‘You really think so?’
‘Absolutely! Welcome to the real world – you heard him. That’s why he came to Sydney, he wants to give evidence. I’m sure it’s all part of the deal. He wants to explain why he’s changing his story, can’t you see? He wants to assist the defence. And besides, as soon as I attack his credibility, he’ll say he was coerced into making the statement in the first place. He’ll bring up the deal with the Americans to explain it all. It’s very smart. How could I have been so blind? Damn him!’ Carrington slammed his fist on the table, making the scarabs duck for cover.
‘Temper, temper,’ said Jana, surprised by the unexpected outburst. It was a side of Carrington she hadn’t seen before.
‘Unwittingly, we’ve handed Archibald his best witness on a plate. We couldn’t have subpoenaed Hoffmeister, not in Argentina. We couldn’t have compelled him to come. All he really had to do was not turn up at all. But he did. Of his own free will? Come on ... to explain it all? Sure. What a joke! He’s here to help Newman!’
‘Wouldn’t he jeopardise his deal with the Americans by doing all this?’
‘Not really. They’ve got what they wanted. All they needed was for Newman to stand trial. They don’t really care what happens after that. The bad publicity genie is out of the bottle and the Swiss banks know it. The pressure’s on – conviction or no conviction.’
‘But Hoffmeister says on oath he took the photo – he places himself at the scene of the crime. Doesn’t that get him into trouble?’ Jana asked.
‘He’s not the one on trial, don’t forget. One of our key witnesses has just changed sides and crossed the floor. Look at the timing. They drop it on us just after my opening address. They let me tell the jury all about Hoffmeister first, before pulling the rug from under my feet. Now I can’t just ignore him. He’s available. I have to call him as a witness and then try to explain it all. Classic Archie – he’ll turn this into a big issue, you’ll see.’
Carrington tore up Hoffmeister’s statement and threw it in the wastepaper basket under the table. ‘What a mess. We walked into a trap with both eyes wide open. Defence one, prosecution nil. This could cost us the trial, you know.’ Looking tired, Carrington began to massage his temples.
‘What will you do now?’ Jana asked, putting her hand on Carrington’s arm. She knew her touch would have the desired effect. ‘Come on, Marcus, I’m sure you’ve been in tighter spots before.’
‘Regroup. We’ll change the order of witnesses. I’ll call Benjamin first and deal with Hoffmeister later,’ replied Carrington, calming down. ‘We might as well start off with the best we have left. The violin has suddenly moved to centre stage.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘We can still nail Newman with the violin. It’s always been the second string to our bow – forgive the pun. It won’t be easy, but it can be done. If Benjamin can establish that the violin is his father’s Auschwitz Stradivarius and our chain of evidence holds, linking Lord Ashburton’s violin to Newman, then ... well, anything can happen in a trial like this.’
‘Even without Hoffmeister? I hope you’re right.’
‘It’s a long shot, but we’re in too deep. There’s only one way to go ...’
‘I understand.’
‘Has Benjamin arrived?’
‘Yes. He flew in last night.’
‘Good. I want to talk to him first thing in the morning. It’s now all up to him and his beloved violin.’
‘A silent witness?’
‘Not quite so silent, I hope.’
55
Horst heard screams echoing through the cave. He dismissed the chilling sound at first; part of a bad dream. But, awake now, he rubbed his aching back and stared at the stone-faced guard sitting cross-legged on the floor. The only light came from a torch wedged into a crack in the rock. Apart from a jar filled with turbid water and a straw sleeping mat, the cave was empty.
Then, again, only this time louder, more shrill; a long scream of someone in agony. Horst stood up and walked unsteadily towards the entrance. The young guard blocked the way with his machine gun and, mumbling in Arabic, pointed to the back of the cave with the barrel. The screams grew louder, more urgent. Horst felt sick with fear.
‘I want to see your leader,’ he shouted hoping the sound of his voice would give him some courage, but the guard turned his back and lit a cigarette.
