Gresley Wynne shook his head. "Mrs. Pulaski is our housekeeper not my secretary, Mr. Grant."
Spaxley winked at her. "Sorry, young lady. I hope you're not offended."
The woman gave him a smile and moved to collect the cups.
Gresley Wynne seemed anxious to clear up a few points. "Mr. Grant, can you assure me you are unfamiliar with the confidential details of Andy Olsen's work?"
"That's about it, Gresley." Spaxley could feel himself begin to sound a little unsteady. This sort of job would have been easy a few years ago.
"To tell you the truth," said Gresley Wynne slowly, "I have always been nervous about talking to the press."
Spaxley smiled, and took his pen from his pocket to make a few notes. "I can help you there, Gresley. I've been dealing with the press all my life." He leaned forward and lowered his voice so the woman wouldn't hear. "I was with the White House press office."
"In America?"
He raised a finger to let Gresley Wynne think the matter was classified. "I had a senior post there."
"Did you know the president?"
"Sure I knew him."
Wynne nodded thoughtfully. "I wouldn't want you taking charge or anything, Mr. Grant. I must make that clear."
Spaxley realized the young woman was taking her time putting the cups on the small tray. He quite liked her. She was cute in a strange sort of way. "Wouldn't want to interfere, Gresley my friend. My face would still be known to a few of the press corps. It would take away something from the impact of your predictions if the media thought your work was being handled too slickly, so it's best to keep my name out of things." He began to feel more confident. "I can help you prepare the press statements, and give you a few tips about appearing on television."
Gresley Wynne looked enthusiastic. "Television? I imagined it would all be done with written statements."
"If you appear on television, the name of Dr. Gresley Wynne will be on everyone's lips." Spaxley watched a look of pride grow rapidly on the man's face. He'd got it right at last.
"The reputation of the Institute is at stake," said Gresley Wynne slowly. "Going public is a big gamble."
Spaxley stood up. He knew how to get his way with weak men. "Put your faith in the prophecy, Gresley. It's the culmination of your work here at the Institute." He turned to the woman who was still fiddling with the cups on the tray. "What do you say, Panya?"
"It's not for me to say anything." The woman looked embarrassed but stayed where she was.
Spaxley clapped the First Partner on the shoulder. "Gresley my friend, the way I see it you've got no choice. Andy Olsen tells me you've already predicted the events that will reshape the Middle East over the next few days. They're predestined. Completely out of your control."
"But they have serious implications for world peace, Mr. Grant."
Spaxley hoped Kramer would thank him for getting inside the door so quickly. "No one can blame you for what the ancients wrote, Gresley. You're only the messenger."
"The messenger of Aten."
"Sure, the messenger of Aten. I'll organize a press conference for tomorrow morning."
Chapter 30
Cairo, Egypt
"I CANNOT STAY here with you any longer, Nayra. I have a wife at home."
The bint al-balad turned quickly, her eyes bright with passion and a desire for further stimulation. "You mess about with me in bed all day long, and suddenly you worry about your fat wife? Yet you will kill all those people in the al-Sûfiya mosque and not be bothered for their wives?"
Ahmed reached for the bottle by the side of the bed. The growing awareness of the enormity of his task had brought him out in a sweat. He'd misjudged the sexual capabilities of the woman. This was a wretched room in a despicable boarding house in the Darb al-Ahmar district, with thin walls and neighbors with sharp ears.
"This mission is a secret," he warned, feeling unexpectedly angry.
"Then hush, my little Ahmed." The woman giggled. "You are right, we should not mention these things. The man who once owned your Mitsubishi, he knew too much, and now you have his vehicle. And I have the keys to the package he took to Beni Mazar."
Ahmed pushed Nayra's arm from his face, his mind full of the woman and the effects of an excess of zibeeh. "You kept the keys? You play a dangerous game."
Nayra reached over and held him round the neck with her arms. "The whole world is angry with Israel. It will not be long before our enemy is destroyed. The keys to the warehouse and device are safely in my pocket. They look like any other keys, so who would know them? Look at me, Ahmed, my prince of the desert, let me see your eyes. Here, let me teach you how to make love to a different sort of woman. Let me show you how a Sa'di does it." And she started to shake with laughter.
