Reluctantly, he sheathed his sword, and reached out with both hands so that his fingertips brushed both walls. He felt terribly exposed walking like this in the dark, but it was the only way to move forward.
Now that the ringing in his ears had subsided, he could hear other sounds. From above and ahead he heard gunshots, although he could not see the access holes or entrance. Moustafa realized it must be fully night outside, for no light shone in from anywhere.
Except from behind. The distant torchlight grew stronger. The Senussi were advancing again.
He tried to move faster, hoping not to trip in his near blindness. Something strange stuck him about the fight. The men in the front, those he had been fighting, had carried spears and swords and guns, as was to be expected. When they retreated, however, he had seen those who took up the rear of the column. Some of them had been carrying ladders, while others carried steel cylinders with wide metal bases on them. He couldn’t be sure in the confusion, but he thought he had seen wires coming off of them with some sort of switch.
Bombs? And what were the ladders for? They didn’t need them to get out of the entrance.
Then it hit him. They weren’t going to go out the entrance at all, they were going to come up through the access holes. Maybe they would set off those bombs or whatever they were all along the line.
But he hadn’t seen any trench mortar or other device. How would they launch the bombs at the base? The aqueduct ran along the entire western perimeter, but it was still a good hundred yards away.
They must have had some sort of mortar or grenade launcher he hadn’t seen. They were going to bombard the entire base from the safety of those access holes. The soldiers wouldn’t even be able to see them.
He had to warn the others.
Another thing struck him as strange. A couple of the men carrying those devices hadn’t been Bedouin. Their features were different—darker and broader, and they had worn shirts and trousers. He had the impression that they might have been Turks.
The light behind him grew brighter, gleaming faintly off the water at his feet. He could see himself again, and pretty soon they would be able to see him too.
When would this accursed tunnel end?
The sound of firing grew louder. Moustafa stumbled forward, hurrying as fast as he dared. The water lowered, and then disappeared. He walked along a stretch of sand and saw the entrance ahead, an oval of starlit sky and the faint silhouettes of a few palm trees.
The firing was loud and continuous. Where were the others?
Getting on his belly, Moustafa crawled forward and poked his head out of the entrance. A low rock outcropping hid the nearest portion of the base from him, but further on he could see the line of barbed wire. From two different spots he saw the flare of rifles and the steady tonguing flame of a machine gun.
To his left he could see the staccato shots of the Senussi coming from the palm grove. They were spread out, each man having found his own cover and taking care with his shots.
Moustafa squinted as a series of flares shot up high into the sky above the base, illuminating a large area with a wavering light and descending gradually on little parachutes.
In the baleful red glare, he saw Captain Williams’ Model T Ford had crashed into a palm tree about two hundred yards away, the engine still running. He did not see the captain.
Then suddenly he saw a sight that made his blood run cold.
Faisal leaped into the driver’s seat and started fiddling with controls. A bullet panged off the side off the motorcar, setting off sparks. The boy flinched but did not run off.
Then with, a great grinding of gears, the motorcar lurched to life and Faisal zoomed away.
In reverse.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
A motorcar was a lot harder to drive than it looked. How did you get this thing to go forwards? Ahmed had told him, but practicing with logs and sticks was very different than doing the real thing.
Especially with Senussi shooting at him.
And it was hard to see where he was going when everything had turned bright and red from those lights in the sky and he was going backwards and the motorcar kept bouncing over bumps.
The worst part was trying to dodge the trees. He had ended up in the palm grove and the Senussi were all around him trying to shoot at him. Bullets whizzed by right next to his head and hit the motorcar. He hoped they didn’t wreck it.
He hoped they didn’t wreck him.
He had to get moving forward or he would never get back and save Claud and the others. When he, Jocelyn, and Ahmed had gotten out of the tunnel, the fight had already begun. Knowing the Senussi in the aqueduct would catch them soon, they had crawled on their bellies to where they saw the motorcar and found Claud hidden in a little ditch in the sand. He had banged his head but wasn’t too hurt. Then the fire had increased and they got stuck there.
That’s when Faisal had snuck off to get the motorcar to save everyone.
Now he needed to save himself.
He took his foot off the gas pedal and stepped on the brake. At least he got that right. The motorcar came to a stop.
Now how to get it to move forwards?
The gearshift! Right. Why wouldn’t it move? Oh right, that other pedal. Whatever it was called. You had to step on that before you could move the gears.
“Silly foreigners! Why do you have to make everything so complicated?”
Just as he stepped on the third pedal, he heard a shout behind him. A Senussi with a scimitar leaped onto the back of the motorcar, looking like he was about to cut off Faisal’s head.
Faisal slammed on the gas pedal and the motorcar shot backwards, still in reverse. The man fell from the sudden speed and ended up lying on the back seat.
The motorcar flew through the palm grove, Faisal desperately trying to avoid trees. Senussi leaped up from their hiding places and ran off to avoid getting run over.
Then the man in the back seat rose up with a snarl. The red light from the flares gleamed off the keen blade of his scimitar.
