The Lost Army of Cambyses (49 page)

which was just below the level of his window,

about three metres away, flat, with lines of wash-

ing strung across it and, at one end, a doorway

leading down into the building below. He'd often

wondered if it would be possible to jump from one

tenement to the other. Now he was about to find

out.

He took another look down, groaning inwardly,

and then, leaning out, threw his holdall across the

gap. It landed with a heavy thud, disturbing a

flock of pigeons, which rose into the air and

flapped off into the night.

'Yusuf,' hissed Zenab, fingers digging into his

arm, 'what are you doing? Why did you throw

your bag over there?'

He seized her face and kissed her on the mouth.

'Don't ask. Because if I start thinking about it I

won't do it.'

He clambered up onto the windowsill and,

clutching the metal frame, turned towards her.

'I want you to keep the doors locked tonight,'

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he said. 'If anybody calls, tell them I've gone to

bed early because I'm going to Ismailiya

tomorrow.'

'I don't—'

'Please, Zenab! There's no time. If anybody calls

tell them I'm not to be disturbed. Tomorrow

morning I want you to take the kids and go to

Hosni and Sama's. Stay there till you hear from

me. Do you understand?'

She nodded.

'I love you, Zenab.'

He leaned forward and kissed her again, and

then, turning, faced across the alley to the roof

opposite. It looked a very long way away.

'And shut the window after me,' he whispered.

There was no point trying to pluck up courage

and so mumbling a swift prayer he counted to

three and jumped, driving himself away from the

sill with all his strength, fighting back an urge to

scream out in terror. For a moment time seemed

to stand still and he was hovering in the air

directly above the alley. Then, with a jarring thud,

he landed on the opposite roof and sprawled onto

his face, grazing his elbow on the concrete.

He lay still for a moment, even more terrified

now the jump was over than he had been before it,

and then clambered to his feet and looked back.

Zenab was standing at the kitchen window, a

shocked look on her face. He blew her a kiss, re-

covered his holdall and hurried over to the roof

door, which opened onto the stairwell leading

down through the building. Another glance at the

watch. Nine-fifty-four. He began sprinting down

the stairs.

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The front entrance to this block faced in the

opposite direction to his block and his theory was

that with both sides of his own tenement covered

there was no reason for them to be watching this

one too. He could get out and away without being

seen. He would have liked a few minutes to check

the street was clear, but there wasn't time, and on

reaching the bottom of the stairs he ran straight

out into the road and back towards the centre of

town. He had about a mile to cover and five

minutes to do it in. Adrenalin was burning

through his veins like magma.

After two minutes he had an excruciating pain

in his left side, after three he couldn't breathe. He

kept going, however, powering forward, forcing

every last ounce of energy into his legs, until even-

tually he burst from a narrow grid of streets and

staggered up to a level crossing, clutching his side.

Two hundred metres to his right the Cairo train

was slowly pulling out of the station, its wheels

creaking and clanking.

Dammit! he thought. The first time a train had

ever left Luxor on time and it had to be tonight.

He stayed where he was, gasping for air, until

the train was almost level with him, then ducked

beneath the crossing barrier and began running

beside it, a high concrete wall to his left, the train's

huge iron wheels to his right, coming up almost to

the level of his chest. He clutched at the handrail

beside a door, but couldn't hold on and had to let

it go. The gap between train and wall was getting

narrower. Another fifty metres and there'd be no

more space left to run. He grasped another rail,

desperate, and this time managed to keep hold,

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swinging himself up onto the footplate and, with

his last ounce of strength, heaving open the door

and slipping through, slamming it shut again just

as the concrete wall came flush with the side of the

train. He collapsed onto a seat, gasping.

'Are you OK?' asked a man sitting opposite.

'Fine.' Khalifa's lungs were raging. 'Just need

. . . need . . .'

'Some water?'

'A cigarette.'

Outside the buildings of Luxor slowly slipped

back into the night as the train built up speed and

flew north towards Cairo.

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34

T H E WESTERN DESERT

'I'm not going to let him rape me, Daniel.'

The two hours were almost up. They'd been the

worst two hours of her life – a slow water torture

as the minutes ticked relentlessly down towards

her meeting with Dravic. She felt as if she was in a

river being swept towards a cataract, with nothing

she could do to save herself. She understood how

a prisoner on death row must feel as the hour of

execution approaches.

'I'm not going to let him rape me,' she repeated,

standing, too nervous to sit. 'I'd rather die.'

Daniel said nothing, just stared up at her in the

glow of the kerosene lamp, wanting to speak but

unable to find the words. The guard gazed at them

both through empty eyes. She began pacing

around the tent, a heavy weight in her stomach,

sickened by her powerlessness, looking down at

her watch constantly. It was cold now, and she

was shivering.

'We don't know that's what's going to happen,'

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he said, trying to offer some words of comfort.

'Sure,' she spat. 'Maybe he just wants to talk

about archaeology.'

Her voice was angry, full of bitterness and

sarcasm. Daniel dropped his head.

'I'm sorry,' she said after a moment. 'I'm just so

scared.'

He stood and took her in his arms, holding her

tight. She clung to him like a child, desperate, tears

stinging her eyes.

'It's OK,' he whispered. 'Everything will be all

right.'

'It won't, Daniel. It won't be all right ever again

if he does that to me. I couldn't stand it. I'd feel

dirty for the rest of my life.'

