by Wilbur Smith
It was after midnight before the aircraft was loaded with the first shipment. The remaining pallets were still stacked against the hangar wall awaiting Big Dolly’s return for the second flight. Now they could turn their full attention to the farewell banquet of island specialities that Mara had laid out for them in the tiny Africair office.
“Yes,” Jannie assured them, “she’s also a good cook,” and gave Mara a loving squeeze as she rested her bosom on his shoulder, leaning over him to refill his plate with calamari.
“Happy landings!” Nicholas gave them the toast in red Chianti.
“Eight hours between the throttle and the bottle,” Jannie apologized, as he drank the toast in Coca-Cola.
They lay down in their clothes to get a few hours’ sleep on the bunks bolted to the bulkhead behind the flight deck, but it seemed to Royan that she was woken only a few minutes later by the quiet voices of the two pilots completing their pre-take-off checks, and the whine of the starters on the huge turbo-prop engines. As Jannie spoke on the radio to the control tower, and Fred taxied out to the holding point, the three passengers climbed out of their bunks and strapped themselves into the folding seats down the side of the main cabin. Big Dolly climbed into the night sky and the lights of the island dwindled and were swiftly lost behind them. Then there was only the dark sea below and the bright pricking of the stars above. Royan turned her head to smile at Nicholas in the dim overhead lights of the cabin.
“Well, Taita, we are back on the court for the final set.” Her voice was tight with excitement.
“The one good thing about being forced to sneak about like this is that Pegasus may take a while to find out that we are back in the Abbay gorge.” Nicholas looked complacent.
“Let’s hope that you are right” Royan held up her right hand and crossed her fingers. “We will have enough to worry about with what Taita has in store for us, without Pegasus muscling in on us again just yet.”
* * *
“They are on their way back to Ethiopia,” said von Schiller with utter certainty.
“How can we be certain of that, Herr von Schiller?” Nahoot asked.
Von Schiller glared at him. The Egyptian irritated him intensely, and he was beginning to regret having employed him. Nahoot had made very little headway in deciphering the meaning of the engravings on the stele that they had taken from the monastery.
The actual translation had offered no insurmountable problems. Von Schiller was convinced that he could have done this work himself, without Nahoot’s assistance, given time and the use of his extensive library of reference works. It comprised, for the most part, nonsensical rhymes and extraneous couplets out of place and context. One face of the stele was almost completely covered by columns of letters and figures that bore no relation whatsoever to the text on the other three faces of the column.
But although Nahoot would not admit it, it was clear that the underlying meaning behind most of this had eluded him. Von Schiller’s patience was almost exhausted. He was tired of listening to Nahoot’s excuses, and to promises that were never fulfilled. Everything about him, from his oily ingratiating tone of voice to his sad eyes in their deep lined sockets, had begun to annoy him. But especially he had come to detest his exasperating habit of questioning the statements that he, Gotthold von Schiller, made.
“General Obeid was able to inform me of their exact flight arrangements when they left Addis Ababa. It was very simple to have my security men at the airport when they arrived in England. Neither Harper nor the woman are the kind of people that are easily overlooked, even in a crowd. My men followed the woman to Cairo—”
“Excuse me, Herr von Schiller, but why did you not have her taken care of if you were aware of her movements?”
“Dummkopf!” von Schiller snapped at him. “Because it now seems that she is much more likely to lead me to the tomb than you are.”
“But, sir, I have done—” Nahoot protested.
“You have done nothing but make up excuses for your own failure. Thanks to you, the stele is still an enigma,” von Schiller interrupted him contemptuously.
“It is very difficult—”
“Of course it is difficult. That’s why I am paying you a great deal of money. If it were easy I would have done it myself. If it is indeed the instruction to find the tomb of Mamose, then the scribe Taita meant it to be difficult.”