The motorcar slammed into a palm tree, and the Senussi fell forward, banging his forehead against the back seat. The impact of the motorcar shook several palm fronds from the tree that landed on the Senussi with a thump, leaving him buried.
A groan told Faisal that the man was not dead. Faisal threw the scimitar out of the motorcar, then the palm fronds, and then the Senussi. The man was heavy and it took a few moments to heave him over. He landed on the sand with a thud and a curse.
Faisal got back into the driver’s seat. Now where was he? Oh right, that pedal thing, and the gear stick.
He stepped on the pedal and moved the stick around. There came a terrible grinding from the engine but at last it lurched forward.
That was better. He was getting to understand this motorcar much better. Maybe when the Englishman saw how well he drove he would buy them a motorcar in Cairo.
But he had to live first. The Senussi had regrouped and were starting to fire at him again.
He steered toward where Ahmed and the others lay hidden. Or at least tried to. The steering wheel wasn’t doing what it was told. It would either turn the car too much or turn it too little. Faisal ended up zigzagging across the sand right past the entrance to the aqueduct.
He screamed as a big, dark figure leaped out of the entrance and right into the back of the motorcar.
Faisal zigzagged even harder, trying to shake this new attacker.
“Stop driving like a maniac and let me drive!” Moustafa shouted.
“Oh, it’s you. Hold on, I have to save the others.”
“Let me drive!”
Moustafa gripped the back of the seat, his eyes bugged out and sweat pouring off his face. He sure looked scared. Faisal had never seen Moustafa looked scared before. The Senussi must have scared him.
They zigzagged right over to the ditch and Faisal slammed on the breaks, making Moustafa tumble into the front seat, his sword flying from its sheath and nearly cutti
ng Faisal’s head off. The others piled into the back seat.
Faisal hit the gas but for some reason they went backwards. He must have stepped on the third pedal when he ducked the sword and Moustafa must have hit the gear shift when he landed in front.
It didn’t matter. You could go pretty fast backwards. Steering was harder, though.
“Let me out! I’ll take my chances with the Senussi!” Moustafa shouted. At least that’s what Faisal thought he said. It was hard to hear him because Moustafa was upside down.
“Little brother! Stop before you kill us all.”
“Don’t worry.”
Faisal didn’t want to stop because the Senussi were shooting again. So he backed up all the way to the gate of the base and right through it. It was just a weak wooden gate and smashed all to splinters when he drove through.
At last he put on the brakes and Ahmed showed him how to turn off the engine. Moustafa leaped out of the motorcar, followed by Jocelyn, who helped Claud. Several soldiers ran up, looking confused as to whether they should shoot him or not.
Then the Englishman appeared, carrying several artillery shells strapped together.
“Did I do a good job?” Faisal asked him.
He didn’t reply. He shouted something in English to the soldiers. Faisal and Ahmed jumped in the back seat while the men set the artillery shells in the passenger’s side seat in the front.
Shouting again in English, the Englishman got in and drove right out of the shattered gate.
“Where are we going?” Faisal asked.
The Englishman glanced over his shoulder and jerked.
“What are you two doing back there? I told you to get out.”
“Did you? Well, you said it in English.”
“I can’t be expected to remember … oh never mind. Stay down. There’s no time to drop you off. When I say jump, jump out of the motorcar, do you understand?”
“Sure.”
They sped right for the entrance to the aqueduct. The Senussi started firing again and the motorcar swerved as one of the tires made a loud bang. The motorcar skidded, but somehow the Englishman managed to keep control.
“Jump!”
Faisal and Ahmed jumped.
They hit hard, but luckily it was soft sand. Faisal rolled for several feet before ending up with his face in the dust. He looked up, spitting sand out of his mouth.
Just in time to see the Englishman leap out of the motorcar, which shot right at the entrance to the aqueduct.
It was too big to fit through. As it slammed into the stone sides, it lit up in a great explosion that threw Faisal backwards. From all along the line of the aqueduct, smoke and sand and debris shot out of the access holes. Then there was a low rumble and the sand buckled and crumpled.
Then Faisal could see no more as a great cloud of sand obscured his vision.
Waving his hand in front of his face, the first thing he saw was Ahmed. He was smiling.
“Wow, little brother. Your foreigner is almost as fun as mine.”
Faisal got to his feet.
“Englishman?” he shouted, barely able to hear his own words over the ringing in his ears. “Are you all right, Englishman?”
A figure stumbled out of the haze. It was the Englishman, adjusting his mask and limping badly. Faisal ran up to him.
“Did they shoot you?”
“No. I fell wrong as I jumped out,” the Englishman said, coughing out a lungful of sand. “I’ve twisted my ankle.”
“Lean on me.”
The Englishman put his arm around Faisal’s shoulders.
“It seems I’ve been leaning on you quite a bit lately.”
“You’ve never twisted your ankle before, you silly Englishman.”
CHAPTER FORTY
Five days later …
It was going to be a hot trip back. The summer was almost upon them and they had to pay an exorbitant price to get some Bedouin to guide them to Cairo. Augustus could have gotten Farouk and his crew to do the job for less, but not after those petty thefts. Of course, this group of Bedouin might try the same thing, but it was the principle of the matter.
