by Mike Resnick
“He was more than simply a religious man. He had such absolute certainty that whatever he did was right, that God would direct and protect him. . . .” She grimaced. “He was a great man, but he must have been hell to get along with—especially if you disagreed with him.”
Omar watched in silence for another forty-five minutes, then approached and told her it was almost time to meet Mason.
“All right,” she said. “I’m not going to learn any more here.”
“Have you any ideas?”
“All I can think of after seeing this exhibit is to examine every church that was standing in 1885. Where else would a man of such faith hide something he believed belonged to a servant of the devil?”
“They have been searched.”
“Perhaps not thoroughly enough,” said Lara. “We’ll try again. But first I have to get to the library and the Ethnographical Museum.”
They reached the main lobby and found Mason waiting for them.
“Learn anything?” he asked.
“Not really. Just that we should probably go through the churches with a fine-toothed comb.”
“I did that before I went to Edfu,” he said. “Still, it can’t hurt to do it again. Might as well be thorough.”
“Well, that’s helpful, anyway,” said Lara.
“What is?” asked Mason, puzzled. “I didn’t find it.”
“No, but you knew where to look—so you must have a list of the churches that were built before 1885 and are still standing, and where they are.”
He seemed surprised. “I’ll be damned! I hadn’t realized how valuable such a list would be. I got rid of it when I couldn’t find anything in the churches.”
“No problem. It shouldn’t be difficult to put it together again. How many churches were there?”
“Four,” said Mason.
“We can search them tomorrow or the next day,” said Lara. “For the moment, I think we ought to get over to the Ethnographical Museum and see if they have anything useful—though I have my doubts. There won’t be anything on Gordon, but they might have something on the Mahdi, and I’m still looking for a map of 1885 Khartoum.”
The three of them walked out of the museum, and were immediately joined by Hassam.
“No Mahdists?” asked Omar.
Hassam shrugged. “Here and there. None of them chose to walk past me.” He turned to Lara. “Was the museum productive?”
“Probably not,” she said. “You have to understand: We’re on an awfully old, awfully cold trail.”
“You will find it,” he said with certainty.
“I appreciate your confidence, but it may be misplaced,” said Lara. “It’s getting very hot out, and we have a bit of a walk to get to the next museum. Let’s get something cold to drink first.”
“The Al Bustan restaurant is close by,” suggested Hassam.
They made their way to the restaurant and were ushered to a small table, where the waiter took their orders.
“Where is Gaafar?” asked Lara. “Shouldn’t he have joined us by now?”
“Don’t worry about Gaafar,” replied Omar. “He is probably just questioning the Mahdist.”
“For two and a half hours?” said Mason.
“He asks very thorough questions,” said Omar with an amused smile.
The drinks came, and Lara gratefully accepted an iced tea from the waiter.
“I never did ask,” she said. “Did you come up with anything at the museum?”
“Not really,” he said. “You were in the Gordon exhibit. I just wandered the rest of the place, looking for . . . hell, for I don’t know what. For anything that might jog my mind into gear, give me a hint.”
“Gordon and the Mahdi were well matched,” said Lara. “They were born leaders, they were brilliant generals, and they each had the absolute knowledge that God was on their side. Under other circumstances, they might have been great friends, even brothers.”
“I doubt it,” said Mason. “I don’t think either of them could ever tolerate the fact that the other spoke directly to God.”
She chuckled in amusement. “You’re probably right.”
“Finish your drink,” said Omar. “If we hurry, you can get to the Ethnographical Museum and the library today, and tomorrow the search can begin.”
“You’re being a little too optimistic,” said Lara. “Right now the only thought I have is to search through the churches, and Kevin’s already done that. We probably won’t learn anything from the next museum, and whatever books and papers I find in the library may take days to go through before I know if they’re any use.”
“And if they are not?” asked Hassam.
“Then we’ll study more,” said Lara. “Omdurman isn’t very far across the Nile. If I can’t learn anything from where Gordon died, maybe I can learn something from where he defeated the Mahdi. After all, if he came into possession of the Amulet before the Battle of Omdurman, perhaps he never brought it back to Khartoum at all. Maybe it’s across the Nile somewhere.”
“Do you really think so?” asked Omar.
“I don’t know.”
“I know how much it means to you and how badly you want it,” said Mason to the two Sudanese men, “but never forget: If it was easy to find, someone would have found it already.”
Gaafar caught up to them on the street outside the restaurant.
“How did your morning go?” he asked as he joined them.
“About as expected,” replied Lara. “How did yours go?”
“We were aware that the Mahdists know you are in Khartoum,” said Gaafar. “But they also know why. I think it likely that they will leave you alone until you find the Amulet or lead them to it.”
“As we thought,” said Lara. “Maybe we can relax a little now.”
“Except for those tongueless killers you mentioned,” said Mason.
“I said, ‘a little,’ “ Lara said.
Just then, a bread truck careened crazily around the corner, jumped the curb, and bore down upon them.
21
Lara leaped to her left and reached for her pistols, but they were tangled in her robe. She saw Mason push Omar and Hassam out of the way, then almost elude the truck himself, but the passenger’s mirror, sticking out from the door, caught his shoulder and sent him hurtling into the middle of the street.
