It was none her business, but Sam was curious so she joined the circle to see what they were looking at. A man was lying face down on the ground, with an arrow in his back.
“It’s definitely suspicious,” said one of the Miss Marples.
“Death on the Nile,” another nodded. “Very spooky.”
“Very bizarre,” Sam commented.
“Are you all right?” asked the man next to Sam, placing his hand gently on her arm.
“Very bizarre,” Sam emphasised looking into the concerned face of Hercule Poirot. Don’t be silly, she thought. It’s not Hercule Poirot, it’s Peter Ustinov. Wow!
Sam blinked and the great actor morphed into���into - Moses? She screwed her eyes shut and then heard a deep and gentle voice call out “Gamal, shy bi-nannah”.
Sam opened her eyes again. Oh good, it wasn’t Moses gazing down on her. But the very old, red-turbaned and long-bearded man, wearing a green - what was is it? - ah, galibeya and holding a wicker fan, did look remarkably like Charlton Heston.
“Can you sit up?” he asked.
“Yes, of course,” Sam replied, but found she only had enough strength to ease herself onto her elbows. She was lying on a divan in the corner of a shop jam-packed with Pharaonic ‘antiquities’.
“May I help?” Moses Heston offered, holding out his hands.
“Yes please,” she replied, allowing the big man to lift her up and back onto a pile of cushions. “Shukran,” Sam smiled.
He nodded and then beckoned to a skinny teenage boy with huge bright eyes who stepped forward and handed him a glass.
“Shy bi-nannah,” he said offering the drink to Sam. “Mint tea.”
“Shukran,” Sam said again and took a sip. “Am I still in the Khan?”
“Yes. I am Ahmed Omar, this my shop. And this my grandson, Gamal. He find you.”
“My name is Sam, Sam Diamond. Shukran Gamal.”
The boy grinned and sat crossed-legged at his grandfather’s feet.
“Did he take anything, the Turkish who attacked you?”
Sam shook her head, she was still wearing her belt pouch and could feel the money belt still under her jeans. “He was Turkish?” she said. “But there were two men.”
Ahmed and Gamal had a long conversation during which Gamal gesticulated a great deal before finishing his story by punching his fist into his open palm.
“Gamal say the Turkish man pushed you into the wall, then he hit you in the face. He say the Mexican���”
“Mexican?” Sam interrupted.
“Yes, the Mexican tried to stop the Turkish from hurting you more. When the Turkish ran off, the Mexican went to see you are okay. He saw Gamal and sent him to get help for you. When I arrive there’s no Turkish, no Mexican, just you. I carry you here.”
“I don’t know how to thank you, Ahmed,” Sam smiled.
“No need. It is enough that you are not hurt too much. But why are you alone here?”
“I wasn’t,” Sam explained. “I was with another Australian woman, but we got separated.”
“Not good,” Ahmed shook his head. “Where you staying?”
“Nile Hilton.”
“Long way. Maybe Gamal can take you to a taxi,” he suggested.
“If there was telephone anywhere around I could call someone,” Sam said hopefully.
“Yes, yes, good idea,” Ahmed pronounced. He reached over to the table behind Sam, and handed her a mobile phone. “I am businessman,” he laughed when he saw her surprised look.
Sam pulled Emil’s business card from her pouch and punched in the number. “Emil?”
“Yes, Emil,” he said.
“Emil, this is Sam. You know, Sam and Maggie.”
“Yes Maggie.”
“No, it’s Sam. I am in the Khan el Khalili, and I have lost Maggie. Could you come and get me, please?”
“How you get there, Sam?”
“Ser-veece taxi - very bad drive,” Sam said.
Emil cackled with laughter. “Where you are?”
Sam held the phone away from her mouth, “Ahmed, could you tell Emil where we are, and ask the best place to meet him, please.”
When Ahmed finished talking he disconnected the call. “He say 15 minutes. Stay here.”
Exactly 15 minutes later Emil walked jauntily into the shop of Ahmed Omar but stopped dead and did a double take when he saw Sam propped up on the divan.