The next minute, the screams turned into a gurgling whimper – the unmistakeable sound, Horst thought, of someone about to die. He sat down and covered his ears with his hands. The cave entrance darkened and inside came two armed men in dark stained jalabiyas and turbans.
‘Get up,’ said one, kicking Horst in the back. He handed his machine gun to his friend and pulled a piece of crumpled cloth out of his sleeve.
‘Turn around!’ he said and grabbed Horst’s head, blindfolding him again. Horst was then marched along narrow tunnels from chamber to chamber. He could hear many different voices and smell cooking fires and the pungent odour of unwashed men. After what Horst counted as ten minutes someone grabbed his arm to stop and pushed him down on his knees. Cowering, silent, Horst listened to the hostile murmurs.
‘You are a fortunate man, it seems.’ Horst recognised Sheikh Omar’s voice coming from the far end of the chamber. ‘The advance has been paid ...’
Horst’s mouth went dry. Ransom, more likely, he thought, but wisely held his tongue.
‘Your father must be an understanding and generous man. But then, with all things, there is another side. It seems I also have some bad news,’ Sheikh Omar continued. ‘It has become obvious that we have ... well, let’s say we have someone in our midst who has betrayed us. We have been surrounded, and we can’t get out.’
The voices in the cave grew louder. ‘But, as I said before, things have two sides. So, with this, there is not only darkness; hope has visited us as well – especially where you are concerned.’
Horst sat up, suddenly alert. ‘What do you mean?’ he croaked.
‘Well, we have found the traitor, and with a little persuasion he has confessed. He has told us everything. You may have heard his pathetic confession a while ago. Perhaps you even recognised his voice ...’
‘What do you mean? Why would I recognise his voice?’ Horst asked, frightened.
‘Because you know him.’
‘How can that be? I couldn’t possibly ...’ Horst protested lamely.
‘Oh, but you do. We – that is you and I – have both been betrayed by our Mr Farim. He was trying to play one side off against the other, it seems. A dangerous game. But he was rather clumsy, was our Mr Farim. Only yesterday, he brought me some information of rather dubious quality ... It looks as if he was trying to steal from both of us and, at the same time, provide information to our enemies. I can only assume he was bartering for some advantage from them as well.’
Horst’s fear rocketed; his only link to the outside world was severed.
‘You will therefore be pleased to hear,’ continued Sheikh Omar, ‘that he has been punished. Punished in the right manner according to the law of Islam.’ Horst did not ask what that meant.
‘But enough. I have a task for you. I’m sending you out to negotiate with those who are against me. And I am sending you as a free man,’ Sheikh Omar explained. ‘As a foreigner you have a far better chance of getting through alive, and being heard.’
‘You’re letting me go?’ Horst asked like a frightened child looking for reassurance.
‘Precisely,’ said Sheik Omar, ‘but there is a price to pay for your freedom.’
‘What?’
‘You will listen to my instructions and obey them, to the letter. You will ask to be taken to the man in charge – his name is Haddad, a chief inspector of police – and you will deliver my terms to him personally. You will take a little present from me, a token of my respect and of my esteem.’ Sheikh Omar allowed himself a little chuckle.
‘And you must remember, my good man, that my eyes an
d ears are everywhere. I can reach you in the tent of my enemies just as easily as I can reach you here.’
Horst nodded.
‘You leave in the morning.’
Sheikh Omar clapped his hands and with that, the audience was over. The guard standing next to Horst pulled him roughly to his feet.
‘This leaves only one more matter,’ Horst began. ‘The Templar letter – if the money has been paid ... I thought we agreed ... and the information ... the location of the find. It was all part of ... the advance ...’
‘The papyrus is no longer for sale,’ Sheikh Omar interrupted angrily.
‘We paid ... the money ...’ Horst continued, his confidence returning. But with that, a guard jabbed him in the back with the rifle butt, and Horst was back on his knees.
‘Aah. The one thing you must learn, Mr Newman, is to listen. Now go. You never know when I could change my mind!’ Sheikh Omar added, through clenched teeth.
Haddad sipped his coffee sitting at a camp table inside his tent. It was just after sunrise and, with a local guide looking on, he studied a map of the area.
