by Wilbur Smith
upwards, and played it over the cavern roof. Immediately there was a
rustling of wings and the alarmed cooing of the rock pigeons that were
roosting on the ledges. Nicholas manoeuvred into position below them,
dazzling them with the torch beam.
With his first throw he brought down a brace of them, fluttering and
squawking to the cavern floor, while the rest of the flock exploded out
into the night in a great clattering uproar of frantic wings. Nicholas
pounced on the downed birds and with a practised flick of the wrist
wrung their necks.
"How do you fancy a juicy slice of roast pigeon?" he asked her.
She lay propped on one elbow, and he sat cross-legged facing her, each
of them plucking the vinous-maroon and grey feathers from one of the
pigeon carcasses. Even when it came to drawing the bird, she was not
squeamish, as many other women might have been faced with the same task.
This, together with her stoical performance during the day's struggle up
the mountain, enhanced his opinion of her. She had repeatedly proved to
him how game and plucky she was. His feelings towards her were
strengthening and maturing every day.
Concentrating on removing the fine bristles from the puckered breast
skin of the bird, she said, "It is beyond all doubt now that the
material stolen in the raid on our camp is in Pegasus hands."
"I was thinking the same thing," Nicholas nodded, "and we know from the
antennae at their base camp above the falls that they have satellite
communications. We can place a pretty certain bet that Jake Helm has
already telefaxed it through to the big man, whoever he may be."
"So he has all the details of the stele in Tanus's tomb.
We know that he already has the seventh scroll in his possession. If he
isn't an expert Egyptologist himself, he must have somebody in his pay
who is. Wouldn't you agree with that?"
I would guess that he can read hieroglyphics himself.
I would think that he must be an avid collector. I know the type. It is
an obsession with them."
"I know the type as well." She smiled at him. "There is one sitting not
a thousand miles away from me at this very moment."
"ToucV' he laughed, and held up his hands in surrender. "But I have only
been lightly bitten by the bug, compared to others I could name. Those
other two on Duraid's list, for instance."
"Peter Walsh and Gotthold von Schiller," she reeled off the names.
"Those two are homicidal collectors,," he confirmed. "I -am sure neither
of them would hesitate to kill for the chance of having Pharaoh Mamose's
treasure to themselves."
"But from what I know about them, both of them are billionaires, at
least in dollar terms."
"Money has nothing to do with it, don't you see. If they laid hands upon
it, they would never ever dream of selling a single artefact from the
hoard. They would lock it all away in some deep vault, and not let
another living soul la eyes upon it. They would gloat on it in private -
it's a bizarre, masturbatory passion."
"What an odd word to describe it," she protested.
"But accurate, I assure you. It's a sexual thing a compulsion, like that
of a serial killer."
"I love all things Egyptian, but I don't think I can even imagine a
craving that intense."
"You must remember that these are not ordinary men whom we are
considering. Their wealth allows'them to pander to any appetite'. All
the normal, natural human appetites soon become jaded and satiated. They
can have anything they want. Any man or any woman. Any thing, any
perversion, whether legal or not. In the end they have to find something
that no one else can ever have. It's the only thing that can still give
them the old thrill."
"So in whoever is behind Pegasus we are dealing with a madman?" she
asked softly.
"Much more than that," he corrected her. "We are enormously wealthy and
powerful dealing with an maniac, who in his disease will stop at
nothing."
They picked the cold carcasses of the roasted pigeons for their
breakfast. Then, while the other one tactfully went to the back of the
cavern an averted his or her gaze, they took turns to strip naked and
bathe under the waterfall.
After the heat of the gorge the water was icy cold. It battered them
with the force of a fire hose. Royan hopped on her good leg, gasping and
whimpering under the torrent, and emerged covered in goose-pimples and
shuddering blue with cold. However, it refreshed her, and even in her
filthy, sweat-stinking clothes it gave her heart to start out on the
last bitter climb to the summit.
Before leaving the cavern they examined each other's injuries again.
Nicholas's scalp wound was heating cleanly, but Royan's knee was no
better than the previous day. The bruises were starting to turn a
virulent puce, the colour of decomposing liver, and the swelling was
unabated. There was very little he could do for it, other than strapping
it again with the bandana.
At last Nicholas admitted defeat, and abandoned his burn-bag and the
roll of dik'dik skin. He knew that he was reaching the limit of his
physical reserves, and he realized that, light as these items were,
every extra pound that he carried today might mean the difference
between reaching the summit or breaking down on the trail. He retained
only the three rolls of undeveloped film, each in its plastic capsule.
These were their only record of the hieroglyphics' on the stele in
Tanus's tomb. He dared not risk losing them, so he buttoned them into
the breast pocket of his khaki shirt. He tucked both the bag and the
skin into a crack in the wall at the back of the cavern, determined to
retrieve them at some later date.
