had time to get to the
Wikala al-Qutn, buy the caftans, pay for them to be delivered to
the Sekhmet and finish a cup of coffee before I stumbled across her
in the maqha.”

“Very well,” conceded the
Countess, “but widows are often flattered by male attention even
when those males are sixty years old, and remember the colonel has
a reputation as a big game hunter. A lot of women might find that
exciting. She may have agreed to meet Colonel Moran beforehand and,
as you say, gave you the brush-off because she had no choice. It
was either that or invite you to the maqha too. Is that what you
would have preferred?”

He got his back up. “Of course
not!”

A garden bench set back between
a grove of white oleanders beckoned, so they decided to sit down
and have a smoke. It was only half past eleven and they had another
half an hour to kill before meeting up with Major Nash by the lion
fountain.

“What else happened today?” she
put to him conversationally to take his mind off Mrs Baxter. “It
sounds like you had an interesting afternoon.”

She wasn’t expecting much
except a description of the tobacco shop and a rundown of all the
types of tobacco on offer in Cairo, so it came as a surprise to
discover just how fruitful his afternoon had been. He recounted
what he witnessed at the Citadel after she disappeared inside, and
she quickly pulled herself upright as she puffed on an aromatic
Egyptian cigarette that competed with the heady scent of the
oleanders.

“You think the meeting was
pre-arranged?”

“Yes, there was no salutation.
It was as if they expected to meet. They both acted suspiciously,
checking to make sure no one was looking.”

“Did they see you?” A note of
concern attached itself to the question.

After a short deliberation, he
shook his head. “No, it was a sharp angle between the corner of the
building and through an arch. I was deep in shadow too.”

“Are you sure the envelope had
money in it?”

“No, it’s only an assumption.
The envelope was thick and it was the right size for bank notes and
Colonel Hayter appeared to go all googly-eyed at the sight of the
contents. And he admitted being hard-up for money.”

“You think it was a bribe?”

“I’ve been giving it a lot of
thought and, yes, it had to be a pay-off for something. The German
got a single piece of paper in return but he seemed very pleased
with it.”

“If only he were sailing with
us to Aswan. We could have searched his possessions.”

“I’m surprised Mycroft didn’t
supply a photo of the German.”

“I wonder if Major Nash knows
Herr Graf?”

“I don’t think their paths have
ever crossed. When I met up with Major Nash on the Sekhmet and told
him of the incident he didn’t mention knowing the German and yet he
seemed to think the meeting was significant. He said we cannot
trust anyone – meaning Colonel Hayter. It is a rum business if a
respected British officer is selling military secrets to the
enemy.”

“It’s just as well you saw what
you did otherwise we might have inadvertently revealed all to
Colonel Hayter and messed up badly. Being a double agent explains
his nervous disposition. You can keep an eye on him and I will
watch Herr Graf. He’s planning to travel to Philae too. I think we
will be sure to see him there.”

“What about Miss Graf? Major
Nash noted her linguistic proficiency – ‘handy in the spying game’
was his comment.”

“I’ll keep an eye on her too.
You befriend Mrs Baxter. It wouldn’t hurt for her to think you are
a trifle smitten.”

“I think I can manage that,” he
said tongue-in-cheek. “She’s a redhead!”

They both laughed and it eased
the feeling of foreboding that seemed to be closing in from all
sides like the gathering darkness full of cunning shadows. Massy
leaves and exotic flowering plants took on the shape-shifting form
of primitive gods who devoured the vulnerable and led them to the
underworld – Sobek, Horus, Anubis; half-man, half-beast.

The Countess shook off the
feeling of being watched and forced herself to focus. “Behaving as
if you are jealous will give you an excuse to watch her, especially
if Colonel Moran is hanging about. The more desperate you look the
more believable it will be.”

He didn’t fancy making a fool
of himself even if was for the war effort but he agreed it would
offer the best cover. “I’m glad we have Major Nash as back-up if we
need it but I wish he wasn’t on a separate mission. Which reminds
me - I just remembered something else he said. He said that
coincidental encounters can be contrived. Herr Graf may have
contrived to be in Ali Pasha’s shop before we arrived.”

“Mmm, yes, it’s possible he
followed us through the bazaar and guessed where we were going when
we got to the Bab al-Badistan gate and then rushed ahead of
us.”