‘Someone’s coming out of the gorge,’ reported Haddad’s aide, pushing his head through the open flap of the tent. ‘He’s waving a white flag.’ Haddad reached for his binoculars and stepped outside. As he peered, a tall man riding a donkey came into focus. He was slowly making his way down the steep hillside towards the Nile, leading another donkey by the reins.
‘Hold your fire,’ Haddad shouted, raising his hand. ‘Well, well, this is a surprise,’ he mumbled, recognising Horst sitting rather awkwardly on the scrawny beast. ‘And what have we here?’ Haddad asked, scrutinising the curious sack-like bundle strapped across the back of the second donkey. ‘What do you think it is?’ He handed the binoculars to the officer standing next to him.
‘It looks like a body.’
‘Yes, it does.’
‘You have a message for me?’ asked Haddad, stepping forward.
‘Yes, but first I have to give you this,’ Horst replied, pointing to the second donkey. He slipped out of the saddle and walked stiffly towards Haddad.
‘What is it?’
‘It’s for you. I wasn’t told,’ he lied. ‘A present from The Defender of the Faith.’
‘Over here,’ Haddad said, pointing to the ground in front of him. Two soldiers lifted the heavy bundle off the saddle and dragged it across to the tent. They could clearly make out the shape of a body wrapped tightly in coarse cloth tied with rope at both ends. Haddad noticed the cloth was covered in dark stains.
‘Open it,’ ordered Haddad. The blood-encrusted face of a man appeared first. Both eyeballs had been gouged out. The mouth was wide open, frozen in extreme terror.
‘Farim,’ whispered Horst.
‘I’m afraid so,’ Haddad agreed quietly as further horrors began to appear. Farim’s right hand had been chopped off at the wrist, exposing white bone at the stump. The hand itself was tied around his neck with a thin rope. Horst noticed that there was something concealed in the palm of the limp hand. It looked like a flap of skin. ‘It’s his tongue,’ said Haddad, ‘the wages of betrayal and theft.’ Horst felt suddenly quite dizzy and began to retch.
‘Come inside and deliver the rest of your message,’ Haddad said, pointing to the tent. Horst looked at him gratefully and followed him inside. Haddad understood the meaning of the mutilated corpse only too well.
‘You won’t like what I have to tell you,’ explained Horst, ‘but please, remember I’m only the messenger ...’
Haddad nodded. He had an idea of what was coming.
56
‘Sorry, guys,’ Carrington apologised, ‘late as usual.’ He sat down next to Jana and loosened his tie.
‘You look rather pleased with yourself,’ said Jack, pouring Carrington a glass of wine.
‘I just got off the phone; Haddad called from Egypt. Wait till you hear this.’ Carrington, now enjoying the suspense, paused until the waitress left the table. ‘They’ve found the Defender of the Faith. He’s holed up in a cave near Luxor.’
‘We’ll drink to that,’ Jana interrupted, lifting her glass.
‘He’s trapped and surrounded by the Egyptian army,’ explained Carrington. ‘An assault on his stronghold was imminent – until a short while ago, that is,’ he added quietly.
‘Did you say, was?’ asked Jack.
‘Yes, was. This guy has balls. He sent an envoy to Haddad to negotiate, and the messenger is even more interesting than the terms.’ Carrington paused and reached for his glass, trying to unravel the implications of what he’d just heard.
‘Normally you don’t shoot the messenger, but in this case you may be tempted ...’
‘What do you mean?’ Jack asked.
‘Who would be the last person you’d expect to turn up in Egypt at this time?’ asked Carrington.
Jack shook his head.
‘Guess who delivered the demands?’
‘No idea,’ Jana said.
‘Horst Newman.’
‘You must be joking, surely!’ Jack almost shouted. Some diners turned to glare at him. ‘What on earth is he doing in Egypt?’
‘Good question. Haddad believes he was negotiating another arms deal with the terrorists.’