And so they started out on the last but most onerous leg of the trail.
To begin with Royan was on her own two feet, but leaning heavily on his
shoulder. However, before the first hour was over her knee could no
longer take the strain, and she subsided on to a rock on the edge of the
pathway.
"I am being an awful nuisance, aren't I?
"Come on board, lady. Always room for a small one." With Royan perched
on Nicholas's back, her injured leg sticking out stiffly in front of
her, they toiled upwards, but their progress was even slower than it had
been the day before. Nicholas was forced to pause and rest at shorter
and shorter intervals. On the easier pitches she dismounted and hopped
along on one leg beside him, steadying herself with one hand on his
shoulder. Then she would collapse, and he had to lift her to her feet
and pull her up on to his back once again.
The journey descended into nightmare, and both of them lost all sense of
the passage of time. Hours blended with hours into a single unremitting
agony. At one stage they lay beside each other on the path, sick and
nauseated with thirst and exhaustion and pain. They had emptied the
water bottle an hour ago, and there was no more on this section of the
path - nothing to drink until they reached the summit and were reunited
with the Dandera river.
"Go on and leave me here, she whispered hoarsely.
He sat up immediately and stared at her. "Don't be silly. I need you for
ballast."
"It can't be much further to the top," she insisted. "You can come back
with some of Boris's men to help carry me."
"If they are still there, and if Pegasus doesn't find you first." He
stood up a little unsteadily. "Forget it. You are coming along on this
ride, all the way."And he hoisted her to her feet.
He made her count aloud every step he took, and at every hundredth he
paused and rested. Then he started the next hundred, with her counting
softly in his ear, clinging with both arms around his neck. The whole
universe seemed to shrink in upon them to the ground directly at his
feet. They no longer saw the rock cliff on one side nor the deep void of
space on the other. When he lurched or jolted her and the pain shot
through her knee, she closed her eyes and tried not to let her voice
betray it to him as she kept counting.
When he rested, he had to lean against the cliff face, not trusting his
legs to get him up again if he lay down. He dared not lower her to the
ground. The effort of lifting her again would be too much. He no longer
had the strength for it.
"It's almost dark," she whispered in his ear. "You must stop here for
the night. It's enough for one day. You are killing yourself, Nicky."
"Another hundred, he mumbled.
"No, Nicky. Put me down!'
For answer he pushed off from the rock wall with his shoulder and
staggered on upwards.
"Cound' he ordered.
"Fifty-one, fifty-two," she obeyed. Suddenly the gradient altered so
sharply under his feet that he almost fell.
The path had levelled out, and like a drunkard he reached up for a step
that wasn't there.
He staggered and then caught his balance. He stood teetering on the
brink of the precipice and peered into the dusk ahead of him, at first
unable to credit what he was seeing. There were lights in the gloom, and
he thought that he had begun to hallucinate. Then he heard men's voices,
and he shook his head to clear it and bring himself back to reality.
"Oh, dear God. You have made it. We are at the top$ Nicky. There are the
vehicles. You did it, Nicky. You did it.
He tried to speak, but his throat had closed up and no words came. He
reeled forward towards the lights, and Royan cried out weakly on his
back.
"Help us here. Please help us." First in English and then in Arabic.
"Please help us."
There were startled cries and the sounds of running men. Nicholas sank
down slowly into the fine highland grass and let Royan slide off his
back. Dark figures gathered around them, chattering in Amharic, and
friendly hands seized them and half-carried, half-dragged them towards
the lights. Then a torch was shone into Nicholas's face and a very
English voice said, "Hello, Nicky. Nice surprise. I came down from Addis
to look for your corpse. Heard you were dead. Bit premature, what?"
"Hello, Geoffrey. Good of you to take the trouble."
"I dare say you could use a cup of tea. You look a bit done in," said
Geoffrey Tennant. "Never realized that your beard had ginger and grey
bits in it. Designer stubble.
Fashionable. Suits you actually."
Nicholas realized what a picture he must present, ragged and unshaven,
filthy and haggard with exhaustion.
"You remember Dr Al Simma? She has a bit of a dicky knee. Wonder if you
would mind taking care of her?"
Then his legs gave way under him, and Geoffrey Tennant caught him before
he fell.
"Steady on, old boy." He led him to a canvas-backed camp chair, and
seated him solicitously. Another chair was brought for Royan.
"Letta chai hqPa!" Geoffrey gave the universal call of an Englishman in
Africa, and minutes later thrust mugs of steaming over-sweetened tea
into their hands.
Nicholas saluted Royan with his mug. "Here's to us.
There's none like us!'
