Keystone

by Talbot, Luke

  Ben looked up at George and grinned. They’d discussed at length what Ben would say, and how he would try to ‘rattle’ the Captain into a reaction. They could claim they had CCTV footage of their own, or that they had found voicemail recordings that Gail had left for George while on the run from the Professor’s real killers.

  In the end, all of this sounded too complicated; too likely to be brushed aside by Kamal. He wasn’t going to be caught out by some detail like that without seeing or hearing the evidence himself. Instead, they had to demonstrate that his only piece of real evidence, the CCTV footage, was incorrect.

  And to do that, Ben came up with a big, fat, incredible lie, which itself was backed up by a quick Wikipedia update to Dr Gail Turner’s personal profile article that Ben and George had just made.

  If Kamal was hiding nothing, the CCTV footage was genuine and Gail had, unbelievable as it seemed, committed the crimes, then they had lost nothing; Ben had masked his outgoing number on his mobile phone, which in any event was Pay as you Go and could easily be thrown away: they would never trace the call to him.

  If, however, Kamal was hiding something and the CCTV footage was in any way fake, then he was sure to find that out.

  “Captain Kamal, Mrs Turner could not have run from the Museum, for at least a few hundred metres, turned a corner, and continued to run. With or without the books, it would simply be impossible.”

  “I’m getting tired of this. Explain yourself now, or stop wasting my –”

  “Because,” Ben cut him off, “Mrs Turner suffered from Usher syndrome.”

  Kamal said nothing. Ben looked at George intently and continued. “She was born with the condition, which also affected her mother. It means that she had hearing problems, and in the past five years, her sight had deteriorated to the extent that she simply couldn’t see further than her hand in front of her face. Even then, she wouldn’t have been able to make out the individual fingers, no matter how close. Vision, to Mrs Turner, was simply varying shades of light with no definition whatsoever.”

  “It’s entirely possible she knew the direction of the main road, and ran there,” Kamal suggested, though he sounded less confident than before. His bullish attitude had disappeared completely.

  “The hearing problems that come with Usher syndrome affect the inner ear, Captain. Mrs Turner had severe problems with balance. She would have needed both arms to steady herself and even then, by Mr Turner’s account, she would not have been able to negotiate the corridors of the Museum without sometimes touching the walls and railings. This would have been quite impossible while at the same time carrying eleven books, no matter how much they meant to her, financially.”

  Kamal, again, was silent.

  “Captain? I recommend that we meet to discuss this. Mr Turner is, as I said, incredibly distressed. He has sought legal counsel with the Embassy, which we have agreed to provide.”

  “Why didn’t Mr Turner advise me of Mrs Turner’s condition?” Kamal said quietly.

  “Because in his own words, he didn’t trust you, Captain. From the start you had your own conclusions regarding this case, and you followed those conclusions through with complete disregard for anything he said. You made him feel that he was an inconvenience to you.” Ben wet his lips and smiled at George. It had all gone better than he had possibly hoped, and he was about to deliver what he considered to be his killer line. “Captain, I have to say that with the evidence I’ve seen, and your behaviour on this call, I do not trust you either.”

  There was silence on the other end of the phone.

  “Captain Kamal?”

  After what seemed an age, there was the softest of clicks, followed by a dead tone.

  Kamal had not simply been rattled. He had not simply stumbled over a few words. He had been so completely taken by Ben’s charade that he had gone.

  Chapter 52

  “If Gail didn’t steal the books, then she must have been set up,” Martín said, setting his knife and fork down on his half-empty plate.

  Ben found himself nodding. George simply sat there, looking blankly into space.

  “We know that someone is trying to cover up the finds on Mars, and it looks as if they are trying to cover up the finds on Earth too,” he continued. “Which means that someone must have known about them, before they were discovered.”

  Again, Ben found himself nodding. “Which means they must have known about what was on Mars before the mission was sent. But if they worked this out based on the Amarna finds, then Gail would have known about it too.” Which explains why the Professor and Gail are both dead, he thought.

