The Case of the Golden Greeks

by Sean McLachlan

  “Allow me to explain.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Mr. Wall squirmed in his seat like an uncomfortable schoolchild being brought before the teacher as he told all he knew about Dr. Harrell’s murder and their subsequent findings. The major listened without interruption, then without saying a word to Moustafa’s boss, called in an orderly.

  “Have the wireless station tell Captain Williams to come down before nightfall. And bring those two Arab boys in here.”

  The two boys were led into the office, looking guiltier than ever. The major commanded Mr. Wall and Moustafa to be silent and asked for their version of events, Ahmed having to translate for Faisal.

  To Moustafa’s relief, the boys’ version of events tallied with their own. He was even more relieved to hear Ahmed mistranslating some of Faisal’s more elaborate claims.

  Like not telling a major of the British Army that the Senussi had hired an army of djinn to creep out of the ground beneath the base so they could kidnap all the soldiers and take them to the City of Brass. Ahmed didn’t translate that at all.

  Captain Williams was having a good effect on that lad. Faisal could learn a thing or two from him.

  Once they were done, Major Belgrave leaned back in his chair, folded his hands over his belly, and surveyed them.

  “The most fantastic thing about your story is that I believe it.”

  Mr. Wall perked up. “You do? Um, I mean, of course you do.”

  “At first I thought you might be an arms merchant, but you were too obvious in your movements for that, and your personal arsenal was too varied. The Senussi have knives aplenty, and don’t want pistols or, ahem, sword canes and broadswords. They want rifles and you only have three of those. Then there was the fight at Mrs. Montjoy’s cottage, and your defense of the anti-Senussi faction. Yes, I know about them. Not as much as I’d like to, but enough. Also, you showed up well after the trouble had already started.”

  Mr. Wall let out a relieved sigh. “Thank you for seeing things clearly, major. I—”

  “You may have come after the trouble has already started, but you’ve only added to it!” Major Belgrave snapped. “Not only have you brought the shooting war into the oasis itself, but you’ve alerted the Senussi to the fact that we know about the aqueducts. You’ve inflamed the natives without getting any closer to knowing who killed Dr. Harrell or why.”

  Mr. Wall fell silent. Moustafa didn’t feel like speaking up either. It was true that they had made a mess of the investigation. Why would Dr. Harrell be killed for investigating a tomb? He had made no mention of the aqueducts in his speech, nor was there any evidence that had he found the second tomb where the Senussi were digging a tunnel. If he knew nothing about the Senussi plans, why kill him at all? Wouldn’t that just attract attention?

  Before Moustafa could think further along these lines, Major Belgrave continued.

  “Take care, Sir Augustus. You are confined to this camp until we put down the rebellion. Do not attempt an escape. We will be watching you. As for you, Ahmed, we’ve been watching you for some time.”

  “I didn’t do anything!”

  The major smiled. “No you did not. At first I worried about a key officer having a native servant, but I tested you about a month ago to check your loyalty.”

  “You did?”

  “Remember when Private Powell let slip that a patrol was going out?”

  “You mean Mark? I was surprised he would tell me something he wasn’t supposed to.”

  “Yes. We knew you were going into Biwati later for a swim. That would give you sufficient time away from our sight to relay that information to the Senussi. We sent the patrol out on the same route as we told you, with a surprise force watching the best ambush point. The Senussi never showed, proving you weren’t one of them.”

  “Of course not! I’d never betray Claud or the British.” Ahmed seemed hurt that the major had even suspected him.

  “You did very well, Ahmed. You should join one of the native regiments when you’re older. I’d put in a good word for you.”

  “Oh no, I’m going to be an Egyptologist.”

  Major Belgrave gestured at Mr. Wall. “Don’t take any inspiration from this chap. He’s nothing but trouble.”

  His tone was more amused than angry. Moustafa felt like telling him a thing or two about Mr. Wall. He wouldn’t be so amused then.

  “So who is this man you arrested, major?” Moustafa asked.

