The Lost Army of Cambyses (48 page)

They sat up when they heard him enter. He looked

briefly at Tara and then spoke to the guard in

Arabic. Daniel grimaced.

'You animal, Dravic,' he hissed. 'One day I'll

kill you.'

Dravic burst out laughing. 'Then you'll have to

come back from the dead to do it.' He spoke to the

guard again and left.

'What was all that about?' Tara asked.

Daniel didn't say anything, just sat staring at the

ends of his boots. He seemed reluctant to answer.

'What did he say?'

He muttered something.

'What?'

402

'He said they're to take you to his tent in two

hours.'

She looked down at her watch. Eight-fifteen.

She felt as if she was going to be sick.

LUXOR

As Khalifa had expected, Zenab wasn't happy

with him. She was watching television with Ali

and Batah when he came in, and fixed him with

one of her fiercest glares.

'You didn't see me, Dad,' chided Ali. 'I was on the

Tutankhamun float. I was one of his fan-bearers.'

'I'm sorry,' said Khalifa, squatting in front of his

son and ruffling his hair. 'There was something I

had to finish at work. I would have been there if I

could. Here, I bought you something. And you,

Batah.'

He reached into the plastic bag he was carrying

and pulled out a shell necklace, which he gave to

his daughter, and a plastic trumpet.

'Thanks, Dad!' cried Ali, seizing the instrument

and blowing loudly on it. Batah rushed out to look

at herself in the mirror. Ali followed.

'It's once a year, Yusuf,' said Zenab when they

were alone. 'One afternoon a year. They so

wanted you to be there.'

'I'm sorry,' he said again, reaching for her hand.

She withdrew it and, standing, moved across the

room and closed the door.

'I got a call this morning,' she said, turning.

'From Chief Hassani.'

403

Khalifa said nothing, just pulled out his

cigarettes.

'To say how pleased he was about your

promotion. How it would mean more money, a

subsidized flat, a new school for the kids. I said,

"It's the first I've heard about it." He said you'd be home soon to tell me. That it was a really good

career move for you. Went on and on about it.'

'Bastard,' muttered Khalifa.

'What?'

'He's getting at me, Zenab. Getting at me

through you. Telling you all the good things this

promotion will mean and hoping you'll persuade

me to take it.'

'You're not going to take it?'

'It's complicated.'

'Don't fob me off! Not this time. What's

happening, Yusuf?'

Ali started banging on the door. 'Mum! I want

to watch television.'

'Your father and I are talking. Go and play with

Batah.'

'I don't want to play with Batah.'

'Ali, go and play with Batah! And keep the noise

down or you'll wake the baby.'

There was a defiant trumpet toot and the sound

of a door slamming. Khalifa lit his cigarette. 'I

have to go back to Cairo,' he said. 'Tonight.'

She was still for a moment and then came over

and knelt before him, her hair spilling across his

thighs.

'What is this, Yusuf? I've never known you like

this before. Tell me. Please. I have a right to know.

Especially when it's affecting our lives like this.

404

What is this case? Why won't you take the

promotion?'

He put his arms around her and rested his fore-

head on her head. 'It's not that I don't want to tell

you, Zenab. It's just that I'm frightened.

Frightened of getting you involved. It's so

dangerous.'

'Then I have even more right to know. I am your

wife. What affects you affects me too. And our

children. If there is danger I should know about

it.' 'I don't fully understand it myself. All I know is

that innocent people's lives are in danger and I'm

the only one who can save them.'

They remained like that for a moment and then

she pushed him away, looking up into his eyes.

'There's something else, isn't there?'

He didn't speak.

'What?'

'It's not . . .'

'What, Yusuf?'

'Sayf al-Tha'r,' he said quietly.

Her head dropped. 'Oh God, no. That's in the

past. It's finished.'

'It's never been finished,' he said, staring down

at his knees. 'That's what I've realized with this

case: it's always here inside me. I've tried to forget

about it, to move on, but I can't. I should have

stopped them. I should have helped him.'

'We've been over this, Yusuf. There was nothing

you could have done.'

'But I should at least have tried. And I didn't. I

just let them take him away.' He could feel tears

welling in his eyes and fought to keep them back.

405

'I can't put it into words, Zenab. It's as if I'm

carrying a huge weight on my back. Always

I'm thinking about Ali. About what happened.

About how I could have done more. And now,

with this case, I have a chance to put things right.

Maybe not bring Ali back, but at least redress

some of the evil that's been done. And until I do

that I'll always be incomplete. Half of me will

always be trapped in the past.'

'I'd rather have half a husband than a dead one.'

'Please try to understand. I have to see this

through. It's important.'

'More important than me and the children? We

need you, Yusuf.' She seized his hands. 'I don't

care about the promotion. We don't need more

money, a fancy flat. We get along fine. But I care

about you. My husband. My love. I don't want

you to be killed. And you will be if you carry on

with this. I know you will be. I can feel it.' She was

crying now and buried her face in his lap. 'I want

you here, with us, safe,' she said, choking. 'I

want us to grow together, a family.'