  “But why hide proof of extra-terrestrial life?” George said, breaking his silence. “And even if Gail and the Professor had managed to prove it from the Amarna finds, then so what? The news had already reached the media anyway! That’s why she was here in the first place!”

  Before either of them could answer, he continued.

  “I’ll tell you why: because it’s not proof of alien life that’s being covered up; it’s something else. Something bigger. Maybe the Professor knew something, maybe he didn’t. But whoever killed them wasn’t taking any chances either way,” he slammed his fist on the table. Behind them a waiter shot them a disapproving glance.

  “What could be bigger than aliens?” Martín and Ben said in unison.

  George looked at them both with fire in his eyes. “I don’t know, but it killed my wife, and when I find out what it is, I’m going to make sure that somebody pays for that.”

  Captain Kamal scratched his head and switched off the screen on his desk. There were no two ways around it: Gail Turner just wasn’t going to go away as he’d hoped.

  At first, he had been concerned that the lack of a body would make her husband a constant pain, a thorn in his side. Then, he had been delivered a ‘body’.

  Back in the morgue, as he’d lifted the sheet that covered her, his heart had skipped a beat. She hadn’t looked dead to him. Motionless, yes. But dead? He just had to hope that her husband didn’t notice. He’d covered her up as quickly as possible, feeling the game was up, but Mr Turner hadn’t suspected a thing, even after being so close to her, touching her. If anything, the punch in the face for his lack of compassion had been welcome when compared to the alternative.

  And so she had been taken away, and Kamal had staged the cremation of some poor nameless beggar who’d been stabbed in a back alley. Mr Turner had spoken with him briefly the next day to arrange transportation of the ashes back to England, and that had been that.

  “Khara! ” he picked up his terminal’s keyboard and slammed it back down on the desk. “Ibin himaar!”

  Because that hadn’t been that at all. What he’d been promised would be straight forward was now turning out to be anything but. And the worst part was that it wasn’t Mr Turner, or indeed anyone else, who had made things difficult.

  He only had himself to blame. He had been left to cover the details of her ‘escape’ from the Museum. As far as he knew, she was in perfect physical health. He’d requested the doctored CCTV footage, and hours later it had been delivered to him. Watching it back, he even fancied, for a moment, that it was her running from the Museum, and not some computer generated model. It was, he knew, indistinguishable from real life. Even a trained expert couldn’t tell it was a fake. He knew, because he’d given it to one in his own department.

  Usher syndrome !

  How could he not have known, when it was even on her online profile page?

  He leant back in his uncomfortable chair and looked at the ceiling. He followed a small crack from where it started next to a hanging light all the way across to where it met the wall. The crack had been repaired barely five years ago. And yet there it was again, as large as ever. Possibly even bigger. It had probably been repaired five years before that, too. He snorted in mild amusement, though it was far from funny.

  Even if he managed to get out of his present situation, even if the powers that be accepted the C
CTV footage over her husband’s testimony and her medical records, five years from now would some crucial piece of evidence be uncovered that would make the string of lies unravel? Would his best efforts barely cover things up, leaving the truth just under the surface, ready for someone to find? Would Mr Turner give it up? What would he do if he were in his place?

  How long would it be before more people started poking their noses into the investigation? Into his affairs?

  There was only one certainty: whoever was behind it all wouldn’t be there to protect him. He would be on his own. He already was on his own.

  It hadn’t, he decided, been worth it at all.

  George stuffed his wash bag into his suitcase and grimaced as he forced the zip shut. Behind him, Ben looked out of the window and shook his head.

  “Martín seems to be an OK person. I think he is as genuinely bemused as we are.”

  George threw his suitcase to the floor and gave the bathroom a quick scan. Satisfied he had gathered everything, he returned to the main room and checked under the bed; socks had a nasty habit of rolling under beds, as he knew from his travelling for work. It was more a force of habit than anything else, though, as socks couldn’t be further from his mind.

  “But with all this talk of cover ups, I don’t know where to begin,” Ben continued. “And in any case, it doesn’t really help, does it?”

  George got to his feet and checked the cupboard for suits, despite the fact that he hadn’t brought any suits to Cairo.

