The Lost Army of Cambyses (53 page)

T H E WESTERN DESERT

The man seemed to materialize out of nowhere, as

if he had formed from the darkness itself. One

moment Tara and Daniel were sitting in each

other's arms gazing at the flickering flame of the

kerosene lamp, the next they looked up and there

he was, standing just inside the tent entrance, his

head and face swathed in shadows. He motioned

to the guard, no more than a flick of his finger,

and immediately the man came to his feet and left.

'Sayf al-Tha'r, I presume,' said Daniel.

The man said nothing, just stared at them.

There was a long silence.

'Why have you come here?' asked Daniel

eventually. 'To look at us before you kill us? To

gloat?' He nodded towards Tara's bruised face and

ripped shirt. 'Well, gloat away. I'm sure Allah's

very proud of you.'

'Do not speak the name of Allah,' said the man,

taking a step forward, his voice quiet but steely,

his English good. 'You are not worthy.'

446

He stared down at Tara, taking in her swollen

cheek and the burn marks on her neck, chest and

arm. A barely perceptible grimace pulled at his

lips. 'Dravic did this?'

She nodded.

'It will not happen again. It was . . .

unfortunate.'

'No,' said Daniel quietly. 'It was expected. It's

what people like you and Dravic do.'

Again, the man grimaced almost imperceptibly.

'Do not place me and Dravic in the same bracket,

Dr Lacage. He is a tool, no more. I serve a higher

master.'

Daniel shook his head wearily. 'You people

make me laugh. You butcher women and children

and somehow convince yourselves it's all for the

good of Allah.'

'I told you not to speak his name.' The man's

voice was sharp now. 'Your mouth pollutes it.'

'No,' said Daniel, looking up at him, meeting

his eyes. 'You pollute it. You pollute it every time

you use it to justify the things you do. Do you

really think Allah expects—'

The assault was so sudden, and so swift, that

the man had his hand around Daniel's throat

before either of them was even aware he'd moved.

He lifted him to his feet, fingers tight around his

windpipe. Daniel struggled, but could not break

the grip.

'Stop it!' cried Tara. 'Please, stop it!'

Sayf al-Tha'r ignored her. 'You are all the same,

you Westerners,' he growled. 'Your hypocrisy is

extraordinary. Every day a hundred children die in

Iraq because of the sanctions your governments

447

have imposed and yet you have the audacity to

lecture us on what is right and what is wrong.'

Daniel's face was turning red.

'You see this?' Sayf al-Tha'r raised his free hand

to the scar on his forehead. 'This was done to me

in a police cell. The interrogators kicked me so

hard I was blinded for three days. My crime? I'd

spoken out on behalf of the millions in this

country who live in squalor and hopelessness. Do

you complain about that? Do you complain that

half the world lives in poverty so that a privileged

few can fritter away their lives in pointless luxury?

No. Like all your kind you are selective in your

outrage, condemning only what it is convenient

for you to condemn. To the rest you turn a blind

eye.'

He squeezed for a moment longer and then

released his grip. Daniel collapsed. 'You're mad,'

he said, choking. 'You're a mad fanatic.'

The man's breathing seemed hardly to have

changed.

'Very possibly,' he replied calmly. 'The question,

however, is why. You dismiss me and my followers

as extremists and fanatics, but never once do you

look behind those words. Try to understand the

forces that have created us.'

He stood over Daniel, his black robes seeming

to merge with the darkness so that all that was

visible was his face, floating disembodied above

them.

'I have known horrors, Dr Lacage,' he said, his

voice sunk almost to a whisper. 'Men beaten and

crippled in the torture cells of the state. People so

hungry they are reduced to eating scraps out of

448

garbage cans. Children gang-raped because they

have the misfortune to be a distant relative of

someone whose views do not coincide with the

ideas of those in power. These are the things that

make men mad. These are the things you should

be condemning.'

'And you think the answer's to go around

shooting tourists?' coughed Daniel.

Sayf al-Tha'r smiled faintly, eyes glowing. 'The

answer? No, I don't think it's the answer. We

merely make a point.'

'What possible point does it make killing

innocent people!'

The man raised his hands, the fingers long and

thin, skeletal almost. 'That we are no longer

prepared to have you meddling in our affairs.

Propping up a godless regime because it happens

to be in your best political interests. Using our

country as a playground while we, the people of

that country, remain hungry and oppressed and

abused.' He stared at Daniel, the scar tissue on his

forehead gleaming red in the flickering light of the

kerosene lamp.

'I often wonder how you in the West would

react if the tables were turned. If it was your

children who were begging in the streets while we

Egyptians rode around flaunting our wealth and

insulting your customs. If half your national

treasures had been stripped out and carried off to

Egyptian museums. If a crime such as Danishaway

had been committed on your soil, against your

people, by Egyptian overlords. It would be an

interesting experiment. It might help you to

understand a little of the anger we feel.'

449

Still his voice was low and calm, although flecks

of froth had started to bubble at the corners of his

mouth.