Ahmed pushed the clammy body away. Tomorrow evening the Semtex he had laid so carefully would be triggered under the al-Sûfiya mosque. Twenty-four hours later, the thermo-nuclear warhead would detonate automatically and demolish Beni Mazar. He wanted to get away, get as far as possible from Egypt before the Eagle of Darkness then spread terror over the land. But Nayra would not give up. The woman, who had been so hard to get on fire, now burnt with an intensity that he was unable to endure. He snatched the bottle of zibeeb and helped himself to a generous dose of the sharp-smelling ouzo. It burnt his throat like fire. Everywhere there was heat. In the bottle, the bed, the woman's body.
He pulled himself from the untidy sheets and stood naked by the window. The woman laughed, pointing at his symbol of manhood. But Ahmed had been in the room long enough. Nayra was right, those men did have wives. Or lovers. And the women had husbands and children. The explosion in the mosque would wipe out many of God's people. God the Almighty might forgive him for a few hours of entertainment with this woman, but would never forgive him for destroying a holy building.
The room felt cooler away from the bed. He tried to look out through the grimy glass of the window, but the drink had made it difficult to focus on the tightly packed houses in the Darb al-Ahmar. He reached for his clothes.
"Where are you going, my precious?" Nayra lay on her back, arching her body into a soft curve. "Come to little Nayra."
"I have done wrong, Nayra. I have to disconnect the fuses."
Nayra tried to jump from the bed but caught her foot in the draped sheets, falling heavily onto the floor, her bare body suddenly looking crude and lifeless.
Ahmed kicked her legs but she stayed silent. The zibeeb had done its work. The bint al-bahul would wake with a severe headache. Perhaps he would be back before she awoke. He left the filthy room, his unsteady walk taking him slowly through the darkness in the direction of the al-Sûfiya mosque.
Chapter 31
The Lodge, Institute of Egyptologists, England
"IT MIGHT be a lot of fuss about nothing." Panya tipped the soup into two bowls. "The American who arrived today says he's a friend of Andy Olsen. The Institute has to go public. Those are Mr. Grant's words. It seems that the first part of the prophecy is about to come to pass."
"Come to pass?" said Sam.
"You're joking with me, Sam. I've been thinking what you told me about Bill Tolley. I really would like to see him."
"He left me his mobile number on his card when I was leaving for Berlin. I think he's staying in a hotel down the road. The man's a menace. Why are you asking?"
"I'm wondering if he can tell us who this Mr. Grant is."
"Why one earth would Tolley know Grant?"
"They're both from the press."
"So are thousands of reporters."
"I still think it's worth a try. Bill Tolley could be a good ally. Mr. Grant said something about Cairo"
"What's so special about Cairo?"
"It's where the Nazis found the clay cylinder. It's where the pyramids are."
"I've flown there. I've seen the pyramids, the lot. Any more soup?"
Panya drained the saucepan into his bowl. "Give me his number. I'm going to tell Tolley to turn up at the Ins
titute tonight, out of the blue so to speak. What shall I say, in about an hour?"
Sam looked at his watch. "It's after seven. He'll be too drunk to bother. Anyway, what's so special about Bill Tolley coming here tonight?"
"Dr. Wynne is tired. I want Tolley to catch him off guard."
"And do what?"
"Expose the prophecy for the nonsense it is."
He licked his spoon. Had Panya thought this through properly? "Dr. Wynne won't see Tolley if he's too late getting there."
"Okay, we'll go over to the Institute and keep him talking until Tolley arrives. Give me the phone number."
Institute of Egyptologists, England
GRESLEY WYNNE seemed pleased to see Panya, but Sam felt ignored. Maybe the man was preoccupied.
"Mrs. Pulaski," said Dr. Wynne, "I am calling a press conference tomorrow morning."
"Is something important happening?" asked Panya, sounding suitably innocent.
Sam watched the First Partner rub his hands together. "We are going to receive world recognition, Mrs. Pulaski. Someone phoned from the hospital to say Andy Olsen cannot be with us, but the Second Partner is prepared to talk to the press in depth about how we decoded the Pyramid Texts."