“Kevin!” she yelled. “Are you all right?”
“Don’t worry about me!” he grated. “Just watch yourself!”
Two women screamed as the truck remained on the sidewalk, plowing through carts and kiosks. Then it turned and headed back toward her.
Lara positioned herself in front of the concrete block wall of the building on the corner. There was an awning overhead, and as the truck raced toward her, she reached up to the awning’s crossbar and in an almost perfect gymnastic maneuver swung herself up to the top of it, avoiding the truck by less than a second.
This time the truck crunched into concrete and cement. The hood sprang open, and steam burst from the engine. The driver was momentarily blinded as the awning fell across his windshield.
Lara didn’t know if the truck could still move, and she wasn’t about to wait and find out. She rushed to the door, flung it open, and pulled the driver out of the truck, throwing him to the ground. As the motor stalled and steam continued to fill the air, two more men emerged from the back of the truck, both of them brandishing guns.
The driver, still on the ground, lunged at her. Lara could have dispatched him with a quick kick to the thorax, but she knew she’d be a sitting duck for the two gunmen, so instead she allowed him to trip her up. As she fell and rolled she finally managed to get her hands on her pistols, and she came to a kneeling position, both Black Demons spitting .32-caliber death. One man dropped instantly. The other ducked under the truck, firing awkwardly without a clear view of his target.
Lara had no intention of laying on her belly to get a good shot at him and give him an equally good shot at her. Instead she jumpe
d into the cab of the truck. The engine was still sputtering, and she put it into reverse. There was a scream, and then, after backing up no more than a dozen feet, the motor died.
Lara leaped out of the cab, pistols at the ready, looking for any sign of life. The driver, who had leaped out of the way, was getting groggily to his feet. She swung her hand with a Black Demon still in it and caught him in the temple. He dropped to the ground, senseless. She stepped back and saw that the truck had indeed backed over the final gunman, pinning him to the ground. His face wore a hideous death mask.
Mason had staggered to his feet and was walking over to her.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” he said ruefully. “Serves me right for trying to be a hero.”
They walked over to Omar and Hassam, who were just getting to their feet.
“I appreciate your saving our lives,” said Omar. “But next time,” he added with a grin, “don’t push so hard. For a moment there I wasn’t sure who was the enemy.”
Lara led them to the three bodies, two dead, one unconscious. “Are they Mahdists or Silent Ones?” she asked.
Mason squatted and propped open the unconscious man’s mouth. “He’s got a tongue, so I guess that means Mahdists.”
“Unfortunately not,” said Omar. “That a man has a tongue in his mouth proves nothing. By that definition, we would all be Mahdists. We’ll have Gaafar question this man when he wakes up, and then we will know for sure.”
Lara looked around. “Where is Gaafar?”
“I think I know,” said Mason grimly. He pointed to the huge Sudanese, who was lying about ten yards behind the truck. “He caught a stray bullet from the man you pinned under the wheel.”
Omar and Hassam raced over and knelt down. Hassam began cursing in Arabic. Omar remained motionless for a full minute, then stood up and turned to Lara and Mason.
“He is dead,” he said softly.
“You’re sure?” asked Mason.
“I am sure.”
“I’m sorry,” said Lara. “If I hadn’t backed over that last man, maybe he wouldn’t have gotten off a wild shot.”
“You saved two of us,” said Omar. “His death is hardly your fault.”
“He was a good man,” said Lara, replacing her pistols in her holsters beneath her robes.
“The best,” replied Omar. “I will tell his brothers and his cousins. They will claim the body after the police examine it. And now we must go. If they were willing to make one attempt on your life in the daylight, in front of witnesses, they will surely make more.”
“I’m not going to let them succeed,” said Mason firmly.
“Then we’d better get you healthy first,” said Lara.
“What are you talking about?” he demanded.
She pointed to his neck and shoulder. “You’re bleeding.”
“I am?” he said, surprised. “I must have cut myself when I was rolling across the street.”
“Or when the truck hit you,” she said.
“It wasn’t the truck,” he said, obviously annoyed with himself for being hurt at all. “It was that goddamned side mirror.”
“Whatever it was, we should get you to a doctor.”
“It’s just a scratch,” he protested.
“I’m not walking into a museum or a library with a man whose shirt is drenched in blood,” said Lara.
“All right, all right,” he said. “But I’ll be damned if I’m going to a doctor or a hospital with a little scratch like this. I’ll go to the hotel and clean up.”
“And buy a shirt along the way,” said Lara. “You don’t have any luggage, remember?”
“What about you?”
“I’ll go to the museum and meet you at the library.”
“All right. It beats arguing with you.” He paused. “We’re at the Bortai, right?”
“Not anymore,” said Omar. “Now we are at the Arak. Do you know where it is?”
“I’ll find it.”
“I’ll see you in a couple of hours,” said Lara as he started off. “And be sure to use a disinfectant on that cut. There’s a pharmacy just down the block from the hotel.”
