The Lost Army of Cambyses (43 page)

street someone was banging a drum. There was a

long silence.

'Perhaps I should leave you, Inspector,' said

Omar quietly, standing. 'It is not right to intrude

upon your grief like this.' He began moving

towards the door.

'The piece,' said Khalifa.

'Sorry?'

'The piece of wall. Did you see it?'

'Yes,' said Omar. 'I saw it.'

'Snakes along the bottom? Hieroglyphs?'

Omar nodded.

'The signs. The hieroglyphic signs. Can you

remember any of them?'

Omar thought for a moment and then, coming

forward, took Khalifa's pen and drew on the piece

of paper in front of him. The detective looked

down.

'You're sure this is what you saw?'

'I think so. Do you know what it is?'

'Mer,'
said Khalifa. 'The sign for a pyramid.'

He stared down for a moment longer and then,

folding the paper, put it in his pocket.

'Thank you, Omar,' he said. 'I know

how difficult it was for you to come here

today.'

361

'Just find my friends, Inspector. That's all I ask.

Just find my friends.'

For a moment it looked as if he was going to

extend his hand, but in the end he just nodded

curtly and left the room.

Khalifa spent twenty minutes filling Sariya in on

what had happened in Cairo and getting the

details of Suleiman's death. Then, as requested, he

went upstairs to see the chief inspector.

Normally Hassani liked to keep him waiting for

at least a few minutes before admitting him to his

office. Today, however, he was ushered straight in.

Not only that, but for once he was given a halfway

decent chair to sit on.

'I'll have a progress report on the case typed up

by noon,' he began, hoping to pre-empt the

inevitable questions about where the report was.

Hassani, however, waved his hand dismissively.

'Don't worry about that. I've got some good

news, Yusuf.'

He sat back in his chair and jutted out his chin,

adopting much the same pose as President

Mubarak in the photograph above him.

'I'm pleased to inform you,' he said

portentously, 'that your promotion application

has been approved. Congratulations.'

He smiled, although something about his

expression suggested he wasn't quite as pleased as

he was trying to look.

'You're joking,' said Khalifa.

The smile faded slightly.

'I never tell jokes. I'm a policeman.'

'Yes, sir. Sorry.' He didn't know what to say.

362

It was the last thing he'd been expecting.

'I want you to take the rest of the day off, go

home, tell the wife, celebrate. Then tomorrow I'm

sending you up to a conference in Ismailiya.'

'Ismailiya?'

'Some hokum about urban policing in the

twenty-first century. Three days of it, God help

you. These are the sort of things you have to put

up with if you want to get on in the force.'

Khalifa said nothing. He was delighted, of

course. At the same time, however, there was

something . . .

'What about the case?' he asked.

Again that dismissive wave of the hand, that

not-quite-genuine smile.

'Don't worry about the case, Yusuf. It can wait

for a couple of days. Go up to Ismailiya, do the

conference, then when you get back you can pick

it up again. It'll wait.'

'I can't just leave it, sir.'

'Relax! You've been promoted! Enjoy it!'

'I know, but . . .'

Hassani started laughing. A loud, boisterous

laugh that filled the room and drowned out

Khalifa's words.

'Here's a turn-up for the books, eh! Me telling

one of my men to work a bit less hard! I hope

you're not going to tell anyone. It could ruin my

reputation!'

Khalifa smiled, but wouldn't be deflected.

'Three people have been murdered, sir. Two more

have disappeared. I've got a definite link with Sayf

al-Tha'r, and possibly the British embassy as well.

I can't just drop this.'

363

Hassani continued to chuckle. In his eyes, how-

ever, Khalifa could see annoyance. Annoyance

bordering on anger.

'Don't you want this promotion?' he asked.

'Sir?'

'It's just that you don't seem particularly happy

about it. Or particularly
grateful.'

He stressed the last word, as though urging

Khalifa to take note of it.

'I am grateful, sir. But people's lives are in

danger. I can't just disappear to Ismailiya for three

days.'

Hassani nodded. 'Think we can't take care of

things here without you, is that it?'

'No, sir. I just—'

'Think the force won't be able to operate in

your absence?'

'Sir—'

'Think you're the only one who's interested in

law and order and right and wrong?'

His voice was getting louder. A vein was pulsing

up in his neck. 'Well, let me tell you, Khalifa, I've

spent my entire life working for the good of this

country and I'm not going to sit here and listen to

a little shit like you make out you're the only one

who cares.' He was breathing heavily. 'Now

you've got what you wanted. You've got your

fucking promotion. And tomorrow, if you know

what's good for you, you're going to Ismailiya.

And that's the end of it.'

He pushed himself away from the desk, got

to his feet and strode to the window, where he

stood looking out with his back to Khalifa,

cracking his knuckles. Khalifa lit a cigarette,

364

not bothering to ask permission.

'Who got to you, sir?' he said quietly.

Hassani didn't reply.

'That's what this promotion's about, isn't it?

Somebody got to you. Somebody wants me off

this case.'

Still Hassani was silent.

'It's a trade-off. I get the new job and in return

I forget about the investigation. That's the deal,

isn't it? That's the bribe.'

Hassani's fingers were cracking so loudly it

seemed as though they were going to break.

Slowly he turned round.

'I don't like you, Khalifa,' he growled. 'I never

have and I never will. You're arrogant, you're

insubordinate, you're a fucking pain in the arse.'