Sam noticed Denby Rawlins making his way towards Panya, his beady eyes fixed on the faint outline of her breasts beneath her baggy sweatshirt. She noticed his look and folded her arms as she turned away. She seemed to be doing everything possible to hide her femininity.
Panya frowned at Dr. Wynne. "It's rather short notice."
Dr. Wynne smiled. "Mr. Grant is helping me set up the Hall of Aten to receive the press. All I want you to do is brief the cook. No meals or anything, but plenty of tea and coffee, with rolls and biscuits."
"May I know what this is all about, Dr. Wynne?" Panya asked.
"Certainly, my dear." Denby Rawlins approached from behind and put his arm on her shoulder. "We are all about to receive our reward. This is the time for rewards. I have seen you many times. I want you near me, Mrs. Pulaski."
Gresley Wynne coughed loudly. "Not now, Second Partner. This is Mrs. Pulaski's friend, the airline pilot."
Sam shook hands. The man's breath smelt rotten. He stepped back quicker than he meant to, nearly tripping over a rug.
"You are a lucky man to have such a delightful friend." Denby Rawlins peered at Sam with his red eyes. "I have always thought Mrs. Pulaski is exceedingly attractive."
"I am sure you have work to do on the computers, Second Partner." Gresley Wynne's heavy hint was evidently understood.
"I hope to see a lot of you again soon, Mrs. Pulaski." And the man with the sour breath continued on his way to the Hall of Aten. There was something in the eyes that reminded Sam of Olsen's face last night, when he'd looked up from his kneeling position in front of the large wall relief. Drugs?
The doorbell rang. Panya hurried to answer it.
Chapter 32
Cairo, Egypt
THE AL-SÛFIYA mosque stood out starkly in the street lights. A lamp flickered above the gated entrance under the silent minarets. Ahmed felt his thoughts wandering. He wished now that he had made his way straight here, and not stopped at a friend's house for another bottle of zibeeb. To interfere with the timers on the Semtex was not a job to be undertaken lightly.
"May we all rot in hell."
He raised the empty bottle and let it drop on the sidewalk. It scattered in a burst of sparkling fragments.
"May Endermann rot in hell!"
His mind felt clearer now. He would not be going to hell to rot with anyone. His destiny was to switch off the timers and save the wives and lovers. Endermann would be mad when he heard about it. God the Almighty would be delighted.
Chapter 33
Institute of Egyptologists, England
"I'D LOVE to quote you, Dr. Wynne."
Bill Tolley put on what he reckoned was a charming smile and flicked open his notebook with an ease that only came with tedious experience. Pompous men like this would rise to the opportunity. They always did. Tomorrow Gresley Wynne's foolish predictions would make good press, and then the world and the papers would forget about him. But the man would have his moment of glory, however much he might regret it in hindsight. "Perhaps some prediction in advance of the press gathering here tomorrow?" he suggested.
"It hardly seems fair on the other papers, Mr. Tolley."
"Call me Bill. I could get this interview into tomorrow's edition."
Gresley Wynne looked around as though searching for someone to give him guidance. Another man shuffled into the Hall of Aten at that moment. "Ah," said Dr. Wynne, 'this is Mr. Tolley -- Bill Tolley -- of the Morning Herald. Mr. Tolley, Denby Rawlins, our Second Partner."
The introductions were quickly completed. Bill Tolley saw both men as a pushover. "Don't you gentlemen want recognition for your research at the Institute?"
"I will tell you the words of Aten." Denby Rawlins gave a smile that faded away quickly, leaving small red eyes peering out of a furrowed face. "In the eleventh month, when the moon is suddenly darkened, the establishment will tremble from the depth. The followers of the One God will he confounded, and their enemies will mock their destruction in the fallen house. The people of the True God will perish, and their enemies will rise in anger. Great will be the sadness and suffering throughout Egypt and the nations, in the time of reprisal that must surely follow."
Tolley endeavored to sound impressed. "And this is one of your predictions?"
Gresley Wynne walked to the long table under the wall relief. From it he took a fancy red binder. "These are the full Prophecies of Aten, Mr. Tolley. There's a lunar eclipse due in the next few days. The first prophecy will come to pass in Egypt before that, we believe."
"So soon?"
