The Seventh Scroll (78 page)

"Come on!" Nicholas pleaded with the machine. "Come on! You can do it." The engine beat faltered again as she starved for fuel.

She spluttered and coughed, and almost stalled.

"Please!" Nicholas begged her aloud. "One more try." Almost as if it had heard him, the engine fired again, ran unevenly for a few moments, and then abruptly bellowed at full power again.

That's it, my beauty," Nicholas yelled, as it lurched hammered against the wall.

an With a sound like a cannon shot the log snapped and the top end of it flew out of the wall, leaving a long, deep hole through which the river poured triumphantly, a thing -'solid column of dirty grey water.

"Thar she blows!" Nicholas shouted, jumping down from the driver's seat. He knew there was not enough time left for him to drive the tractor out of the river bed. He could move more quickly on his own feet.

The current seized his legs, trying to pull them out from under him. It was like one of those childhood nightmares when monsters were pursuing him and, despite his every effort, his legs would only move in slow motion. He glanced back over his shoulder, and at that instant he saw the central section of the dam wall burst, blowing outward in a violent eruption of furious waters. He struggled on another few paces towards the bank before the deep and turbulent tide picked him up. He was helpless in its grip. It swept him away, over the waterfall and down,

down into the hungry maw of the chasm.

these are the royal crook and sceptre of the Pharaoh," cried von Schiller in a voice that was gusty and faint with emotion as he lifted them out of the cedarwood chest.

"And this is his false beard and his ceremonial pectoral Wo, emblem." Nahoot knelt beside him on the floor of the tomb under the great statue of Osiris. All the ill feelings between them were forgotten in the wonder of the moment as they examined the fabulous treasures of Egypt.

"This is the greatest archaeological discovery of all time," von Schiller whispered, his voice tremulous. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the perspiration of excitement that trickled down his cheeks.

"There is years of work here," Nahoot told him seriously. "This incredible collection will have to be catalogued and evaluated. It will be known for ever as the von Schiller hoard. Your name will be perpetuated for all time. it is like the Egyptian dream of immortality. You will never be forgotten. You will live for ever."

A rapturous expression crossed von Schiller's features.

He had not considered' that possibility. Up until this moment he had not considered sharing this treasure with anybody, except in his particular way with Utte Kemper, but Nahoot's words had awakened in him the old impossible dream of eternity. Perhaps he might make arrangements for it to be made accessible to the public - but only after his own death, naturally.

Then he thrust the temptation aside. He would not debase this treasure by making it available to the common rabble. It had been assembled for the funeral of a pharaoh.

Von Schiller saw himself as the modern equivalent of a pharaoh.

"No!" he told Nahoot violently. "This is mine, all mine.

When I die it will go with me, all of it. I have made the arrangements already, in my will. My sons know what to do. This will all be with me in my own grave. My royal grave.

Nahoot stared at him aghast. He had not realized until that moment that the old man was mad, that his obsessions had driven him over the edge of sanity. But the Egyptian knew that there was no point in arguing with him now later he would find a way to save this marvelous treasure from the oblivion of another tomb. So he bowed his.head in mock acquiescence.

"You are right, Hell von Schiller. That is the only fitting manner to dispose of it. You deserve that form of burial. However, our main concern now must be to get all of it to safety. Helm has warned us about the danger of the river, of the dam bursting. We must call him and Nogo.

Nogo's men must clear out the tomb. We can ferry the treasure in the helicopter up to the Pegasus camp, where. I can pack it securely for the journey to Germany."

"Yes. Yes." Von Schiller scrambled to his feet, suddenly terrified at the prospect of being deprived of this wondrous hoard by the flooded river.

"Send the monk, what is his name, Hansith, send him to call Helm. He must come at once."

Nahoot jumped up to his feet. "Hansith!" he shouted.

"Where are you?"

The monk had been waiting at the entrance to the burial chamber, kneeling in prayer before the empty sarcophagus which had contained the body of the saint. He was torn now between religious conviction and greed. When he heard his name called he genuflected deeply, and then rose and hurried back to join von Schiller and Nahoot.

"You must go back to the Pool where we left the others-' Nahoot started to relay the orders, but suddenly a strange, distracted expression crossed Hansith's darkly handsome features and he held up his hand for silence.

