by Overton, Max
"I am aware of the difficulties. Now leave me and make sure our launch is ready for us in the morning. I will have dinner and retire early." Bashir waited until Nazim was at the door before asking, "The rock, Nazim. Where is it?"
Nazim turned to face Bashir, his face guileless. "What rock is that, Minister?"
"You know which one--Dr Hanser's rock. It was here on this table."
"I brought it to you before you left for the museum meeting yesterday and you instructed me to leave it with you."
Bashir yawned. "I don't suppose it matters, it is only a rock. Go then." He waved his hand dismissively.
* * *
Nick Evans watched Bashir leave the docks, chewing his lip in indecision as to whether to follow him. He decided not to and took his leave of Dr Maroun, returning to his own hotel in the poorer part of Luxor where he bathed and changed into fresh clothes. Sitting on his bed, he thought back over the day's events and contemplated where Minister Bashir's answers left him. With a grimace, he picked up the telephone handset and asked the hotel receptionist to connect him with Director Nasrallah at the Cairo Museum.
There was a long wait, and eventually he was told that the Director had gone home for the day. The museum would not release Nasrallah's home number, so Nick hung up and asked for the Luxor Museum number. A few minutes later, he was connected to Dr Karim Zewali.
"Hello Dr Zewali, sorry to ring you so late, but I thought I'd better report in."
"You should contact Director Nasrallah."
"Yes, I tried him, but he's gone home."
"Perhaps you should call him tomorrow, Mr Evans."
"I will, but I really need to know something tonight."
Zewali paused. "What is it you need to know?"
"I spent the day with Dr Maroun and Minister Bashir at the cliff shaft. I tried to sound out Bashir concerning his plans but he's very cagey, he denies any knowledge of a Syrian inscription or of a tomb in Egypt. He insists he's down here on holiday and is not seeking Smenkhkare's tomb."
"Do you believe him?"
"No, but there's nothing I can prove. Short of catching him red-handed, breaking through a tomb entrance, I don't really see what you can do."
"Well, it was only ever a possibility, Mr Evans. It just might be that Minister Bashir is who he says he is--a politician on holiday in Egypt. Unless you can find out otherwise, I'm afraid there's no story for you here." Zewali paused again. "What is your present relationship with Bashir like?"
Nick laughed. "In a word--tense. You don't often see a man snarl, but I'd swear he's doing that when he sees me. Of course, it could just be indigestion."
"I think you should desist from any further attempts to aggravate him, Mr Evans. He is a visiting politician, after all, from our Syrian partners. If he chose to make a formal complaint and it got out that you were interviewing him at our behest..."
"You want me to stop representing you?"
"It might be best. We thank you for your efforts, but it seems there is nothing going on that is detrimental to Egyptian archaeology."
"You'd have no objection to me continuing to pursue him--on my own time?"
"What you do as an independent journalist is none of our concern," Zewali said carefully. "I would caution you, however, not to break the law in your pursuit of a story."
"Understood, Director Zewali, and thank you."
Nick hung up the phone and frowned, thinking. Despite what I said, should I just give up on this? Have I got the funds or the time to follow Bashir around in the hope he'll lead me to this hypothetical tomb? Perhaps I should just go home and see if Percy still has that Cornwall assignment for me. Nick's stomach grumbled. A meal and a few stiff drinks first, then a good night's kip and I'll decide in the morning.
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* * *
Chapter Twenty-One
The room was basic and boasted only a single rickety bed, but Dani and Daffyd made the best of the limitations. They took it in turns to use the bathroom down the hall with its gushing, rust-tinged water, barely heated by a struggling gas heater, and used the non-flushing toilet with its bucket of water standing ready for use. There were no blinds on the window, though the grimy deposits inside and out made it doubtful that anyone could spy on them. Facing in opposite directions, Dani and Daffyd stripped down to their underwear in the twilight and, carefully avoiding looking at each other, climbed into the bed with a blanket strategically placed between them. Sleep overwhelmed them almost immediately, despite feelings of embarrassment at their situation, and when the rays of the sun struggled through the dust-begrimed window, they woke fresh and eager to get to grips with their situation.