  The major’s lips pursed as if he had tasted something sour. “A Corporal Righton. Thoroughly bad character. He was never liked in barracks and I’ve had him up on minor charges on numerous occasions. He’s also suspected of the theft of an army pay box.”

  “Really?” Moustafa had trouble believing such a thing was possible.

  “Indeed. He’s a mechanic and has been shuffled around a bit between regiments. His previous posting was with a regiment down in Farafra Oasis about 120 miles south of here. Their pay box was stolen last year. A suspect was arrested, Private Righton’s sole friend on the base. Both were on a day’s leave when the theft occurred. Two masked men ambushed the Model T bringing the pay box and overwhelmed the driver and guard. In the struggle, the driver managed to identify one of the men by a distinctive mole on his hand, and we arrested Private Righton’s friend. The man has never confessed or named his accomplice, and the strongbox has never been found.”

  “No doubt it’s buried in the desert somewhere,” Moustafa said.

  “Indeed. It is our belief that Corporal Righton was feeding information to the Senussi in exchange for safe passage through the desert back to Farafra, where he could retrieve the strongbox and disappear.”

  “But how did you identify him as the man feeding information to the Senussi?” Mr. Wall asked.

  “The same way I found out about the anti-Senussi faction here. One of the farmers came to me and told me that Righton was meeting in secret with key people from the Senussi mosque. I had him tailed and found it was true.”

  “Has the corporal confessed?” Moustafa asked.

  “No. He’s been as mum as his accomplice. We know it’s him, but we don’t have any definitive proof. He’s keeping quiet and insisting on an attorney.”

  Mr. Wall scratched his jaw. “This still doesn’t explain the Turkish notes we found in Ainsley Fielding’s office, or the Turkish conversation Moustafa heard while he was in captivity.”

  “I suspect some pan-Turkish elements from Constantinople are behind it,” the major said. “The Ottomans were the one of the factions arming the Senussi during the last war, after all.”

  “But they failed last time, why try again?” Ahmed asked.

  Moustafa knew the answer to that. The Mahdi’s men failed time and again against the British, but they kept charging the guns.

  “I can’t say I know,” the major said. “But they certainly are trying and that’s the thing we have to worry about. I’ll send out some patrols around the base to look for openings to those aqueducts you alerted me to.”

  “An excellent idea,” Mr. Wall said. “But take care not to disturb the entrances or venture in. I have an idea of how we can turn the tables on our fundamentalist friends.”

  Moustafa glanced at Faisal and saw a look of despair on the boy’s face.

  Moustafa sympathized. Mr. Wall’s “idea” no doubt involved more gunfire and more than their fair share of mortal danger.

  “Would it be possible to question to prisoner?” Moustafa asked.

  Major Belgrave shrugged. “I suppose. I doubt you’ll get much out of him. He’s keeping quiet, hoping silence will save him.”

  Or hoping the Senussi will save him, Moustafa thought.

  The major led them to a small hut to one side of the parade ground. A sentry stood in front. The hut was barely big enough for a man to lay down and had a heavy bolt on the outside of the door.

  “Open the door and have the prisoner come out,” Major Belgrave ordered.

  The sentry did as he wa
s told, bringing out a thin, cunning looking man in his early twenties. His eyes shifted between the newcomers, sizing them up.

  “Stand at attention, you slouch!” Major Belgrave thundered.

  Corporal Righton shot him a contemptuous look. The sentry booted him in the rear and the corporal made a semblance of military posture.

  “How you got through basic training I’ll never know,” the major grumbled.

  “We know about your Ottoman friends,” Moustafa said, taking a chance.

  Instead of guilt or worry, all Righton’s face betrayed was a momentary confusion before getting back on guard.

  “The Ottomans are helping the Senussi, aren’t they?” Moustafa continued. “You’ve been feeding them information so they can attack the base.”

  “I’ve never met an Ottoman in my whole bloody life. During the war I was stuck here the entire time, drying up in the desert and not getting a single chance to do something useful.”

  “A perfect posting for a useless man,” Major Belgrave grumbled.