He took a step forward, jaw set, like a fighter

stepping into the ring. 'You're also the best

detective we've got on this force. Don't think I

don't know that. And although you might not

believe it, I've never wished you any harm. So

listen to me, and listen closely: take this

promotion, go to Ismailiya, forget about the case.

Because trust me, if you don't, there's nothing I

can do to protect you.'

He held Khalifa's eyes for a moment and then

turned back towards the window.

'And shut the door behind you,' he said.

365

31

T H E WESTERN DESERT

The first thing Tara noticed was the heat. It was as

though she was drifting upwards from the depths

of a cool lake, and with every fathom she rose the

water around her grew hotter and hotter until

eventually she surfaced into what felt like a raging

inferno. She was sure that if she stayed up there

she would be burnt alive and, flipping over, she

tried to swim back down again, back into the cool,

dark depths below. Her body, however, seemed to

have assumed an irresistible buoyancy and, try as

she might, she couldn't get herself more than a few

inches below the surface. She struggled for a

while, fighting to propel herself downwards, but it

was no good and eventually she gave up and,

rolling onto her back, floated resignedly upwards

into the flames. Her eyes blinked open.

She was lying inside a tent. Beside her, gazing

down, was Daniel. He reached out and stroked

her hair.

'Welcome back,' he said.

366

Her head ached and her mouth felt dry and

thick, as though it was full of paper. She lay still

for a while and then struggled into a sitting

position. Two metres away, in front of the tent

doorway, sat a man with a gun cradled in his lap.

'Where are we?' she mumbled.

'In the middle of the western desert,' replied

Daniel. 'In the Great Sand Sea. I'd guess about

midway between Siwa and al-Farafra.'

She was struggling to breathe it was so hot. The

air seared her mouth and throat, as though she

was drinking lava. She couldn't see much through

the tent door, just a lot of sand rising up in front

of her. From somewhere nearby she could hear

shouting and the putter of generators. She was

painfully thirsty.

'What time is it?'

He glanced at his watch.

'Eleven.'

'I was in the boot of a car,' she said, trying to

marshal her thoughts. 'And then a helicopter.'

'I don't remember anything about the journey.'

He shrugged. 'Just the tomb.'

He reached up gingerly and touched the side of

his head. The blood she had seen on his face and

neck had been wiped away, if indeed she hadn't

just dreamed it. She moved her hand along the

matted floor and grasped his fingers.

'I'm so sorry, Daniel,' she said. 'I should never

have got you involved in this.'

'I got myself involved.' He smiled. 'It's not your

fault.'

'I should have just left the piece of wall at

Saqqara, like you said.'

367

Leaning forward, he kissed her forehead.

'Maybe. But think of all the fun we'd have missed

if you had. I never had this much excitement

digging.' He ran his hands through his hair. 'And,

anyway, this way we get to be around when they

make the greatest discovery in the history of

archaeology. I reckon that's worth a little bump on

the head.'

She knew he was trying to cheer her up and did

her best to respond. The truth was, however, that

she felt sick and frightened and hopeless and,

despite the jokes, knew Daniel felt exactly the

same. She could see it in his eyes and the listless

slump of his shoulders.

'They're going to kill us, aren't they?'

'Not necessarily. There's a good chance that

once they've found the army—'

She looked him in the eyes. 'They're going to

kill us, aren't they?'

He was silent for a moment and then looked

down at the floor. 'Yes,' he said. 'I expect they

probably are.'

They lapsed into silence. Daniel hunched for-

ward, clasping his arms around his legs, resting his

chin on his knees. Tara stood and stretched, head

throbbing. The guard continued to stare at them,

expressionless. He was making no effort to cover

them with his gun and for a moment she had a

wild notion that they could overpower him and

escape. Almost immediately she dismissed the

thought. Even if they did get out of the tent where

would they go? They were in the middle of a

desert. The guard, she realized, was just for show.

Their real captors were the sand and the heat. She

368

felt like crying, but her eyes were too dry for tears.

'I'm thirsty,' she mumbled.

Daniel lifted his head and addressed the guard.

'Ehna aatzanin. Aazin mayya.'

The guard stared at them for a moment and

then, without taking his eyes off them, shouted to

someone outside. A few minutes later a man came

into the tent with an earthenware jar, which he

handed to Tara. She lifted it to her lips and drank.

The water was warm and tasted of clay, but she

gulped at it nonetheless, finishing half the jar

before passing it to Daniel, who drank too. A

helicopter thudded overhead, causing the material

of the tent to billow and ripple.

The morning dragged by. The heat, if anything,

grew even more intense, drying the sweat on

Tara's face and neck almost as soon as it formed.

Daniel dozed for a while, head resting in her lap.

More helicopters passed overhead.

After about an hour their guard was changed

and they were brought food – raw vegetables,

cheese, pieces of flat, unleavened bread, sour and

dry and difficult to swallow. She tried to force it

down, but had no appetite. Neither did Daniel and

most of the food went uneaten. The new guard

was as silent and impassive as his predecessor.

She must have fallen asleep because when she

woke again the food had been removed and the

original guard was back. She caught and held his

eye, trying to make some sort of connection with

him. He just stared at her, his expression cold and

unyielding, and after a while she dropped her

gaze.

'There's no point trying to communicate,' said

369

Daniel. 'So far as they're concerned, we're no better

than animals. Worse. We're
Kufr.
Heathens.'

She lay down again, her back to the guard, and

closed her eyes. She tried to think of her flat, of the

reptile house, of Jenny, of crisp December after-

noons in Brockwell Park. Anything to take her

away from the present. She couldn't hold the