He nodded. “And Ali Pasha may
have contrived a reason to go to Philae. I can’t help thinking
about that wonderful lunch. He invited us into his home and treated
us to a feast and yet Mrs Baxter told me he made an inappropriate
remark to her when she was alone with him in the shop. She was
quite forceful with him though. I saw her through the open window
standing up for herself the way you would. She slammed her hand on
the counter and ticked him off. She’s not as retiring as she comes
across.”

“What did she pick up while she
was in the shop?”

“Two items – they were both
wrapped up but one looked like a statuette and the other like a
scroll.”

They heard a noise behind them
and turned sharply to find Major Nash wending his way through the
fragrant oleander grove. Dr Watson moved along so the major could
join them on the bench but the major declined.

“Best if I stay standing,” he
said. “It will look as if I have been taking a stroll and came
across you by chance. If I sit down it will look as if the three if
us are a bit too chummy.” He paused to light a cigarette even
though he rarely smoked. “The Cambridge chap who went missing was
found down the bottom of a disused well south-east of Cairo in the
old city this afternoon. Whoever threw him down the well either
thought he was dead – he’d been badly tortured – or that he would
soon be dead. Soft mud down the bottom of the well broke his fall.
Death was from dehydration. He’d been stung numerous times by
scorpions prior to death. There were dozens of scorpions in the
well. Rossiter was one of ours; checking into a racket in fake
artifacts.”

“One of ours?” echoed the
doctor, swallowing dry in an effort to moisten his larynx and not
sound hoarse. “You mean a secret agent from the Foreign
Office?”

“Yes, that’s what I mean.” The
major put one foot onto the bench and rested his elbow on his knee;
the casual stance belied the tenseness in his tone.

“But why torture him over fake
artifacts?” quizzed the Countess. “That sort of thing goes on all
the time and why does our government suddenly care?”

Major Nash turned his head and
blew a plume of smoke into the air; a deft scan of the perfumed
garden’s shadowy ghosts was masked by the casual nature of the
action. “Before he died, Rossiter managed to scratch a message on
the wall of the well. Coded information is going to the Boers via
hieroglyphs on fake artifacts. Two items have been intercepted. The
stone for a fake stele came from Philae and a fake papyrus can be
traced to a workshop at Luxor.”

They heard voices. Two people
were coming down the gravel path. It was Herr Graf and his niece.
Major Nash tossed his cigarette into the oleander grove, smoothed
back his blond hair and straightened up.

“Good evening,” said Herr Graf
amiably, looking carefully from one to the other of the trio as he
adjusted his pince-nez. “A pleasant evening for a stroll in the
garden, is it not?”

Everyone agreed it was, and
following introductions the conversation drifted from ancient
wonders to new ones. Miss Ursula Graf stifled a yawn and her uncle
suggested she need not stay up to keep him company for they had an
early start the next day and he planned to have a drink at the bar
before turning in.

Mr Gideon Longshanks had a
sudden urge to try his luck at the in-house casino and offered to
accompany the young lady back through the garden. Before he had a
chance to work his charm on the young fraulein, they came across
Miss Hypatia Lee puffing furiously on a cigarette while pacing
around the lion fountain. She appeared edgy and of a temper; the
crunch of gravel had her spinning round sharply.

“Finally! I’ve been…Oh, it’s
you…Mr Longshanks and Miss, er, Miss Graf, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” replied the fraulein.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Lee. I have heard all about your
Philae project from my uncle, Mr Jurgen Graf. It is my dearest wish
to visit Philae while I am in Egypt and perhaps do some research
there.”

Miss Lee stubbed out her
cigarette using the sole of a gold sandal. “It will be an honour to
have the daughter of Rhinehart Graf visit Philae. I look forward to
seeing you there and exchanging ideas. I plan to stay for twelve
months, though my father is rather keen for it to be less. He is
returning to Texas at the end of the month. Quite frankly, I cannot
wait. He is a dear old thing but he treats me as if I were twelve
years old. Oh, you will need to organize a permit from the office
of the British High Commissioner – some silly rule about foreigners
working on archaeological sites. I had to get one too. You should
do that before you leave Cairo.”

Miss Lee spoke quickly,
nervily, and looked anxiously past their shoulders into the
unperceived shadows as if expecting someone. Only at the end did
she make eye-contact and remember to smile. Hastily, she lit up
another cigarette and they left her to it.

“Will you have time to organize
a permit before you leave Cairo?” asked Mr Longshanks when they
were out of earshot. “These things can sometimes take weeks to
approve.”