They dressed quickly in their grimy clothes and went looking for breakfast. The receptionist at the desk downstairs was not the man who had admitted them the night before and regarded them with suspicion. He said nothing though, so they went out into the streets and looked for a small restaurant. A small table in a corner position suited them nicely, and over a pot of coffee and a parsley-and-onion omelette, they discussed the future.
"First things first--what's our financial situation?" Daffyd asked.
Dani rummaged under her shirt, and after a glance around the almost deserted caf� to make sure they were unobserved, took out a small wad of low denomination banknotes. She counted it quickly and slipped it back into her money belt.
"Eighty-four pounds."
"And I've got..." Daffyd dug into his jacket pocket and scanned the change in his hand, "...another thirteen shillings and threepence."
"Not too badly off," Dani said with a faint smile. "As long as we don't get carried away, we should be fine."
"Yes, but for how long? Take that excuse for a hotel we're in--four pounds a night means three weeks accommodation, let alone food or anything else. How long is it going to take to find Scarab's tomb?"
"That's not my main concern," Dani replied. "I only want the golden scarab back."
"All right, forget the fact that Bashir will plunder it if he finds it--forget the tomb. How long to find your scarab?"
"I don't know. How can I possibly know?"
"Have you tried asking?"
Dani put down her coffee cup and stared at her companion. "Asking whom? Asking what?"
"The golden scarab, the gods of Egypt, the Nine of Iunu--anyone or anything that might work."
"Don't be silly. If I was Scarab, and if I had the golden scarab in my hand, I might try, but without it I can't ask whoever or whatever to point me at it."
"Have you tried?"
"Of course not."
"Then why don't you? What have you got to lose?"
"I...I'll think about it."
"Next thing then," Daffyd said, apparently of the viewpoint that he had won that argument. "Do we stay in Edfu or go somewhere else?"
"We have to stay here for now. This is the only place Marc and Muammar know we were headed. They'll come here if they can."
Daffyd nodded. "Agreed, but we need to think about our next step, whether or not the others join us. As I said before, we've got money for less than three weeks."
"Is there any way we could get more money? We've both got friends in England--could we ask them to wire us some funds?"
"I'm sure they'd be happy to, but how would we collect the money? We have no identification documents and we're in the country illegally."
Dani grimaced. "Forget that idea then. What else?"
"A bit of shopping. We could do with a change of clothes, towels, hats, a few toiletries..."
"Makeup."
Daffyd smiled. "If you think it necessary..."
"I do."
"...though I think you look most alluring au natural ."
Dani blushed. "Pyjamas too."
Daffyd almost choked on his coffee. "That wasn't what I meant."
"I know." Dani reached across and brushed Daffyd's hand with her own. "It's sweet of you to say so, but we both know it's not true."
"If you prefer, we could
buy a sleeping bag or a blanket, and I could kip down on the floor."
"I'll leave that decision up to you."
They finished their coffee, paid for their meal and went shopping in the bazaars and crowded shops of downtown Edfu. Daffyd purchased a small knapsack and over the course of the morning they added some shirts, skirts and trousers, underwear and socks, cheap shoes, notebooks and pencils, a couple of used paperback novels, towels, some soap, and a few pieces of basic makeup. Dani refused to buy these with Daffyd looking on, so she disappeared into a series of shops seeking out suitable foundation, lipstick and blush. She could not find the right eye shadow, so made do with a neutral brown. She slipped the package into Daffyd's knapsack and stared at him as if daring him to make some comment.
"I didn't say anything," Daffyd protested, but when she turned to look at some silk scarves, he muttered, "Gilding the lily if you ask me."
They walked slowly back to their hotel along the riverbank, taking in views of the river and dozens of boats plying the steadily flowing waters. Within the city limits there was evidence of pollution at the hand of man--tin cans, glass bottles, paper, and even one or two plastic containers. Daffyd pointed these out to Dani.
