Golden Heart (The Lazarus Longman Chronicles)

by P J Thorndyke

  Now that Her Majesty’s empire had its hand in the running of Egypt’s economy, it would not take kindly to any American interference in its domination of the trade routes with India. Egypt was not officially part of the empire, but Britain had a financial investment in the improving economy of the country, and had appointed Evelyn Baring, the first Earl of Cromer, as their liaison with the new Khedive.

  But allies or not, Lazarus Longman hated the Confederacy with a passion. It had been a gift of fortune that he had escaped from that blasted collection of states with his life, and nothing short of a miracle that he still had a job within the bureau after the debacle of the golden cities of Cibola. But he had bluffed his way through the endless debriefings, bending the truth at times and outright lying at others, and somehow had come out of it unscathed. Now, a year later, he had a different assignment.

  Morton had explained the situation to him in his office at Whitehall. He had poured cognac from a decanter into two glasses, muttering irritably as he splashed a fleck on a nearby stack of paperwork.

  “It’s a missing person’s job,” Morton said, easing himself down into his chair.

  “A bit pedestrian for your office, isn’t it?” Lazarus asked. “Why not let the police handle it?”

  “It’s in Egypt.”

  “Then why not let the Egyptian police handle it? The consul has his own special branch there, yes?”

  “The Mamur Zapt? Yes, well, it’s a little more complicated than that. And I want you specifically to handle it. The case is made for you, or so it seems.”

  “Oh?”

  “You know the party involved, you see.”

  “Has somebody I know gone missing? I really must keep a closer eye on my acquaintances.”

  “It’s not the missing one you know, but her fiancé.”

  “Who?”

  “Henry Thackeray.”

  “That pompous arse? Why on earth would I care about his love life, much as it surprises me that he has one.”

  Morton leveled his eyes at him. “You are not required to care about any case beyond your sense of duty to Her Majesty.”

  “Oh, well played, that, man,” Lazarus said in a withering tone. “The old ‘duty to the crown’ card. It’s been at least a year since you used that one on me.”

  Morton sighed and set down his glass, leaning forward as if the conversation required a more intimate touch. “Look, I know the past few years have been a bloody bad show for you, Longman. I don’t blame you if your confidence in the bureau has been shaken. First that bad business in Colombia and then the Cibola washout; it’s been a rotten spot of luck. But this affair should be simple enough. A quick job to get you back on your feet, as it were. And your acquaintance with Thackeray isn’t the only reason I chose you for the job.”

  “No? You mean you’re handing me this routine plod case because you don’t trust me with anything bigger?”

  “Not at all. It’s Egypt, man! Your area of expertise.”

  “I have many areas of expertise. Got the diplomas to prove it.”

  “Among which Egyptology ranks in the first class.”

  “Tell me, Morton,” Lazarus said, “does this missing persons case call much for the reading of hieroglyphics? The ability to place every known pharaoh in his correct dynasty?”

  Morton frowned. “Of course not. But you know Cairo. You know the Nile. You probably know every seedy tavern and shady spot better than I dare to guess. And that is what makes you our prime candidate for the job.”

  “You still haven’t said what the job is other than it has something to do with some blower Thackeray has misplaced.”

  “It’s not some blower. Its Eleanor Rousseau, one of France’s leading Egyptologists.”

  Morton had Lazarus’s attention now. “I’ve heard of her. She was one of Mariette’s brightest disciples. Knows hieroglyphics better than Champollion did. Thackeray was running around with her?”

  “Until she went missing. Ordinarily we wouldn’t care a fig for a French Egyptologist but it’s her relationship with Thackeray that has us worried not to mention the reasons for her sudden disappearing act. He shouldn’t have been running around with a French woman, not a man in his position, considering Britain’s relationship with France.”

  “Yes, I hear he’s been appointed to the House of Lords.”

  “Indeed. And his relationship with a French woman was strongly discouraged by the PM and kept hidden from Her Majesty.”

  “Why on earth did they give him a seat?”

  “Lord knows. He’s a powerful man and has the type of connections that makes a lowly civil servant like me positively green.”

  Lazarus smirked. Morton was anything but a ‘lowly civil servant’ and had connections of his own that were enough to give any man a case of the willies. But still, since Henry Thackeray had come into his inheritance he was a force to be reckoned with in political circles.

  “Whitehall’s worried that this French slip of his knows far too much and her disappearance has them in a funk. There are even concerns that she may have maintained a relationship with Thackeray merely to get information from him.”

  “You mean they think she’s a spy?”

  “That’s one concern.”

  “An Egyptologist? Funny sort of training for a career as a secret agent…” and then he caught himself. His own career matched that statement exactly and they both knew it. “So, what’s the Egyptian connection?”

  “That’s where she’s resurfaced.”

  “If you know where she is then why am I here?”

  “We don’t know exactly where in Egypt she is. Her name has come up in Cairo a couple of times and then nothing. It’s likely she’s out on some dig in the desert. I don’t suppose that during your travels in the C.S.A. you ever came across the name Rutherford Lindholm?”

  Lazarus shook his head.

  “He’s an American. From Virginia. A brilliant scientist in the areas of neurology, galvanism and something called ‘bio-mechanics’.”

  As soon as he heard the word Lazarus felt a deep feeling of unease. “Bio-mechanics?”

  “Yes. It’s all to do with those ghastly mechanical slaves they build over there. The fusion of the biological with the mechanical. You yourself encountered some of his creations during your time on that continent.”

  Lazarus suppressed a shudder when he thought of the Mecha-warriors, Mecha-whores and other monstrosities he had witnessed in the Confederate States. He also thought of Hok’ee, or Pahanatuuwa to use his birth name; that gigantic native who had suffered horrific mutilations at the hands of Confederate scientists in their pursuit to perfect a warrior—part man, part machine.

  “Professor Lindholm was one of the pioneers of the mechanite revolution, specifically in the creation of mechanical-men. They have organic pilots, you know of course, plugged into steam-powered suits with mechanite furnaces. Bloody unchristian, if you ask me.”

  “So what does this Lindholm have to do with Eleanor Rousseau?”

  “I’m getting to that. It seems that Lindholm has run into difficulties in his homeland. Some sort of legal bother. He’s gone rogue, fleeing America and popping up suddenly in Egypt.”

  “Where he met Rousseau.”

  “Exactly.”

  “But why?”

  “That’s what we want you to find out. Now the C.S.A. are our friends, politically speaking, so ordinarily we wouldn’t touch him. But if he’s gone rogue…”

  “Then we can grab him and squeeze him for secrets. I just don’t see the Rousseau connection.”

  “Neither do we, but they’ve been seen together and she has written to her fiancé—ex- fiancé, I should imagine by now—that she was embarking on a dig with an eminent American scientist, although she didn’t mention his name. We don’t know what his interest in Egyptology is, and quite frankly the whole business has us stumped. Shortly after Rousseau’s letter to Thackeray, all correspondence stopped. He even went over there to find her, but all traces of
her have vanished. He’s worried that she may be romantically involved with Lindholm.”

  Lazarus snorted with mirth.

  “The poor bugger’s frantic. Reuniting the two isn’t in our interests of course, but bringing her back to Blighty is top priority. National safety aside, it could avoid a very nasty scandal. House of Lords member bedding a French spy, that sort of thing. And the more you find out about this Lindholm, the better. It’s probably just a nasty bit of sordidness, you know how these French are. Still, worth a look.”

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