  “They killed Professor Harrell,” Mr. Wall said.

  Righton’s head jerked in the direction of the speaker, his eyes going wide before he got control of himself.

  “Don’t know who you mean,” he muttered.

  “Yes you do,” Moustafa said.

  “Wait, now I remember,” the major said, pointing a finger at Righton. “You used to lounge about his excavation on your off hours. I thought it odd for someone as uneducated as you, but the professor never complained so I didn’t think much of it. And one time I sent you into town on an errand and you came back late. I wrote you up for it.”

  Righton glowered at his interrogators but said nothing.

  “Speak, or you will most certainly hang,” Mr. Wall said.

  “I have the right to legal representation,” Righton mumbled, not looking at any of them.

  “A big word for you, Righton,” the major said. He turned to the sentry. “Private Towton, take a walk around the base and come back in five minutes.”

  Private Towton grinned. “Yes, sir. Gladly, sir.”

  The private walked away, turning the corner of the nearest building.

  Then Major Belgrave did something more suitable to the Mamluk or Ottoman army than the British one.

  He shoved Righton back into his cell with a strength surprising for one of his years, strode in after him, and pulled out his revolver. Righton cringed as the cold steel muzzle pressed against his temple.

  “The base is in danger. My men are in danger. If the Senussi attack and you haven’t told us all you know, I swear to God I will kill you and write in the report you were caught in crossfire.”

  Righton trembled, but got a hold of himself after a few moments. “And if I talk, will you promise not to give me the ultimate penalty?”

  Major Belgrave studied him. “Very well.”

  Righton’s eyes shifted from the major to Mr. Wall and back to the major. He paused for a moment, then came to a decision.

  “I was already working for the Senussi when Dr. Harrell showed up. They told me he had been sent to help them, but that he didn’t know that himself, that he was a tool in their hands.”

  “To do what?” Moustafa asked. “Sent by whom?”

  Righton shook his head. “I don’t know who sent him. The Senussi said that they had big friends in Cairo who had been bribed to help them.”

  “Bribed by whom?” Moustafa pressed.

  Righton glared at him. “They didn’t tell me because I didn’t need to know.”

  Moustafa glared back. A traitor to his own army talking to him like that? He’d like to teach him a lesson. But the rogue had a point. There was no reason for him to know such details. Obviously it was Carl Riding, Ainsley Fielding, and the other conspirators at the Geographical Association of Egypt. And who had given them the money? The Turks? This was getting stranger and stranger.

  “Go on,” Major Belgrave ordered.

  “The Senussi told me to keep an eye on Harrell and gain his confidence. I was to pose as a soldier doing some smuggling on the side.”

  The major snorted. “An easy part for you to play.”

  “Harrell was told that he was supposed to make contact with smugglers in the region and help them learn of a better way to get contraband in and out of the oasis.”

  “The tunnels,” Mr. Wall said.

  Righton nodded. “Harrell was a greedy bloke, a toff with a respectable job but that wasn’t enough for him. Not sure what he wanted money for but he wanted it. So these people in Cairo paid him a pretty penny to help the Senussi.”

  “But he didn’t know they were Senussi, is that right?” Moustafa asked.

  “We weren’t supposed to let him know. He came looking for tombs, but also to trace the underground aqueducts. The Senussi had heard of them when they had control of this place during the Great War, but they never learned their secrets. The locals wouldn’t tell them. So whoever sent him from Cairo figured an English archaeologist would have better luck.”

  “And did he find them?”

  “Some. Not the ones we needed. The Senussi wanted one that passed close to this base. He didn’t like the sound of that, so I had to convince him that the army was involved in the smuggling. He let slip that he thought one aqueduct might lead from the temple of Alexander into a network that would take you here to the base, but if he found it he never told us.”

  “Why not?” Moustafa asked.

  Righton grimaced. “Because he figured it all out. He figured out that it wasn’t smugglers he was working for, but the Senussi. So he scarpered in the middle of the night. There were fewer Senussi at the oasis then than there are now, and they couldn’t gather a force in time to follow him. He got away.”