"I can live with tin cans, paper and glass if I must," he said. "They'll break down over time, but I hope plastic never becomes cheap enough to be mass produced. The damn stuff will be clogging up the environment for centuries. It doesn't break down."
"It wasn't like this in the old days," Dani said. "I remember days on the river when you could walk for miles and see no trace of men's presence except the odd fishing boat or farmer with his hoe and mattock."
Daffyd cast a quizzical eye over the young woman. "You remember?"
Dani frowned momentarily and then smiled. "Did I say 'remember'? I meant, of course, that I imagine that's how it must have been."
Daffyd offered no comment and they continued along the riverbank, through the city park and back into the streets along the waterfront. They happened upon a shop selling a variety of tobacco products and Daffyd stopped, his nose wrinkling at the aromas of cured and spiced tobacco permeating the surrounding air.
Dani shook her head at his reaction but smiled. "Go on, Dafs, treat yourself to a packet and some papers. We can afford a little luxury. After all, you allowed me this lovely scarf."
Daffyd hesitated, took a step toward the shop and came to a reluctant halt. "No, damn it. I've been without it for days; I can last a little longer."
"Are you sure? I mean, it's fantastic if you want to give up, but is that the reason?"
"No, I'm not sure at all, but while I have the willpower, let's leave it." He turned and stalked off down the street, leaving Dani to hurry after him.
Back at the hotel, they took it in turns to bathe anew with soap and tepid water and this time changed into new, clean clothes. They bundled their old clothes together, and Dani took them to a woman two streets away that the hotel receptionist recommended--a woman who took in laundry for very reasonable rates.
They took tea in a riverside caf�, and enjoyed some delicious honey cakes with it. As they sipped their drink, Dani said, "I've been thinking. We don't have much time so we need to accelerate the search for the golden scarab."
"Agreed, but how?"
"We know Bashir has it, so we must find him. He's come to Egypt to track down Scarab's tomb and plunder it, and he knows from the inscription that it is somewhere south of old Waset--modern day Luxor--so it's reasonable to assume he'll go to Luxor first. A man of his importance shouldn't be too hard to find even in a big city."
"What about Marc and Muammar? If we head off to Luxor, how are they ever going to find us?"
Dani frowned and stirred her tea unnecessarily, clinking her spoon against the thin china in her agitation. "I don't know, and before you say it, I don't like the idea of abandoning our friends, but really, what choice have we got?"
"Leave that aside for the moment. If Bashir has the golden scarab and we find him in Luxor, what are you going to do? Walk up to him and demand its return?"
"It belongs to me," Dani said, her face set in an obstinate expression.
"You know very well he'll just order your arrest and have you thrown out of the country as an illegal entrant. If he doesn't just kill you."
"So what do you suggest? We sit around in Edfu and do nothing?"
"I didn't say that. Obviously we have to do something, but we need to think it through carefully. We might have only a single chance at its recovery."
"So? What?"
"Let me think a bit." Daffyd dipped his hand in his pocket and withdrew it with a wry grimace. "Habit kicks in. I'm used to rolling myself a fag when I think."
"We can go back to the tobacconist if you want."
Daffyd shook his head. "Let's try it without the weed first." He sat and contemplated the problem and while he did so, Dani ordered another pot of tea and some more pastries--this time sesame and almond paste ones. After ten minutes, Daffyd sighed. "It's no use, lass, my mental faculties just can't discern a way through our difficulties. Perhaps..." He refused to meet Dani's gaze. "Would you think less of me if I went and bought myself some tobacco? I think I need a nicotine boost."
Dani slipped him a pound note and said nothing. Daffyd pocketed it and set off down the street. He returned fifteen minutes later, a cloud of blue smoke trailing him and a contented expression on his face.
"Here," he told Dani, placing the pouch of tobacco on the table, together with the change. "You look after it for me. If I have to ask you each time, I may smoke less. Sorry, lass, but it's the best I can do at the moment."