'Do you know,' he went on, 'that when Carter

discovered the tomb of Tutankhamun he signed a

contract with
The Times
of London stating that

they and only they could report what was in

that tomb? In order to find out about a discovery

in our own land, which belonged to us, one of our

kings, we Egyptians had to turn to an English

newspaper.'

'That was eighty years ago,' coughed Daniel,

shaking his head. 'It's different now.'

'No, it is not different! The attitudes are the

same. The assumption that as Egyptians and

Moslems we are somehow less civilized, less able

to order our own affairs. That you can treat us

how you want. These things persist. And those of

us who try to question them are dismissed as

madmen.'

Daniel stared up at him but said nothing.

'You see,' said Sayf al-Tha'r, 'you have no

response to that. And, indeed, there is

no response. Other than to beg forgiveness for the

way this country and its people have been treated.

You have pillaged our heritage, sucked out our

blood, taken but not given in return. And now the

time has come to redress the balance. As it says in

the Holy Koran, "You have received but the

recompense of what you have earned."'

His shadow bulged on the canvas behind him,

black and shapeless and menacing. From outside

came the sounds of excavating, but in the tent the

air was silent and still, as though they were part of

450

a different world. There was a pause. Then,

slowly, Tara came to her feet.

'I don't know much about Egypt,' she said,

standing in front of the man, looking into his eyes,

'but I do know that my father, whose death is on

your hands, loved this country and its people and

its heritage. Loved them so much more than you

do. Look at what you're doing here. Destroying.

My father would never have done that. He wanted

to protect the past. You just want to sell it to the

highest bidder. It's you who's the hypocrite.'

The man's mouth tightened and for a moment

she thought he was going to hit her. His hands,

however, remained at his sides.

'I derive no pleasure from plundering the army

like this, Miss Mullray. Sometimes it is necessary

to do unpleasant things to achieve a higher

purpose. If part of our heritage must be sacrificed

to free us from oppression, then so be it. My

conscience is clear.'

For a moment he held her eyes and then slowly

dropped to his haunches in front of the lamp. 'I do

the will of God. And God knows that. God is with

me.'

He reached out and placed his hand on the

scalding metal. He neither blinked nor grimaced.

A faint smell of burning flesh drifted upwards to

Tara's nostrils. She thought she was going to gag.

'Do not underestimate the strength of our belief,

Miss Mullray. That is why each of my followers

takes the mark of faith on his forehead. To show

the depth of his conviction. Our adherence is

unwavering. We suffer no doubts.'

He remained like that for what seemed an age,

451

staring up at Tara, hand burning, face expression-

less, and then stood again, his palm scalded a livid

reddish-white.

'You asked why I came here, Dr Lacage. It was

not, as you suggested, to look at you, my

prisoners. Rather it was to let you, my prisoners,

look at me. To look, and to understand.' He stared

at them for a moment and then moved towards

the entrance.

Daniel called after him, 'It'll never work, you

know. Digging up the army like this and selling it

off. You'll only be able to uncover a fraction of

what's down there. And then someone else will

come along and find the rest and the value of what

you've got will drop through the floor. It's point-

less unless you've got the whole thing.'

Sayf al-Tha'r turned. He was smiling. 'We have

our plans, Dr Lacage. God has given us the army

and God will ensure that we alone reap its

benefits.'

He nodded at them and melted into the night.

SIWA OASIS

Just as Khalifa was pulling onto the forecourt of

Siwa's only garage, a power cut suddenly plunged

the entire settlement into darkness.

'If you want petrol you'll have to wait,' said the

garage attendant. 'The pumps won't work till

the electricity comes back on.'

'How long?'

The man shrugged. 'Maybe five minutes. Maybe

452

five hours. It'll come back when it does. Once we

had to wait two days.'

'I hope it's sooner than that.'

'Insha-Allah,'
said the man.

Khalifa parked at the edge of the forecourt and

got out. The air was chilly and, reaching back into

the car, he removed his jacket and put it on. A

donkey-cart rattled past with three women in the

back, their shawls pulled low around their heads

to hide their faces, giving them a lumpen, shape-

less look, like melted waxworks. There was a roar

as a generator coughed into life.

He walked back and forth for a while, stretch-

ing the stiffness from his legs, and then, lighting a

cigarette, crossed to a refreshment stall on the

edge of the main square and bought a glass of tea.

There was a wooden bench nearby and he went

and sat on it, pulling Abdul's mobile phone from

his jacket and keying in Hosni's number. His

brother-in-law answered on the fourth ring.

'Hosni, it's Yusuf.'

There was a sharp intake of breath.

'What the hell's going on, Yusuf? We've had the

security service round looking for you. Where are

you?'

'Bahariya,' lied Khalifa.

'Bahariya! What are you doing there?'

'Police business. I can't give any details.'

'They came to my office, Yusuf! Do you under-

stand? The security service came to my office.

Have you any idea what that could do to business?

Edible oils is a small world. Rumours get around.'

'I'm sorry, Hosni.'

'If they come back, I'm going to have to tell

453

them where you are. We're at a very delicate stage

with this new sesame oil project. I can't let some-