“Did taxi crash?” he asked.
“No, why?”
“Very big hurt, Sam,” Emil stated, tapping his own chin then pointing at Sam’s.
“A very big Turkish hit me,” Sam explained. “I am okay though,” she added, although as she got to her feet she realised that her ribs hurt like hell.
“Come, bike not far. I take you back to hotel.”
“Bike?”
“Yes bike. Limo too big for Khan. Not fit.”
Sam thanked Ahmed and Gamal again and started to follow Emil out of the shop. She stopped when she noticed something at the back of a counter near the door.
“Ahmed, could I buy this?” she asked, picking up a beautiful, hand-sized stone carving. It was Hatshepsut, a small replica of the head she’d seen in the Museum. She reached into her pouch, took out her wallet and removed 30 pounds. “Is this enough?”
“It is not real, Sam Diamond,” Ahmed admitted.
“I know, Ahmed. But I like it very much.”
“It is my work,” he said, smiling graciously. “But this is too much.”
Emil made a strange gurgling sound, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Ten for Gamal,” Sam offered. “Okay?”
Ahmed pressed his right palm to his chest and gave a slight bow.
“What you do, Sam? Promise to marry grandson?” Emil asked, as he led the way down the street towards an area crowded with small cars, wagons and livestock.
“No Emil, I did not.”
“Very strange. You offer 30 he should say 90. It only worth five,” Emil shrugged.
“Not to me, it’s not,” Sam stated.
After a literally hair-raising ride through the streets and evening traffic of Cairo, Sam climbed off the back of Emil’s motor cycle in front of the Nile Hilton. She glanced towards the river, relieved to see there was no crowd gathered around a dead body. There was no white boat either.
With Emil in tow, Sam decided to see if Maggie was in the bar before checking their room.
“Sam!” Maggie exclaimed with relief, waving her over to the table. “I’m so glad you thought to come back here. I couldn’t find you anywhere. Emil? What are you doing here?”
“I am rescuing,” Emil said proudly.
Sam sat in the chair opposite Maggie and glared at her. “I need a beer,” she said. “Now.”
Maggie’s eyes were suddenly wide with horrified concern. She reached out and gently touched Sam’s face. “My god, what happened?”
“I was attacked by a knife-wielding suspicious Turkish fez who did not want to sell me perfume.”
“I thought I lost him,” Maggie stated. “It took ages to get him off my tail, and when I returned you were nowhere in sight.”
“That’s because when he lost you, he came looking for me. And there I was, waiting,” Sam growled.
“I’m sorry, you’re right, it was dumb idea,” Maggie acknowledged. “Emil can you order us two Stellas and something for yourself, from the bar, please.”
“So what did he want?” Maggie asked when Emil was out of earshot.
“What did he want? He wanted the key, Maggie. And what’s more he knows I’m a cop. And the other man, the Mexican, he’s following us too.”
“The Mexican?” Maggie repeated, as though she thought Sam had been hit a little too hard.
“Yes Maggie, the Mexican,” Sam stated, and then explained exactly what had happened.
“But Sam, I’ve got the key,” Maggie said, when Sam had finished. “What did you give him?”
“The key to my locker
at work.”
“Why did you have that with you?”
“I’ve got all my keys with me,” Sam said.
“What on earth for?”
“I don’t believe you, Maggie,” Sam was astounded. “I was left alone, by you, in a foreign bazaar, where I was attacked by a Turk, rescued by a Mexican and helped by an old Egyptian who looked like Charlton Heston. This was followed by a warp-speed ride down Sharia Talaat Harb on the back of Emil’s motor cycle, yet you want to know why I brought my house keys.”
“It’s a reasonable question,” Maggie said trying not to laugh.
“It’s not funny,” Sam insisted. “On the other hand, it’s hysterical, or I am,” she said breaking into laughter herself. “Do we have any idea what’s going on yet?”
“Obviously the key we claimed here goes with the number on the drink coaster and opens a safety deposit box at the Americo Bank,” Maggie stated.