They both drank deeply, scalding their tongues, but the caffeine and
sugar hit their bloodstreams like a charge of electricity.
"Now I know I am going to live,'Nicholas sighed.
"Don't want to be pushy, Nicky, but do you mind telling me what the hell
is going on here?" Geoffrey asked.
"Why don't you tell me?" Nicholas countered. He needed time to evaluate
the situation. What did Geoffrey know and who had told him? Geoffrey
obliged immediately.
"First thing we heard was that white hunter chappie of yours, Boris, had
been fished out of the river near the Sudanese border, absolutely
riddled with bullet holes. The crocs and catfish had snacked on his
face, so the border police identified him by the documents in his money
belt."
Nicholas glanced across at Royan and cautioned her with a frown.
"Last time we saw him, he went off on a scouting expedition onhis own,'
Nicholas explained. "He probably ran into the same bunch of shufta who
raided our camp four nights ago."
"Yes, we heard about that too. Colonel Nogo here radioed in a report to
Addis."
Neither of them had recognized Nogo in the crowd of men. It was only
when he stepped forward into the light of the camp lanterns that Royan
stiffened, and such an expression of loathing flashed across her face
that Nicholas reached across surreptitiously and took her hand to
restrain her from any indiscretion. After a moment she relaxed and
composed her features.
"I am very relieved to see you, Sir Quenton-Harper.
You have given us all a very worrying few days," said Nogo.
"I do apologize," said Nicholas smoothly.
Please, sir, I meant no offence. It is just that we had a report from
the Pegasus Exploration Company that you and Dr Al Simma had been caught
up in a blasting accident. I was present when Mr Helm of the exploration
company warned you that they were conducting blasting in the gorge."
"But you-' Royan flared bitterly, and Nicholas squeezed her hand hard to
stop her going on.
It was probably our own carelessness, as you suggest.
Nevertheless, Dr Al Simma has been injured and we are I both badly
shaken up by the accident. More important than that, however, is the
fact that a number of other people, camp'staff and monks from the
monastery have been killed in the shufta raid and in the blasting
accident.
As soon as we get back to Addis I will make a full statement to the
authorities."
"I do hope that you don't think any blame attaches Nogo started, but
Nicholas cut him short.
"Of course not. Not your fault at all. You warned us about the danger of
shufta in the gorge. You were not present, so what could you have done
to prevent any of this? I would say that you have done your duty in the
most exemplary fashion."
Nogo looked relieved. "You are most gracious to say so, Sir
Quenton-Harper."
Nicholas studied him for a moment longer. He seemed the most amiable of
young men be
hind the metal-rimmed spectacles, so concerned and eager to
please. For a moment Nicholas almost believed that he had been mistaken,
and that it had been somebody else that he had seen in the jet Ranger,
hovering over the avalanche site like a vulture searching for their dead
bodies.
Nicholas forced himself to smile in his most friendly manner. "I would
be most grateful if you could do me a favour, Colonel."
"Of course,'Nogo agreed readily. "Anything at all."
"I left a bag and one of my hunting trophies in the cavern under the
Dandera waterfall. The bag contains our passports and travellers'
cheques. Very grateful if you could send one of your men down to bring
it up for me."
While giving Nogo directions on how to find his possessions, he derived
a perverse enjoyment from sending his would-be assassin on such a
trivial errand. Then he turned back to his friend so that Nogo would not
pick up the vindictive glint in his eyes. "How did you get here,
Geoffrey?"
"Light plane to Debra Maryam. There is an emergency landing field there.
Colonel Nogo met us, and brought us -the rest of the way by army jeep,"
Geoffrey explained. "The pilot and the aircraft are waiting for us at
Debra Maryam."
Geoffrey broke off and spoke to the camp staff in execrable Amharic,
before turning back to Nicholas. "I have just arranged a hot bath for
you and Dr Al Simma.
After that, a meal and a good night's sleep should work wonders.
Tomorrow we can fly back to Addis. No reason why we shouldn't be there
by tomorrow evening at the latest."
He patted Royan's shoulder, disguising his carnal interest in her behind
a benign avuncular smile. "I must say I am rather pleased not to have to
go traipsing down into the Abbay gorge looking for the pair of you. I
hear that it's a pretty beastly part of the world."
explained to chase the goats off the emergency airfield at Debra Maryam.
In the meantime Nicholas was stuffing the roll of dik-dik skin under the
rear passenger seat. One of Nogo's sergeants you mind, Dr Al Simma, if
I sit in front?
Terribly rude of me, but I am inclined to suffer from malde air. Ha ha!"
Geoffrey Royan as they waited for three small boys to had made a night
descent of the escarpment, and had delivered both his bag and the skin
while they were breakfasting that morning.
Nogo gave them a smart salute as they taxied out in a cloud of dust.