From Batah's bedroom came the muffled

screech of his son's trumpet. Firecrackers were

popping in the street below. He stroked her hair.

'There's nothing in the world more important to

me than you and the children,' he whispered.

'Nothing. Not the past, not my brother, certainly

not my own life. I love you more than I could ever

express. I would do anything for you. Anything.'

He lifted her head so that their eyes were joined.

'Tell me to drop the case, Zenab. Tell me and I

will, without a moment's hesitation. Tell me.'

For a long while she held his stare, her eyes huge

406

and brown and moist. Then, slowly, she came to

her feet.

'What time's your train?' she said quietly.

'The last one goes at ten.'

'Then you'll just have time for dinner.'

She shook back her hair, and went out into the

kitchen.

He left at nine-fifteen. With him he had a holdall

containing a change of clothes, some food and his

revolver, a Helwan 9mm, standard police issue.

He also had 840 Egyptian pounds, money they'd

been putting aside towards making the Hajj to

Mecca. He felt terrible about taking it, but it was

the only cash they had in the flat and he'd need it

to get where he was going. Whatever else

happened over the next few days he promised

himself he'd replace it.

He turned left out of his block and set off on the

fifteen-minute walk to the station, the night air

echoing to the bang of firecrackers as people

celebrated the feast of Abu el-Haggag. He wondered

whether he should go via the office to pick up more

ammunition, but decided against it. There was too

big a risk of bumping into one of his colleagues. He

needed to get out of Luxor without anyone know-

ing. He glanced at his watch. Nine-twenty.

The crowds grew heavier as he came into the

centre of town. The streets around Luxor Temple

were teeming. Children in party hats ran to and

fro throwing firecrackers; impromptu bands –

mizmars
and drums mainly – played at the road-

side. The sweet sellers could barely keep up with

demand.

407

In a small park beside the temple a group of
zikr

dancers were performing – two lines of men facing

each other, swaying from side to side in time to the

devotional chanting of a
munshid
at their head. A

large crowd had gathered to watch them and

Khalifa slowed too. Not to observe the dancers,

but to check out the men who were following him.

He couldn't be sure how many of them there

were, nor when they'd latched onto him, but

they were definitely there. Three, maybe four,

mingling with the revellers, clocking his every

move. One he'd spotted as he stopped to buy some

cigarettes, another as he stood aside to let through

a procession of men on horseback. Just a

momentary glimpse, a fleeting eye-contact before

they'd melted back into the throng. They were

good, he could tell that much. Trained. Secret

service, maybe. Or military intelligence. For all he

knew, they could have been with him all day.

Standing in the park now, he ran his eyes over

the crowd. Ten metres away a man was leaning

against some railings. His eyes kept flicking up

towards Khalifa and the detective began to think

maybe he was one of them. Then a woman came

up and the two of them walked off together, arm

in arm. Nine-thirty. Khalifa lit a cigarette and

moved away.

He had to lose them before he got to the station.

He wasn't sure precisely who they were or what

they wanted, but he did know that if they got any

inkling of where he was going they'd try to stop

him. And if they stopped him once he wouldn't get

another chance. He had to lose them.

Nine-thirty-one. He turned left down a narrow

408

street, past a group of children watching television

on the pavement. He quickened his step and

turned right down another street. Two old men

were playing
siga
in the dust, using stones as

counters. He hurried past them and dodged left

again, down a winding alley. Twenty metres along

a motorbike was parked up against a wall and he

glanced in its wing mirror. He was alone. He

broke into a trot.

For ten minutes he zigzagged through the back-

streets of Luxor, taking sudden unexpected turns,

constantly looking behind him, before eventually

emerging into Midan al-Mahatta, the square in

front of the station, with its red obelisk and

fountain that never seemed to work. He breathed

a sigh of relief and stepped out into the road,

glancing to the right to check for traffic. As he did

so he noticed a suited figure standing in a shadowy

doorway opposite, staring straight at him.

'Dammit!' he hissed.

The Cairo train was already waiting at the

platform, passengers jostling around it, porters

hefting bags up through its doors. There was no

way he was going to get to it without being seen.

He looked down at his watch. Nine-forty-three.

Seventeen minutes.

For a moment he stood still, uncertain what to

do, then, suddenly, turned left down Sharia al-

Mahatta, away from the station, walking fast. It

was a crazy idea, mad, but he couldn't think of

anything else. He had to get home.

He took the shortest route he knew, weaving

through the back streets, not bothering to look

behind him, knowing they'd be there. He reached

409

the apartment block in ten minutes, sprinting

up the stairs and bursting through the front door.

'Yusuf?' Zenab came out of the living room.

'Why have you come back?'

'No time to explain,' he gasped, pulling her into

the kitchen. He threw up his watch arm. Nine-

fifty-three. This was going to be horribly close.

He pulled open the kitchen window and looked

down into the narrow alley below. As he'd

expected there were two men standing there in the

shadows, covering the building's rear entrance.

The twenty-metre drop made his head spin. He

looked over at the roof of the block opposite,