Gresley Wynne closed the folder. "You must understand that I cannot reveal more of the prophecy to you this evening."
Bill Tolley stood back and looked at the two men standing beneath the large wall relief showing the ancient Egyptian figures. It would make a great picture. "My camera's in the car. Dr. Wynne, may I have a picture of you two gentlemen to put with the quote?"
Gresley Wynne confirmed that it would be acceptable. Tolley realized he was finding some of his old self beneath his years of cynicism. The Institute might be crap, but it would make a good story. And he'd be there with it first. "I'll phone the news desk to reserve space for the morning edition," he promised.
*
Cairo, Egypt
AHMED BEGAN to question the wisdom of his actions. Standing alone outside the high entrance doors to the al-Sûfiya mosque seemed a suspicious action. He reached out to two men as they passed by, walking briskly and minding their own business. "May God be merciful to me. I have tried to destroy the beautiful mosque."
"What with, your breath?" one of the men said, and they walked on, laughing loudly.
Another drink would help. Ahmed stared down at his feet, watching the ground move backwards and forwards in a gentle motion. More alcohol would be a great gift from God right now, and it would help ensure the success of making the Semtex safe. At that moment a movement caught his eye. A policeman in full uniform stopped by the side of the mosque, lighting a cigarette, right on the cover to the main sewer. He would not be there long. Ahmed staggered to the high wall to inspect the situation more closely. The policeman was armed and was not likely to listen to the ramblings of a drunken Lebanese. It would not be the first time the police had invited him in for questioning. His previous encounters with the Mukhabarat had given him a high profile over the years.
He waited until the policeman wandered round to the front of the mosque, out of sight, leaving the large circular iron cover exposed. He tried not to stumble, and wished his legs felt steadier. It was important to get into the underground passages quickly. He had left the lifting tool behind the low railings. Fortunately, it was still there. He lifted the cover and dropped down out of sight, landing heavily on the ground beneath the manhole.
Disconnec
ting the wires in the right order was always going to be complicated. The wires. He had installed the system when clever Nayra had arranged for a workman's shelter to be erected over the entrance down to the sewers. The shelter had been removed now, to avoid suspicion. Not that it mattered. As always, he'd fixed up the Semtex to detonate if tampered with. He knew he was good with explosives. His knowledge had enabled him to wire an ingenious booby trap. But his mind and hands had been calmer then.
Ten minutes later, burnt out by Nayra's requirements, his mind confused with alcohol and the stink of the sewers, he reached out to the brightly colored wiring.
Chapter 34
Institute of Egyptologists, England
BILL TOLLEY found his editor less enthusiastic than he'd hoped when he rang from the hotel. He tried again to explain that here was a chance for the Morning Herald to have some fun at the expense of self-appointed authority, to show Dr. Wynne posing below a dramatic Egyptian wall painting, and to send him up something rotten.
"I tell you, some building of God is going to fall down." Tolley paused for breath. "They reckon it could be in Egypt. Now I can either drive straight to London with the film, or I just get into my nice warm bed and email my report through in the morning."
"Hold on." The editor spoke to someone by his side. Then, "Bill, did you say Cairo?"
"Did I say what about Cairo?"
There was more talking. "Bill, read me that prediction again."
Tolley could hear snatches of a conversation between the editor and the news room staff. "What's happened?"
"You'd better get your words on the line pronto. In the meantime just read me that quote."
"The establishment will tremble from the depths, and the followers of the one God will be confounded," Okay? That one?"
"You said something was going to fall down."
Bill Tolley referred to his notes again. "Their enemies will mock their destruction in the fallen house. Why?"
"And Dr. Wynne told you it was going to happen in Cairo?"
"Egypt."
"Same thing. And when did he say this was going to take place?"
"Tomorrow. The next day. What's so important? The people of the One God are going to perish. Doesn't sound to me as though God is too fussy about killing his own."
"Get back to the Institute, Bill. I'm holding space on the front page of the late editions for this. I'm going to need some decent pics, so I'll send a local freelance. He'll join you at the Institute. Don't wait for him. Just get on over and make sure you're first with the news. We want this as an exclusive. Get Gresley Wynne to name a figure."
Eagle of Darkness Page 12