Augustus had made sure the camels were loaded with plenty of water, and carefully counted out the drops of opium remaining in the bottle Jocelyn had given him. He had more than enough to see him home to a city full of understanding chemists.
Major Belgrave had arranged for them to have a military escort as well. The prisoner Righton had to be taken back to Cairo, and so five soldiers would be going with them.
“The Senussi have scattered,” the Major told him two days after the battle. “Those we didn’t shoot, the locals have taken care of. I don’t think we will be having trouble from them anytime soon. Pity we didn’t capture any of those Turks alive. It would have been interesting to question them. I suppose you’ve found all you need for your murder investigation, at any rate.”
At Claud’s insistence, they were spending a final evening at his house on the mountain. Other than a bad bump on his head, the captain had survived the battle unscathed. Moustafa was hard at work putting some finishing touches on his sketches, while Augustus rechecked the saddlebags he had piled in the spare room to make sure everything was in its place. He kept tincture in his pocket. He would not risk it being lost in another sandstorm.
Faisal came up to him.
“These look like nice saddlebags. The Bedouin are right that the people in Bahariya make the best.”
“Fine works of art, to be sure,” Augustus said. Actually rather crude, but attractive enough in a barbaric way. He doubted he would be able to sell any in his shop.
“Can I have one when we get home?” the boy asked.
“I suppose. Whatever would you want one for?”
“It’s for my friend.”
“Oh, all right.”
“Would filling it with sand ruin it?”
“What an incredible question. Why would you want to put sand in it?”
Faisal giggled. “For fun. Would it?”
“No, it would just make it sandy. I’m not going to give you one of these saddlebags if you’re going to act foolishly with it.”
“I won’t fill it with sand, then.” Faisal walked over to a saddlebag leaning against the wall. The bag was stuffed with a bag of flour so they could bake loaves in the sand. The bag was all puffed out from the flour and he could see all the detailed stitching in green and blue.
“I’ll take this one.”
“Why that one?”
“Because it’s the best, you silly Englishman.”
“You have a fine eye for art.”
Faisal reached into his pocket and pulled out a Late Period lamp. “This is ancient Egyptian.”
“Indeed it is. Where did you get that?”
“Moustafa gave it to me. We found it in a tomb.” Faisal looked around sadly. “I’m sure going to miss Ahmed. Claud too. This place is fun.”
“Yes.” Augustus cleared his throat. “I wanted to talk with you about that. I’ve been speaking with Captain Williams and—”
“Who’s Captain Williams?” Faisal asked.
“Whose house do you think we’ve been sleeping in?”
“Oh! You mean Claud.”
“You should call him Captain Williams. In any case, I’ve been speaking with him about you. I know you’ve made good friends with his servant boy, and you certainly show a unique talent for driving, and I was wondering if you wanted to stay here.”
Faisal’s jaw dropped. “Stay here? You mean not go back to Cairo?”
The boy stared around the house and through the window at the motorcar parked nearby and the football pitch in the little valley beyond.
“Yes, you could stay here,” Augustus went on. “Captain Williams said he’d be happy to take you on as a servant. He said you’d be good company for Ahmed. He couldn’t pay you much but—”
Faisal looked back at him. “No.”
Augustus and Faisal stared at each other for a moment.
“No.”
The answer came out surprisingly firm.
“Now listen, Faisal. You should think this thing through.”
“My place is in Cairo.”
“Well, there could be a place for you here too.”
Faisal had been looking at him steadily this entire time. “Then who would help you in your adventures?”
“Um, well, Moustafa certainly … I mean, you have been helpful too, but …”
“Thank you for asking, Englishman, but my place is in Cairo.”
On the day of their departure, Jocelyn came to meet them. It was early morning and she and Augustus went for a walk alone together in the palm groves. It took some time before they made it far enough away from the camels that they could no longer hear Faisal. The boy had been clutching Ahmed and bawling his eyes out all morning.
“Poor Faisal,” Jocelyn said. “He really grew attached to Claud’s servant.”
“I arranged for him to stay,” Augustus replied. “I don’t know why he refused.”
“Silly man.”
Augustus didn’t know what to say to that and so changed the subject.
“Are you sure you want to spend the summer here? It seems a beastly place to suffer through the hot months.”
“All the better for my book. The women will be even more confined to home than usual, and I will have more time to interview them. I’m learning so much already.”
“I’m surprised Major Belgrave doesn’t force you to go.”
In fact, Augustus had tried to get the officer to do that very thing, calculating that she would be forced to join their caravan.
“Oh, with the Senussi defeated there isn’t much danger. I’ve moved to a village that is staunchly anti-Senussi, the same one that rescued Moustafa. I’ll be safer there than anywhere in Egypt.”
“But in the autumn you’ll come to Cairo.”
“Yes, Augustus,” Jocelyn said with a chuckle. He had asked several times already. Somehow he couldn’t stop asking.
“It’s a wonderful city. We can go to the Egyptian Museum. And there’s a fine opera house. Some good dining too, which after your long desert journey I’m sure you’ll appreciate, and …”
The Case of the Golden Greeks Page 30