“If I am allowed a little more time, I think I am very near to establishing the key—”
“You have no more time. Did you not hear what I have just told you? Harper is on his way back to the Abbay gorge. They flew from Malta last night in a chartered aircraft that was heavily loaded with cargo. My men were not able to establish the nature of that cargo, except that it included some earth-moving equipment, a front-end-loading tractor. To me, this can mean only one thing. They have located the tomb, and they are returning to begin excavating it.”
“You will be able to get rid of them as soon as they reach the monastery.” Nahoot relished the thought. “Colonel Nogo will—”
“Why do I have to keep repeating myself?” Von Schiller’s voice turned shrill and he slapped his hand down on the tabletop. “They are now our best chance of finding the tomb of Mamose. The very last thing that I want to happen is that any harm should come to them.” He glared at Nahoot. “I am sending you back to Ethiopia immediately. Perhaps you will be of some use to me there. You are certainly no use here.”
Nahoot looked disgruntled, but he had better sense than to argue again. He sat sullenly as von Schiller went on, “You will go to the base camp and place yourself under the command of Helm. You will take your orders from him. Treat them as if they come directly from me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Herr von Schiller,” Nahoot muttered sulkily.
“Do not interfere in any way with Harper and the woman. They must not even know that you are at the base camp. The Pegasus geological team will carry on its normal duties.” He paused and smiled bleakly, then went on, “It is most fortunate that Helm has actually discovered very promising evidence of large deposits of galena, which as you may know is the ore from which lead is obtained. He will continue the exploratory work on these deposits, and if they bear out their promise they will make the entire operation highly profitable.”
“What exactly will be my duties?” Nahoot wanted to know.
“You will be playing the waiting game. I want you there ready to take advantage of any progress that Harper makes. However, you are to give him plenty of elbow room. You will not alert him by any overflights with the helicopter, or by approaching his camp. No more midnight raids. Every move that you make must be cleared with me before, I repeat before, you take any action.”
“If I am to operate under these restrictions, how will I know if Harper and the woman have made any progress?”
“Colonel Nogo already has a reliable man, a spy, in the monastery. He will inform us of every move that Harper makes.”
“But what about me? What will be my work?”
“You will evaluate the intelligence that Nogo collects. You are familiar with archaeological methods. You will be able to judge what Harper is trying to achieve, and you will be able to tell what success he is enjoying.”
“I see,” Nahoot muttered.
“If it were possible I would have gone back to the Abbay gorge myself. However, this is not possible. It may take time, months perhaps, before Harper makes any important progress. You know as well as anybody that these things take time.”
“Howard Carter worked for ten years at Thebes before he found the tomb of Tutankhamen,” Nahoot pointed out maliciously.
“I hope that it will not take that long,” said von Schiller coldly. “If it does, it is very unlikely that you will still be involved with the search. As for myself, I have a series of very important negotiations coming up here in Germany, as well as the annual general meeting of the company. These I cannot miss.”
“You will not be coming back to Ethiopia at all, t
hen?” Nahoot perked up at the prospect of escaping from von Schiller’s malignant influence.
“I will come as soon as there is something for me there. I will be relying on you to decide when my presence is needed.”
“What about the stele? I should—”
“You will continue to work on the translation.” Von Schiller forestalled his objections. “You will take a full set of photographs with you to Ethiopia, and you will continue your work while you are there. I shall expect you to report to me by satellite, at least once a week, on your progress.”
“When do you want me to leave?”
“Immediately. Today if that is possible. Speak to Fräulein Kemper. She will make your travel arrangements.”
For the first time during the interview Nahoot looked happy.
* * *
Big Dolly droned on steadily south-eastwards, and there was very little to relieve the boredom of the flight. The dawn was just breaking when they crossed the African coast at a remote and lonely desert beach that Jannie had chosen for just this reason. Once they were over the land there was as little of interest to see as there had been over the sea. The desert stretched away, bleak and brown and featureless in every direction.