  “It’s actually a shame Martín has to leave so soon. I have enough space in my flat for both of you. We could lock heads and give this some serious thought.” He looked at the Englishman, who was now checking every drawer of a chest of drawers he had obviously not used either during his stay. “Besides which, I owe you a drink from last time you were here.”

  George stopped and looked at him. Last time they’d been in Egypt, he had been with Gail, and they had gotten obscenely drunk in a bar. George knew his friend well enough to understand he didn’t lack tact; he knew what he was trying to do. He forced a smile and nodded slowly.

  “I’ll stay a while,” was all he managed to say. Being in Egypt brought back painful memories, but he was dreading returning to their empty house in Southampton even more.

  Ben was about to answer when there was a knock at the door.

  “Martín?” he asked George.

  George looked puzzled. “It shouldn’t be, his flight is in an hour, he’ll be late if he’s still here!” He walked over to the door and opened it.

  To his total surprise, Captain Kamal stood in front of him. Looking nervously left and right down the hotel corridors, he forced his way into the room.

  “Sorry, Mr Turner,” he said in his strongly accented English. “Please close the door.” As he said this he closed the door himself, leaving George standing in the entrance with his hand clasping an imaginary door handle.

  “What do you want, Captain Kamal?” George said, deliberately saying the Captain’s name to identify him, to warn Ben not to speak. If he recognised his voice, who knew what might happen next.

  Ben looked startled, but then surprised George completely with a voice he’d never heard before. Heavily accented, he somehow didn’t even sound Egyptian. “Salaam, Captain. My name is Ahmed Mohammed Naser. I am a family friend of the Mr Turner.”

  They shook hands, Kamal somewhat reluctantly.

  “Mr Turner will be staying with my family for some time while Mrs Turner’s murder is investigated. It is much, much, cheaper than the hotel for such a long stay,” he smiled weakly.

  Kamal pushed past Ben and pulled a chair out from under a small round table in front of the window. Sitting down, he leant forward and placed his elbows on his legs, clasping his hands out in front of him.

  “We need to talk,” he said, matter-of-factly.

  George hesitated. “The Embassy have advised me not to without them being present,” he said, thinking on his feet. He and Ben simply hadn’t thought of what would happen if they came face to face with Kamal. They hadn’t thought that far ahead.

  “That’s not why I am here,” Kamal brushed the matter aside with the back of his left hand and put his right hand inside his pocket. Fishing out a packet of cigarettes he lit one and offered the pack around.

  George thought to mention that the hotel, unlike most of Cairo, was non-smoking. He managed to bite his lip instead.

  Kamal put the pack of cigarettes back in his pocket and looked around for an ashtray. Ben saw an empty glass beside the bed, but didn’t move to pick it up. Following his eyes, Kamal reached for the glass and tapped his cigarette into it anxiously.

  “Why are you here then, Captain?” George asked.

  Kamal flicked his eyes between the two men before taking a deep drag. “Because I have something very important to tell you, Mr Turner.” As he spoke he exhaled, and the thick, pungent smoke filled the room. “Alone,” he stared up at Ben.

  Ben was about to protest; the last thing he wanted was to leave his friend with this corrupt, possibly dangerous man. But George raised his hand to stop him.

  He hesitated, trying to remember the name Ben had made up for himself. Abdul? He decided to play it safe. “It doesn’t matter if he leaves or not, whatever you tell me, I’ll tell him anyway.”

  Kamal seemed to weigh the options up for a moment, and then shrugged impassively.

  “Those aren’t your wife’s ashes,” he said bluntly, nodding towards the urn standing on a desk behind Ben.

  George jumped and took a step towards the policeman. “What do you mean they’re not Gail’s ashes? Where are Gail’s ashes?”

  “There aren’t any. There are no ashes of your wife.”

  “But I was at the cremation! I was given the urn containing her ashes! How can you dare come here and tell me that this isn’t my wife?” George was within a couple of feet of where Kamal was sitting, and the policeman instinctively leant back to defend himself.