Mason resisted the urge to salute her, and simply turned and began walking toward the city center.
“Should we tell him it’s closer to the Nile?” asked Hassam.
“No,” said Lara. “The more haberdashers he passes, the more likely he is to actually buy some clothes.” She turned back to Omar, who was once again kneeling next to Gaafar’s body. “Come on,” she said gently. “The police will be here any minute. I can hear the sirens already, and I don’t think it would be a good idea for them to ask me any questions.”
Omar stood up, a dagger in his hand. “We will go now.” He reached out and presented Gaafar’s knife to her, handle first. “He would have wanted you to have this.”
“The Scalpel of Isis,” she said. “You’re sure?”
“I am sure.”
She tucked the blade inside her robe. “Then I’m honored.”
“We must go,” said Hassam as the sirens became louder.
It took them ten minutes to reach the Ethnographical Museum, keeping off the main thoroughfares, and as Lara had predicted, there was nothing of use there.
Hassam walked her to the library while Omar went off to pass the word of Gaafar’s death, not only to inform his family of it, but also to try to find out who was responsible for the truck attack. Lara had a feeling that Omar’s people were involved. It made perfect sense to her that the Mahdists would let her live as long as they thought she might find the Amulet; it was men like Abdul who wanted it to remain lost or hidden forever.
Mason, dressed in all-new khaki shirt and slacks, with white bandages climbing up his neck from his shoulder, and a felt hat shading his eyes from the sun, was waiting for them on the steps of the library.
“Well, you’re looking fit,” she said. “If they ever remake King Solomon’s Mines, you should be a natural for the part of Allan Quatermain. Are you feeling better?”
“I was never feeling badly,” he said. “Where’s Omar?”
“Spreading word of what happened, and trying to find out who ordered it,” she said.
“I’m not without my own sources in the city, and I’ll bet they’re different from his,” said Mason. “I’ll tell you what. You do what you have to do in the library, and while you’re at it I’ll see if I can get some answers.”
“Omar will find out,” said Hassam.
“I’m sure he will,” said Mason. “But it won’t hurt to have it confirmed from independent sources.”
“You do what you want,” said Lara. “As for me, I’m going to hunt up Siwar.”
“Siwar? One of Omar’s lieutenants?”
“One of Khartoum’s historians,” she replied.
“Oh, of course,” said Mason. “I’m still not thinking clearly. I’d better get going before I say anything else stupid. Besides, the sooner we find out who sent the truck after you—”
“It doesn’t really matter,” she interrupted. “As far as I’m concerned, I don’t care which side tried to kill me. The sooner we find the Amulet, the sooner they’ll leave me alone.” She gestured toward the library. “I’m going in there.”
Mason went off on his own, and Lara and Hassam entered the library. After a moment she noticed that tears were streaming down his face.
“I know he was a good friend and ally,” she whispered, “but try not to think of him, at least until we’re out of here. People are starting to stare at you and wonder what’s wrong.”
“You are right,” he said, making an almost physical effort to cast the image of his dead comrade from his mind. “I will not embarrass you again.”
“I’m not embarrassed,” replied Lara. “I just don’t want to attract any extra attention.”
He nodded his acquiescence, and the two of them walked to the back of the building, where she found a few dozen volumes on Gordon and the siege of Kh
artoum.
“I’m going to be here for a few minutes,” she whispered to him. “Why don’t you rinse your face off? The tears have left streaks across the dust. You almost look like you’re wearing a mask.”
“You’ll remain here?” said Hassam.
“I won’t leave this section until you come back,” she promised.
He turned and headed off to the rest room, and Lara pulled down a volume that was written in Arabic, thumbed through it looking for a map, couldn’t find one, and pulled another book out. This one did have a map, and she studied it for a few minutes. A frown spread over her face, and she began thumbing through the pages—and suddenly she felt the sharp point of a knife against her rib cage.
“Not a sound,” whispered a voice in Arabic. “I want you to walk slowly to the exit on your left.”
“If you’re going to kill me, why should I make it easy for you?” she whispered back. “Do it right here, surrounded by witnesses, and be assured that I don’t plan to die silently.”
“How you die is of no concern to me,” said the man. “I am offering you a chance to live. I know you found the Amulet of Mareish in the Temple of Horus. Just tell me where it is.”
Okay, she thought, so you’re a Mahdist. I guess not all of you are willing to sit on the sidelines while I hunt for it.
“I don’t even know yet what it looks like,” she replied.
“You lie.”
“If I had it, why would I be here, trying to learn about it from books?”
“To learn how to use its power, of course,” said the man. “Now, do you walk or do you die right here?”
I don’t know how many more Mahdists are in the library. Let’s get outside where it’s just you and me, and then we’ll see how tough you are.
She walked meekly to a side door, and a moment later the pair of them were alone in a deserted alley.
“Now tell me where it is, or by Allah I will cut the answer out of you.”
He pushed the point of his weapon against her. She gasped and bent over, ostensibly in pain—but as she bent over, her right hand snaked inside her robes and made contact with the hilt of the Scalpel of Isis. She grabbed it and maneuvered it loose from her belt, where she had tucked it.