“Obviously,” Sam agreed, as Emil returned to their table. “But it’s just another in an endless line of clues - to what? We haven’t learnt anything at all, except that MM is Muu-Muu is you.”
“We’ve learnt enough to hypothesise that Alistair and Noel may have in fact been poisoned like Lloyd was. That is one coincidence that is too hard to swallow. And we know that there’s a Turkish bloke out there who wants whatever it is we’re looking for, and a Mexican who is either your guardian angel or is simply waiting for us to find whatever it is before pulling his own knife.”
“That’s a nice thought,” Sam said. “But what could interest both a Turk and a Mexican?”
“And have been worth the lives of Lloyd, Alistair and Noel?” Maggie added and then frowned as she glanced around the bar.
“Not to mention my very close call,” Sam reminded her. “I hope you’ve got some pain killers in your first aid kit because I’m developing a cracker of a headache.”
“Well don’t drink any more beer Sam, you’ve probably got a concussion,” Maggie advised. “But speaking of your close call, I rather think it’s time we left this hotel. Once your assailant realises his key won’t open anything this side of the equator, he’s going to come looking for us.”
“Where do you suggest we go?” Sam asked. “Somehow or other he knew to wait for us here. How many people knew that?”
“Quite a lot actually,” Maggie replied. “Apart from the fact that I mentioned it at dinner in Melbourne last night at a table full of your suspects, I also booked the room in advance which means that anyone who knew we were coming to Cairo could have found us quite easily.”
“Oh great,” Sam moaned.
“We need to split up,” Maggie began.
“Oh no, we are not doing that again,” Sam stressed.
Maggie leant forward. “I will go to the phone in the lobby,” she whispered, “ring my friend Michael at the Embassy and get him to book us a room, in his name, at the Hotel Mena House Oberoi. Emil can take you on his bike and I will take a taxi with our bags.”
Sam looked sceptical so Maggie added, “You’ll like it there, Sam. It’s a grand and elegant old hotel about as close to the pyramids as you can get.”
“Okay,” Sam agreed, “although I believe a lifetime desire to see the Sphinx is clouding my better judgement. Explain why we have to go separately, though,” she requested.
“If we’re still being watched by your Turkish friend he won’t know which of us to follow.”
“Oh, like last time. Good plan,” Sam nodded, squinting at Maggie. “Let’s hope the Mexican isn’t actually in cahoots with the Turk, and only helped out because he thought it premature to bump me off in the Khan.”
“This time you will be safe with Emil and we’ll leave at the same time, after laying a false trail by telling the concierge we’re checking out because we’ve decided to fly to Luxor tonight.”
“Maggie, the only good thing about this plan is that if Mr Fez-head turns up at our next hotel we’ll know your Embassy buddy is the mule who led him to us in the first place,” Sam stated.
“The mule?” Maggie queried.
“Mole, I meant mole,” Sam stammered. “The informer, the rirty dat who squealed on us.”
“The rirty dat?” Maggie repeated. “I think you’d better take the taxi, Sam.”
“I think we’d better get our stuff together and get out of here before I cark it completely. I do believe the day has caught up with and is about to overwhelm me,” Sam announced.
In the end Maggie took the taxi, or rather a series of taxis, while Sam clung on to Emil for dear life as he navigated a network of narrow backstreets before emerging onto to Sharia al Ahram, or Pyramids Road. By eight o-clock they were ensconced in their extravagantly luxurious suite at the Mena House Oberoi where Sam was contemplating notions of untimely death versus immortality as she gazed in awe at one of the Seven Wonders of the World.
The largest and closest of the Great Pyramids, that of Pharaoh Cheops, rose shimmering with a supernatural glow from the dark desert of the surrounding Giza plateau. It was as if the ancient gods had left a light on to guide the Pharaoh’s ka, or life force, home again after a spot of astral travelling.
Sam shook her head and moved the ice pack from her jaw to her temple. She knew the nightly Sound and Light Show was in progress and that, according to Maggie, even archaeologists and academics went a bit silly during their first pyramid experience, tending to pile adjectives and superlatives on top of wild theories, but Sam worried that she’d developed some kind of weird New Age side effect from having her head smashed into a wall.