He was about to say it wouldn't make much

difference since they were going to be killed any-

way, but stopped himself. Instead he just stroked

her hair and held her close against him. She was

shaking uncontrollably.

They stayed like that until they heard the crunch

of approaching feet. The tent flap was pulled back

and someone spoke to the guard. He stood, and

motioned Tara outside.

Daniel swung her behind him, shielding her. The

guard motioned again and then stepped forward,

reaching out his hand. Daniel slapped it away,

raising his fists, ready to fight. The guard called

and two other men came in. Daniel lashed out at

one, but the man dodged the blow and, raising the

butt of his gun, knocked Daniel to the floor, stand-

ing over him and jamming the muzzle against his

chest. His companion grabbed Tara's arm and

pulled her towards the entrance.

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'I'm sorry,' groaned Daniel. 'I'm so sorry.'

'I love you.' Her voice was shaking. 'I've always

loved you. Always.'

And then she was outside and being dragged

through the camp, one guard clutching her arm,

the other walking behind and jabbing at her with

his gun. She struggled violently, kicking and

biting, but it was no good, the man's grip was

firm. Ahead the pyramid rock loomed vast and

silent against the night, glowing in the light of the

arc lamps below.

They came to another tent, larger than the one

she and Daniel had been kept in. One of the

guards said something and she was pushed

through the entrance, the flap dropping down

behind her. It made only a slight sound as it

closed, a soft rustling of canvas against canvas,

but there was something horribly final about it, as

though a cell door had been slammed shut.

'Good evening.' Dravic chuckled. 'I'm so glad

you could come.'

He was sitting on a canvas chair beside a

wooden trestle table. In one hand he held a half-

smoked cigar, in the other a glass. A three-quarters

empty bottle of vodka sat on the table beside him.

The pale side of his face had turned a bright

pinky-red, as though his birthmark was leaking

beneath the bridge of his nose and slowly colour-

ing his other cheek. The tent stank of cigar smoke

and sweat. Tara shivered with disgust.

The German shouted something and there was

a sound of receding feet as the guards left her to

him.

'Drink?'

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She shook her head, so scared she felt as though

her chest was going to split open. Dravic drained

his glass and poured himself another. He downed

that too and took a puff on his cigar.

'Poor little Tara.' He smiled. 'I bet you wish

you'd never got mixed up in all of this, don't you?

And if you don't now, you certainly will in a few

minutes.' He laughed raucously.

'Why have you brought me here?' Her voice

was hoarse.

He sensed her terror and his laughter grew

louder. 'Surely I don't need to spell it out!'

Again he filled his glass and knocked it back in

one gulp, his throat swelling as the liquid passed

through it. She looked wildly around for some-

thing to use as a weapon. She could see Dravic's

jacket with the trowel handle sticking out of the

pocket and edged slightly towards it. There was

another bellow of laughter.

'Go on,' he said, 'try and get it. I want you to. I

expect you to. What's the point if there's no

struggle?'

She lunged for the jacket and pulled out the

trowel, backing away, holding the point towards

him.

'I'll kill you,' she hissed. 'If you come near me,

I'll kill you.'

He laid the glass aside and stood, wobbling

slightly. She could see the bulge in his groin, and her

throat tightened as though she was being strangled.

He came towards her, puffing on his cigar, coils of

smoke winding around his huge head.

'I'll kill you,' she repeated, stabbing at him with

the trowel.

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He was in front of her now. Her head barely

came up to the level of his chest, his arms were as

big as her thighs. She backed away against the

wall of the tent, slashing at him, frantic.

'Get away from me!'

'I'm going to hurt you,' he whispered. 'I'm

going to hurt you so badly.'

She slashed at him again, but he caught her arm

easily and twisted so that she dropped the trowel.

She cowered against the tent wall, desperate,

wanting to bring her knee up into his groin but

somehow unable to make her leg move. He leaned

down over her, a towering monstrosity, and then

his hand whipped out and clawed down the front

of her shirt, ripping the material, exposing her

breasts. She squirmed sideways, wrapping her

arms around her.

'You fucking animal,' she screamed. 'You fuck-

ing filthy ugly animal.'

The punch hit her on the side of her head, heavy

as a sledgehammer, sending her reeling across the

tent onto the floor. Half dazed, she heard him

coming over and then felt the crushing weight of

his body as he straddled her. She couldn't breathe.

He took the cigar from his mouth and, reaching

forward, touched its glowing tip to her neck. She

screamed in agony, writhing, trying to get him off,

but he was too heavy, as if she had a mountain on

top of her. The cigar came down again on her fore-

arm and the top of her breast. Each time she

screamed and each time he laughed in delight. He

threw the cigar aside and began pawing at her

breasts, squeezing them, pulping the pale flesh.

Then he bent his head and, grunting like a pig,

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started to bite her neck and shoulders, his teeth

leaving deep purple welts on her white skin.

Somehow she managed to get a hand free and with

all the strength she could muster, drove her thumb

up into his eye. He arced backwards, roaring.

'You filthy bitch!' he screamed. 'I'll fucking

teach you!'

He slapped her three times about the face,

shockingly hard, knocking the breath out of her.

She felt herself being flipped over onto her front,

and heard the sound of a belt being unbuckled,

although the noise was strangely muffled. She felt

as if she had stepped out of her body and was

standing to one side gazing down, a witness to the

violation rather than its victim. She watched as