At irregular intervals they heard Jannie in the cockpit speaking to air traffic control, but as they were able to hear only half the conversation they had no idea as to the identity or the nationality of the station. Occasionally Jannie dropped the heavily accented English he was affecting and broke into Arabic. Royan was surprised by Jannie’s fluency in the language, but then as an Afrikaner the guttural sounds came naturally to him. He was even able to mimic the different accents and dialects of Libyan and Egyptian convincingly as he lied his way across the desert.
For the first few hours Sapper pored over his dam drawings; then, unable to proceed further until he had the exact measurements of the site, he curled up on his bunk with a paperback novel. The unfortunate author was unable to hold his attention for long. The open book sagged down over his face, and the pages fluttered every time he emitted a long grinding snore.
Nicholas and Royan huddled on her bunk with the chessboard between them, until hunger overtook them and they moved to the makeshift galley. Here Royan took the subservient role of bread-slicer and coffee-maker, while Nicholas demonstrated his artistry in creating a range of Dagwood sandwiches. They shared the food with Jannie and Fred, perched up behind the pilots’ seats in the cockpit.
“Are we still over Egyptian territory?” Royan asked.
With his mouth full, Jannie pointed out over the port wingtip of Big Dolly. “Fifty nautical miles out there is Wadi Halfia. My father was killed there in 1943. He was with the Sixth South African Division. They called it Wadi Hellfire.” He took another monstrous bite of sandwich. “I never knew the old man. Fred and I landed there once. Tried to find his grave.” He shrugged eloquently. “It’s a hell of a big piece of country. Lots of graves. Very few of them marked.”
Nobody spoke for a while. They chewed their sandwiches, thinking their own thoughts. Nicholas’s father had also fought in the desert against Rommel. He had been more fortunate than Jannie’s father.
Nicholas glanced across at Royan. She was staring out of the window at her homeland, and there was something so passionate and fraught in her gaze that Nicholas was startled. The temptation to think of her as an English girl, like her mother, was at most times irresistible. It was only in odd moments such as these that he became intensely aware of the other facets of her being.
She seemed unaware of his scrutiny. Her preoccupation was total. He wondered what she was thinking—what dark and mysterious thoughts were smouldering there. He remembered how she had seized the very first opportunity on their return from Ethiopia to hurry back to Cairo, and once again a feeling of disquiet came over him. He wondered if other emotional ties of which he was unaware might not transcend those loyalties which he had taken for granted. He realized with something of a shock that they had been together for only a few short weeks, and despite the strong attraction that she exerted over him he knew very little about her.
At that moment she started and looked round at him quickly. Crowded as they were at the portside window, they stared into each other’s eyes from a distance of only a foot or so. It was only for a few seconds but what he saw in her eyes, the dark shadows of guilt or some other emotion, did nothing to allay his misgivings.
She turned back to Jannie, leaning over his shoulder to ask, “When will we cross the Nile?”
“On the other side of the border. The Sudanese government concentrate all their attentions on the rebels in the far south. There are some stretches of the river here in the north that are completely deserted. Pretty soon now we will be going down right on the deck, to get under the radar pings from the Sudanese stations around Khartoum. We will slip through one of the gaps.”
Jannie lifted the aeronautical map on its clipboard from his lap, and held it so she could see it. With one thick, stubby finger he showed Royan their intended route. It was drawn in with blue wax pencil, “Big Dolly has taken this route so often that she could fly it without my hands on the stick, couldn’t you, old girl?” He patted the instrument panel affectionately.
Two hours later, when Nicholas and Royan were back at the chess board in the main cabin, Jannie called them on the PA. “Okay, folks. No need to panic. We are going to lose some altitude now. Come up front and watch the show.”
Strapped into fold-down seats in the back of the flight deck, they were treated to a superb exhibition of low flying by Fred. The descent was so rapid that Royan felt they were about to fall out of the sky, and that she had left her stomach back there somewhere at thirty thousand feet. Fred levelled Big Dolly out only feet above the desert floor, so low that it was like riding in a high-speed bus rather than flying. Fred lifted her delicately over each undulation of the tawny, sun-scorched terrain, skimming the black rock ridges and standing on a wingtip to swerve around the occasional wind-blasted hill.
