by Will Adams
Yusuf kept his arms around their shoulders as he steered them through the rear doors of the conference hall, inquiring solicitously about their plans. The moment the doors shut behind them, however, he scowled and stepped back and rubbed his hands with distaste, as though he suspected Knox and Gaille of carrying diseases. “Don’t even think about talking to the press without my permission,” he warned them.
“We gave our word.”
Yusuf nodded sourly, as though he knew how much the word of such people was worth. Then he turned his back emphatically on them and lumbered away.
Knox gave a little shudder as he turned to Gaille. “Want to get out of here? I arranged for a taxi.”
“What are we waiting for?”
They made their way along a maze of corridors. “I can’t believe Yusuf’s going to get away with it,” muttered Knox.
“We had no choice,” Gaille reassured him. “There’s no evidence against him, but there is against us. And it’s not our fault Egypt appointed him secretary general.”
“Your father would never have agreed.”
“Yes, he would. He made a deal with Dragoumis, didn’t he?” She smiled and took his arm. “Anyway, it’s done now. Please let’s talk about something else.”
“Such as?”
“Such as, what are you going to do now?”
He thought bleakly of Rick. “I’ve got a funeral to attend.”
“Oh, Christ. Of course.” She bowed her head a moment, then asked, “And afterwards?”
“I haven’t thought about it,” said Knox, though this was a lie. The prospect of excavating again had been in his nostrils ever since Umar made the offer. “And you?”
“I’m off to Paris, first flight I can get.”
“Oh.” He stopped dead. “Really?”
“I’ve decided to leave the Sorbonne,” she said. “I owe it to them to tell them in person, don’t you think? They’ve been very good to me.”
Knox couldn’t prevent a smile from spreading across his face. “And then?”
“I’m planning to come back here. Find myself some excavating work and learn the ropes, you know. I understand that Augustin is always looking for new assistants. Maybe I could—”
“Augustin!” protested Knox appalled. “That old goat! You can’t be serious!”
“I thought he was your friend.”
“He is my friend. That’s precisely why I don’t want you working for him.”
“I need a job,” insisted Gaille. “Do you have a better suggestion?”
They reached the back doors, pushed through them, and went down the steps to the waiting taxi. Knox opened the back door for Gaille, then climbed in beside her, giving directions to the driver. He rolled down his window as they pulled away, allowing in the scents of Egypt: the spices, the fumes, and the sweat. This was more like it—away from the politics, the ambition, the bargaining, the corruption, the deceit. In pursuit of the raw truth once more. He turned to Gaille. “I’ll be needing a partner myself, as soon as all this has blown over,” he told her.
“Really?”
“Yes. Someone who’ll work for a pittance, just for the love of it. Someone with the right skills to complement my own. A languages expert, ideally. Preferably one who can take a half-decent photograph, too. Two employees for the price of one, you know. I’m cheap like that.”
Gaille laughed, her eyes sparkling. “And may I ask what the two of you will be going in search of?”
He grinned at her. “Don’t you mean, what will the two of us be going in search of?”
“Yes,” she said happily. “That’s exactly what I mean.”