‘You mean to say, while the father is standing trial for war crimes here in Australia, the son is doing business with Islamic terrorists in Egypt?’ Jana said, shaking her head. ‘An enterprising family, I must say.’
‘I don’t get it,’ Jack said. ‘This doesn’t make sense ...’
‘The Defender of the Faith made demands?’ Jana cut in. ‘I thought you said he was surrounded by the Egyptian army. Hardly a position of strength.’
‘I know,’ Carrington said, lowering his voice, ‘but he’s asked for safe passage to the airport for himself and fifty of his followers. And a plane to Afghanistan ...’
‘In return for what?’ Jana asked.
‘Three bombs, apparently ready to explode in American embassies somewhere in Africa ...’
‘Perhaps he’s bluffing,’ suggested Jack.
‘After Luxor, would you be prepared to find out?’
‘Where’s Horst Newman now?’ Jana asked.
‘On his way to a Cairo jail to be interrogated, the lucky chap.’
‘What a nice ending to Sir Eric’s first day in court. Do you think he knows?
‘If he doesn’t already, he soon will. I’m sure.’
‘And the Defender of the Faith just gets away with it, is that it?’ Jack asked. ‘They’ll never touch him in Afghanistan. Look at Bin Laden.’
‘No, not exactly. That’s the main reason Haddad called. He has a plan ...’
Jack put down his glass. ‘What plan?’ he asked, leaning forward.
‘The Defender of the Faith and his cohorts won’t be allowed to leave,’ Carrington explained. ‘The Egyptians are working closely with the Americans on this. No deals for terrorists.’
‘What about the bombs?’
‘For now, Haddad is playing for time to give the Americans a chance to secure their embassies.’
‘How’s he doing that?’
‘He’s pretending to go along with the demands. He’s even providing a plane. But that plane won’t be allowed to leave Luxor ...’
‘You know what that means ...’ said Jana. ‘Another bloodbath,’ she whispered, suddenly feeling very tired. She looked at her watch and reached for her handbag. ‘Sorry guys, I’ve got to go. I’ve been summoned to Canberra. The Director of Public Prosecutions wants to see me first thing tomorrow morning.’
‘On a Saturday? That’s very un-public-service-like, wouldn’t you say?’ Carrington remarked.
Jack paled. He knew there could only be one reason for this meeting; Jana had to be warned. ‘Did he ...’ Jack began, ‘did he say what it was about?’
‘The Director called me himself, which is quite unusual,’ Jana replied, standing up. ‘He said it was urgent, that’s all. I guess we’ll know in th
e morning.’
Jack dug his fingernails into the palm of his hand to stop himself blurting anything out. There was the confidentiality agreement, he thought, but realising what she was about to face made him feel quite sick.
Carrington sensed Jack’s unease. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
‘I’m fine.’
‘Hmmm. You look very pale all of a sudden.’
‘Marcus is right,’ said Jana, pushing in her chair. ‘Be good.’
57
The meeting with the Director of Public Prosecutions had been a gut-wrenching blur and Jana felt humiliated and betrayed as she sat in the car on her way back to Canberra airport. When word of this got out – as she knew it almost certainly would – her position would become untenable. She could already hear the sniggering and see the finger-pointing and messages on the computer screens. Her envious colleagues would finally have their day.
Going on leave now – as the Director of Public Prosecutions had strongly suggested – really meant the end of her job. It was certainly an abrupt end to her official involvement in the Newman trial.
At that moment Jana realised just how utterly alone she was. And how much her work meant to her. Independence came at a price.
‘Marcus, I’ve been trying to call you all afternoon, where are you?’ Jana asked.
‘At the cemetery. I had my phone turned off.’
‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.’
‘Of course not. You sound upset, where are you?’
‘At the airport; just landed.’
‘What happened?’
‘I’ll tell you later. I have to see you – please.’
Jana was waiting for Carrington in the arrivals lounge. She hurried past the crowded baggage carousels and ran towards him with outstretched arms. ‘Oh Marcus ...’
‘Was Canberra that scary?’ Carrington joked, trying to release himself from Jana’s grip.
The Empress Holds the Key Page 24