"What is it?" Nahoot demanded angrily. "What is it that you can hear?"

Hansith shook his head. "Be quiet! Listen! Can't you hear it?"

"There is nothing-' Nahoot began, but then broke off suddenly, and wild terror filled his dark eyes.

There was the softest sound, gentle as the sigh of a summer zephyr, lulling and low.

"What do you hear?" von Schiller demanded. His hearing had long ago deteriorated, and the sound was far beyond the range of his old ears.

"Water!" whispered Nahoot."Running water!'

"The river!" shouted Hansith. "The tunnel is floodingr He whirled round and went bounding down the funeral arcade with long, lithe strides.

"We will be trapped in here!" screamed Nahoot, and raced after him.

"Wait for me," von Schiller yelled, and tried to follow. But he soon fell behind the two much younger men.

The monk, however, was far ahead of both of them as he took the flight of stairs up from the gas trap two at a time.

"Hansith! Come back! I order you," Nahoot cried despairingly in his wake, but he caught only a flash of the monk's white robe as he darted into the first twist of the labyrinth.

"Guddabi, where are you?" von Schiller's voice quavered and echoed through the stone corridors. But Nahoot did not reply as he ran on in the direction which he thought the monk had taken, passing the first turn in the maze without even glancing at the chalk marks on the wall. He thought he heard Hansith's racing footsteps ahead of him, but by the time he had turned the third corner he knew he was lost.

He stopped with his heart racing savagely and the bitter gall of terror in the back of his throat.

"Hansith! Where are you?"he screamed wildly.

Von Schiller's voice came back to him, ringing weirdly down the passageways, "Guddabi! Guddabi! Don't leave me here."

"Shut up!" he screamed. "Keep quiet, you old fool!'

Panting heavily, the blood pounding in his ears, he

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tried to listen for the sound of Hansith's feet. But he heard only the sound of the river. The gentle susurration seemed to emanate from the very walls around him.

"No! Don't leave me here," he screamed, and began to run without direction, panic-stricken, through the maze.

/4' ansith took each twist and'turn unerringly, with the terror of dreadful death driving his 7 feet. But at the head of the central staircase his ankle twisted under him and he fell heavily. He tumbled down the steeply inclined shaft, bumping and rolling the full length, gathering speed as he went until he reached the bottom and lay sprawled on the agate tiles of the long gallery.

He dragged himself to his feet, bruised and shaken by the fall, and tried to run on. But his leg gave way under him again, and he fell in a tangle. His ankle was badly sprained and would not carry his weight. Nevertheless he dragged himself up a second time and hobbled down the gallery, supporting himself with one hand on the shattered wall.

When he reached the doorway and crawled through it on to the landing beside the generator the sound of the water came up the tunnel. It was much louder now - a low, reverberating growl which almost blotted out the soft, discreet hum of the generator.

"Sweet loving Christ and the Virgin, save me!" he pleaded as he staggered and lurched down the tunnel, falling twice more before he reached the lower level.

On his knees he peered ahead, and in the glare of the electric lights strung along the roof of the tunnel he could make out the sink-hole below him. He did not at first recognize it, for it had all changed. The water level was no longer lower than the paved floor on which he sprawled. It was brimming, a great swirling maelstrom, and the water pouring into it was being sucked away through the hidden outlet almost as fast as it entered from the tunnel mouth on the far side. The pontoon bridge was tangled and half, submerged, bobbing and canting and rearing as it fought its retaining cables like an unbroken horse on a tether.

From Taita's pool'a roaring river of water was boring down the far branch of the tunnel across the sink-hole.

The tunnel was flooding rapidly, the water already reaching halfway up the walls, but he knew that it was the only escape route from the tomb. Every moment he delayed, the flood became stronger.

"I have to get out through there." He pushed himself to his feet again. He reached the first pontoon of the bridge, but it was careering about so madly that he dared not attempt to remain upright upon it. He dropped to his hands and knees, crawled out on to the flimsy structure and managed to drag himself forward from one pontoon to the next, "Please God and St. Michael help me. Don't let me die like this," he prayed aloud. He reached the far side of the sink'hole and groped for a handhold on the roughly hewn walls of the tunnel.