Still she couldn’t help but be completely awestruck. The pyramids, she knew, were not just monumental tombs to safeguard a dead king’s desiccated, organless body and his household treasures, but were designed as indestructible sanctuaries to protect his life force and provide a place for his subjects to worship his immortal ka.
And, in a sense, Cheops and Chepren had achieved a kind of immortality whether their ka had actually survived more than four millennia or not. For even now, at the end of the 20th century AD, their names were still uttered with a kind of reverence because their beliefs had culminated in feats of engineering so incredible they had conquered history itself. The pyramids had outlived the pharaohs, outlasted invading Greeks, Romans and Arabs, survived Marmelukes, Ottomans, the French, and British occupation, and had withstood the ultimate test of time and the unforgiving desert.
How the hell did I get here? Sam wondered suddenly. Why did a stranger try to kill me? And why am I letting all this shit happen around me, without tying Maggie to the bed and dragging the truth out of her?
Because Sam, she said to herself, you decided to make the most of a bizarre situation. Two days ago your being here was only a possibility in your wildest dreams, then Maggie says ‘we’re going to Cairo’ and your boss orders you to do just that. So you reply ‘oh okay, whatever you say’. I mean who would turn down a free trip to Egypt?
“Who are you talking to, Sam?” Maggie asked, emerging from the bathroom dressed in a purple knee-length T-shirt.
“Cheops,” Sam replied. She was about to begin a serious interrogation of the woman before her when she noticed a strange mark on her throat. “Maggie, I don’t mean to get personal, well yes I do, but is that a love bite on your neck?”
Maggie pursed her lips, waggled her head and said, “What if it is?”
Sam opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again, then finally managed to say, “Hercules?”
“Yes of course. Who else? I told you he got all my wires abuzzing. I’m sure you and Phineas���”
“We did not,” Sam protested.
“Why ever not?” Maggie asked.
“Apart from the fact that the opportunity didn’t actually present itself, I was too preoccupied with the wild idea that I had less than 20 hours to prepare for my first overseas trip. Besides, being with Marcus is kind of like having the flu, it affects your entire body but the moment you’ve recovered you can’t even imagine feeling that bad.�
��
“Sam dear, I believe you have a problem if you equate good old fashioned lust with the flu.”
“I wasn’t. I was equating Marcus with the flu. When he’s not in my space I don’t give him a second thought, except as a suspect. Speaking of which, I would like to know exactly what you told Jim Pilger to convince him that I should accompany you into this international bloody clich��d web-thing of murder and intrigue.”
Maggie sat down on the edge of the bed and looked seriously at Sam. “I told him that I believed Lloyd’s murder was connected to a missing and priceless artefact, that we were already on the trail of said artefact, and that it would reflect gloriously on him should we, on behalf of the Australian Government, recover whatever it is and return it to whoever owns it.”
Sam was completely nonplussed. “Since when have we been on the trail of a priceless artefact?”
“Well we must be,” Maggie said. “We’ve got Turks and Mexicans after us. What else could it be?”
“I have no idea Maggie,” Sam admitted. “But none of that explains why I’m here.”
“Jim owed me a favour. I asked for you,” Maggie stated. “It was a very big favour,” she added, when her explanation didn’t seem to be good enough for Sam. “Fifteen years ago Jim suffered a profound lack of judgement in his choice of bedmate during a week-long fact finding mission in Western Australia. I helped the potential problem go away by securing her a job she’d always wanted on a national magazine.” Maggie shrugged. “I needed your help. That’s how I got it, although Jim could see the potential PR value in my artefact story.”
“So you lied to him.”
“Not exactly, Sam. We are on the trail of something are we not? You wouldn’t have agreed to come if you didn’t think there was a good enough reason.”
“I don’t know about that,” Sam said doubtfully. “I was here before I had time to think about the logic of it.”
“Well, the Rites of Life and Death show’s visit to Cairo does coincide with Noel’s so-called stroke, doesn’t it?” Maggie observed.
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