“Nile crossing in seven and a half minutes.” Jannie punched the stopwatch fixed to the control wheel in front of him. “And unless my navigation has gone all to hell there should be an island shaped like a shark directly under us as we cross.”
As the needle of the stopwatch came up to the mark, the broad, glittering expanse of the river flashed beneath them. Royan caught a brief glimpse of a green island with a few thatched huts on the tip, and a dozen dugout canoes lying on the narrow beach.
“Well, the old man hasn’t lost his touch yet,” Fred remarked. “Still good for a few thousand miles before we trade him in.”
“Not so much of the old man stuff, you little squirt. I have some tricks up my sleeve that I haven’t even used yet.”
“Ask Mara.” Fred grinned affectionately at his father as he banked on to a new southwesterly heading, and with his wingtip so close to the ground that he scattered a herd of camels feeding in the sparse thorn scrub. They lumbered away across the plain, each trailing a wisp of white dust like a wedding train.
“Another three hours’ flying time to the rendezvous.” Jannie looked up from the map. “Spot on! We should land forty minutes before sunset. Couldn’t be better.”
“I’d better go and change into my hiking gear, then.” Royan went back into the main cabin, pulled her bag from under the bunk and disappeared into the lavatory. When she emerged twenty minutes later she wore khaki culottes and a cotton top.
“These boots were made for walking.” She stamped them on the deck.
“That’s fine.” Nicholas watched her from the bunk. “But how about that knee?”
“It will get me there,” she said, defensively.
“You mean I am to be deprived of the pleasure of back-packing you again?”
The Ethiopian mountains came up so subtly on the eastern horizon that Royan was not aware of them until Nicholas pointed out to her the faint blue outline against the brighter blue of the African sky.
“Almost there.”
He glanced at his wrist-watch. “Let’s go up to the flight deck.”
Looking forward through the windshield there was no landmark ahead of them—just the vast brown savannah, speckled with the black dots of acacia trees.
“Ten minutes to go,” Jannie intoned. “Anyone see anything?” There was no reply, and they all stared ahead.
“Five minutes.”
“Over there!” Nicholas pointed over his shoulder. “That’s the course of the Blue Nile.” A denser grove of thorn trees formed a dark line far ahead. “And there is the smokestack of the derelict sugar-mill on the river bank. Mek Nimmur says that the airstrip is about three miles from the mill.”
“Well, if it is, it’s not shown on the chart,” Jannie grumbled. “One minute before we are on the coordinates.” The minute ticked off slowly on the stopwatch.
“Still nothing—” Fred broke off as a red flare shot up from the earth directly ahead and flashed past Big Dolly’s nose. Everyone in the cockpit smiled and relaxed with relief.
“Right on the nose.” Nicholas patted Jannie’s shoulder in congratulations. “Couldn’t have done better myself.”
Fred climbed a few hundred feet and came round in a one-eighty turn. Now there were two signal fires burning out there on the plain—one with black smoke, the other sending a column of white straight up into the still evening sky. It was only when they were a kilometre out that they were able to make out the faint outline of the overgrown and long-disused landing strip. Roseires airstrip had been built twenty years before by a company that tried to grow sugar cane under irrigation from the Blue Nile. But Africa had won again and the company had passed into oblivion, leaving this feeble scrape mark on the plain as its epitaph. Mek Nimmur had chosen this remote and deserted place for the rendezvous.
“No sign of a reception committee,” Jannie grunted. “What do you want me to do?”
“Continue your approach,” Nicholas told him. “There should be another flare—ah, there it is!” The ball of fire shot up from a clump of thorn trees at the far end of the runway, and for the first time they were able to make out human figures in the bleak landscape. They had stayed hidden until the very last moment.