  “Pity his patriotism didn’t extend to informing us,” Major Belgrave grumbled.

  “Not until he learned the Ottomans were involved, and guessed just what the Senussi were up to,” Mr. Wall said.

  Everyone turned to him.

  “Sir Thomas Russell Pasha told me Harrell made an appointment to see him. Sadly, his colleagues at the Geographical Association killed him off before he could make that appointment. I suspect that when Harrell got back, he made some inquiries and learned the extent of the conspiracy. Harrell thought he was just doing a bit of dark trading with some smugglers for extra cash. When he learned those so-called smugglers were former enemies of the empire, he panicked and left. Then back in Cairo he learned that they, and the conspirators, were being funded by radical elements among the Turks who want to strike back at the enemies who humiliated them in the last war. He had learned too much, and had to be done away with in a manner that would keep anyone else from talking.”

  Righton’s eyes had been widening throughout Mr. Wall’s speech. He started to tremble.

  “I didn’t know the Turks were involved,” the private said. “And I didn’t know they planned on attacking the base. I swear!”

  “You must have suspected they’d attack,” Mr. Wall said in a cool voice. “Not even one as dim as you could have failed to grasp that. As for not knowing about the Turks being involved, I believe you. You’re hardly the sort to be trusted with that information.”

  Mr. Wall moved apart from them with the major.

  “I have an idea how we can foil the attack …” Moustafa heard him saying before they moved out of earshot.

  Faisal stared at them. “Is the Englishman going to make us go in those aqueducts again?”

  “Almost certainly,” Moustafa replied, feeling sorry for the boy.

  “The Senussi were lucky to find those aqueducts. Ahmed says hardly anyone in Bahariya knows where they are, and absolutely no one knows where they all go. We peeked out one of the holes in the ceiling and only found dry sand. They had forgotten it was even there and let their field dry up!”

  Moustafa sighed. “The Egyptians were great once and have lost so much.”

  “The Nubians too?”

  Moustafa shook his head. “Th
e Nubians even more.”

  “Why?”

  Moustafa clucked his tongue but didn’t answer.

  “Why did the Egyptians and Nubians forget so much?” Faisal persisted.

  “Stop asking silly questions!”

  A minute later, the boy’s worst fears were confirmed.

  Mr. Wall came up to them.

  “The major and I have hit on a plan. We are going to pretend we suspect nothing, but the troops in the base will be on high alert. We believe the Senussi and their Turkish advisors will come through the aqueducts tonight with whatever surprise they have in store for us. There are still a couple of hours of daylight left, time enough to find the entrance and scout the tunnels to find a good spot for an ambush.”

  “And you want me to go and look,” Faisal groaned.

  “I’ll come too, little brother,” Ahmed said, although he didn’t say it with much gusto.

  “Don’t worry,” Mr. Wall said. “We’re sending Moustafa with you.”

  “But he’s big and clumsy. All of Bahariya will hear him!” Faisal complained.

  “Quiet!” Moustafa barked, cuffing him.

  Mr. Wall smiled. “Now all we need is for the soldiers to find the entrance to the aqueduct.”

  Within an hour they had, hidden behind a low dune about one hundred yards from the western perimeter. The entrance was completely filled in and the soldiers would have never found it if they hadn’t moved across the ground in a long line, each man pressing a stiff wire into the sand to look for cavities. Another half hour of shoveling and they had revealed an opening into one of the tunnels.

  Once they were done, Moustafa shone an electric torch down the subterranean aqueduct. As far as the eye could see, the tunnel was about half full of damp sand.

  “Look,” Faisal said.

  Several footprints were impressed onto the sand, coming right up to where the blockage had been. Most were of people in sandals. One set of footprints, however, had been made by someone in boots.

  “That must be one of the Turkish soldiers the Englishman was talking about,” Faisal said.

  “It could have been made by the British soldiers while they were clearing the sand,” Moustafa replied.