  “I’m sorry Mr Turner, I really am, but it’s true.” There was genuine remorse in his voice, and George eased his stance briefly.

  “So why are there no ashes of my wife? Who screwed up? The crematorium? You?”

  Kamal looked into George’s eyes. “There are no ashes of your wife, Mr Turner, because as far as I know she isn’t dead.”

  Chapter 53

  “I’m sorry, Dr Turner, I understand why you would be upset with the way you have been treated,” Seth Mallus said. Before she had a chance to respond, he continued. “Dr Patterson has been tasked with making you feel as welcome and as comfortable as possible during your stay.”

  “Let me speak to my husband,” she demanded.

  “In due course.”

  “No!” she shouted, slamming her hand on his desk. “How dare you treat me this way? You abducted me, you murdered a peaceful man, and now I demand to be set free.”

  He hesitated slightly. “Dr Turner, imagine that what you say is true. Imagine that I did murder a man, and that I did abduct you. That being the case, what sort of position do you think you are in where you can suddenly make demands of me, and expect to get your way?”

  “I –” she began, but didn’t know how to finish.

  “Good. Now I would like to spend the next few days gently easing you into your new role, which by the way is of assistant to Dr Henry Patterson, whom you have already met.”

  “Assistant in what?” she demanded.

  Mallus looked at her impatiently. “As I said; I would ease you in to your role slowly, but unfortunately we simply don’t have time. And to be perfectly honest after so many years waiting for Dr Patterson to do this on his own before he asked for help, I don’t have the patience either.”

  Gail looked at Patterson, who looked away uneasily.

  “So I’ll be quite frank, give you the briefest of briefs, and then it’s up to you to decide if you wish to cooperate or not.” He leaned forwards and raised an eyebrow. “You may have guessed this already, but not
cooperating is something I have contingency plans for. Now, I don’t like being interrupted, which is something you seem to be in constant threat of doing, so this is your opportunity. Speak.”

  She stared at him for a moment. He hadn’t really given her much of a choice, she conceded. “No,” she said bluntly. “You speak.”

  He smiled, as if her attitude was something he’d been expecting. Feisty, he thought.

  “We need your assistance, and we need you to be able to concentrate fully on what we are doing here. What I am about to disclose is knowledge shared by only a handful of people, all of them within this facility. Its implications are so huge that it cannot be made public. The societal impact of this would be catastrophic.” He gestured for Gail and Patterson to be seated.

  Her temper simmering, Gail didn’t question him, but simply sat down and waited for him to continue. “Some time ago, a discovery was made at an archaeological dig in Amarna, in Egypt. You know it well, Dr Turner, as you made that discovery. By now, I believe you know that the book you focused your attention on was not the only important book in the Amarna Library. Indeed, another book was brought to this facility under a shroud of secrecy.” With this he tapped the surface of his desk and the wall lit up behind him with a very high resolution photograph.

  Gail instantly knew what she was looking at: the man holding a staff aloft, embossed on the wooden cover of an ancient book. She couldn’t help being taken aback; having it described second-hand by Professor al-Misri was no substitute for the real thing, or at the very least a picture of the real thing.

  “Dr Turner, you devoted your career to studying the Book of Aniquilus, what you call the Stickman Book. What you see behind me is the –”

  “Book of Xynutians,” she interrupted him.

  For the briefest of moments, Mallus faltered. He glanced across at Patterson, who looked back, equally as confused. “Indeed, the Xynutians. But how did you know? None of your work indicates that you knew this.”

  Gail pulled her eyes away from the picture on the wall and looked at the man behind his desk. I’ve thrown him she thought triumphantly. But how could her dream have told her such a thing? It took her little time to work out the most likely answer, that when she had been unconscious someone, probably Patterson, must have mentioned the name. Her subconscious mind, still somehow aware of the world around her, incorporated the detail into a vivid dream that was a mishmash of fragments of memory. But she wasn’t going to reveal such logic to the man sitting in front of her. “I just knew; I must have read it somewhere. I’ve never seen it before, but it’s been described to me by Professor al-Misri.”