"Has the nicotine helped?"
"You mean, have I had a wonderful insight that solves all our problems? No. If you mean that I've had an idea, then just possibly." Daffyd sat down and poured himself a cup of the now tepid tea and helped himself to the last pastry. "Do you remember, just after we all escaped from the Bedouin and were discussing where to go, we said Edfu, but that we had no money, no food and no shelter? Well, Muammar told us he had a cousin of a cousin, or the son of a brother's third wife or some such, living in Edfu, who might help us. If we could find this indeterminate and distant relative, we could leave a message with him to tell Muammar we had gone to Luxor."
"I vaguely remember him saying something, but do you even remember his name? We can't go around asking for relatives of Muammar al-Hadi."
"As a matter of fact I do--I think. Definitely Mohammad, like the Prophet, and I think his other name was Sook or Sook-rah. More likely Sook-rah, I'd say because I remember thinking 'How sweet'."
"I don't get it."
"Sook-rah sounds like sucre, the French for sugar."
Dani sighed and shook her head. "I think that nicotine has gone straight to your brain and addled it."
"Well, it was just a thought," Daffyd said, smiling to show he had taken no offence over her remark.
"No, it's a good idea--if this Mohammad Sugar actually exists. How would we go about looking for him?"
"Search me. I'm the ideas half of this relationship, you're the one that acts on it."
"Ah, we're in a relationship now, are we?"
Daffyd grinned. "Well, we did sleep together last night..."
"Literally, I might point out, not euphemistically."
"...And the hotel owner thinks we're married, so you'll just have to make an honest man out of me."
Dani laughed out loud, causing several heads to turn in the caf�. "Damn it, Dafs, you're good for me. Just when I was starting to feel depressed about the whole affair, you do something to cheer me up."
"Happy to be of service, lass."
They returned to their hotel, picking up their washed and pressed clothing on the way, paying with a few coppers from their diminished funds. The hotel owner was behind the desk once more and glowered at them, demanding to know where their papers were.
"As we told you yesterday, at the bottom of the river. It will take a few days at least for more to arriv
e from the British Embassy in Cairo."
"You pay more pounds for tonight. In advance."
Dani paid over another fiver, and they repaired to their room. To pass the time until dinner, Daffyd opted to read one of the paperbacks, sitting in an open window to catch the faint breeze off the river, while Dani made notes, trying to recall pertinent bits of information from the inscription written by Scarab. After half an hour, Daffyd, who had turned over some thirty pages without making any sense of them, put his book down.
"We obviously can't go to the police, so we need to go to the mosque."
Dani looked up from her notes. "Why?"
"To find Mohammad Sook-rah."
"They won't let us in if we're not Muslim," Dani objected.
"I don't see why not. Muslims are generally welcoming to non-Muslims as long as they're respectful. Besides, we could just ask to see the imam, the teacher. He should know everyone in his congregation."
"Would he help us though? And while we're at it, do we know enough Arabic to make ourselves understood?"
"Only one way to find out," Daffyd said.
"First thing tomorrow then."
They went out for dinner, using the same caf� they had used before, this time enjoying a spicy lamb stew with rice and mashed chickpeas, with flat bread and a salad on the side. Dani kept her notebook with her and continued to make notes in between mouthfuls. Daffyd concentrated on eating, but watched Dani's scribbling and attempted to read what she was writing by deciphering the upside-down script.
"What's a green mountain?"
Dani looked up. "What? Oh, you mean this?" She tapped her pencil on the page. "I'm recording what I can remember of the description."
"Why only now? You've had weeks to do this."
"I wouldn't need to if I had the golden scarab." Dani shrugged, and speared a cherry tomato on her fork. "At first I was too discouraged to even think about things..." She popped the tomato in her mouth, chewed and swallowed. "Then I thought I'd get the golden scarab back easily enough. Now I'm not so sure--so I'm writing down what I can remember."