He found a hold with his fingertips and pulled himself into the mouth of the tunnel, but now the full force of the water pouring down the shaft struck his lower body. He hung there for a moment, pinned by the raging waters, unable to move a pace forward. He knew that if his grip failed he would be swept back into the sink-hole and sucked down into those terrible black depths.

The electric bulbs strung along the roof of the tunnel ahead of him still burned brightly, so that he could see almost to the open basin of Taita's pool where the bamboo -scaffolding would offer escape to the top of the chasm. It was only two hundred feet ahead of him. He gathered all his strength and pulled himself forward against the raging waters, reaching forward from one precarious handhold to

the next. His fingernails tore and the flesh smeared from the tips of his fingers on the jagged rock, but he forced his way onwards.

At last he could see daylight ahead of him, filtering from Taita's pool. Only another forty feet to go, and he realized with a surge of relief and joy that he was going to make it out of the deadly trap of the shaft. Then he heard a fresh sound, a harsher, more brutal roar as the full flood of the burst dam poured down the waterfall into Taita's pool. It found the entrance to the tunnel and came down it in a solid wave, filling the passageway to the roof, ripping out the wiring of the lights and plunging Hansith into darkness. It struck him with such force that it seemed to be not mere water but the solid rock of an avalanche, and he could not resist it. It tore him from his insecure perch and plucked him away, tossing him backwards, spinning him down the length of the shaft that he had gained with so much effort, and hurling him into the sink-hole beyond.

He was swirled end over end by the crazed waters. In the darkness and wild confusion he did not know which direction was up and which down, but it made no difference for he could not swim against its power, Then the sink'hole seized him full in its grip and sucked him swiftly and deeply down. The pressure of the water began to crush him. One of his eardrums burst, and as he opened his mouth to scream at the agony of it the water spurted down his throat and flooded his lungs. The last thing he ever felt was when he was flung against the side wall of the sink-hole, travelling as fast as the falling waters, and the bones of his right shoulder shattered. He could not scream again through his sodden lungs, but soon the pain faded into oblivion.

As his corpse was drawn swiftly through the subterranean shaft it became mangled and "dismembered on the jagged rock sides, and was no longer recognizable as human.

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by the time it was discharged through the butterfly fountain on the far side'

of the mountain. From there the torn fragments were washed down the diverted Dandera river to join, at last, the wider and more stately waters of the Blue Nile.

he waters pouring through the gap in the dam i wall picked up the yellow front-loader and tumbled it over the waterfall into the chasm as though it were a child's toy. Nicholas had a glimpse of it in the air below him. Even as he fell himself, he realized that if he had stayed with the machine he would have been crushed beneath it. The huge machine struck the surface of the pool in a fountain of white spray and disappeared, Nicholas followed it down, falling free, even managing J11 to keep his head uppermost, feet foremost, as he swooped I down the waterfall. The flood that carried him cushioned his fall, so that instead of being dashed against the exposed boulders at the bottom, he bounced and tumbled in the racing torrent. He came to the surface fifty yards downstream, tossed his wet hair out of his eyes and glanced around him quickly.

The tractor was gone, swallowed deep into the pool at the foot of the waterfall, but ahead of him was a small island of rock in the middle of the river. With a dozen overarm strokes -he swam to it and clung to a rocky spur.

>From there he looked up at the sheer walls of the chasm an remembered the last time he had been trapped down here. The ation "ie a felt at the destruction of the dam and the flooding of Pharaoh's tomb evaporated.

He knew that he would not be able to climb those slick, water-smoothed cliffs that offered no handholds and which belled outwards in an overhang over his head.

Instead he weighed the chances of working his way back upstream to the foot of the falls. From here it looked as though there was some sort of funnel or crevice up the east side of the chute which might offer a ladderway to the top, but it would be a hard and dangerous climb. The volume of water coming over the falls was not as heavy as he had expected, considering the vast body of water that was being held back by the dam. He realized then that the greater part of the wall of gabions must still be in place and that this torrent was only the result of water escaping through the narrow gap he had torn in the centre of the wall. The remainin gabions must still be 9 holding in place under their own weight. However, he realized that they could not hold much longer and that the river must soon plough them aside and burst through in full force. So he abandoned the idea of swimming back to the foot of the falls.