Authors: The Sands of Sakkara (html)
Arkhan shrugged. 'A small matter.'
He said delicately, 'There was a certain romantic attachment between you and
the young lady, was there not?'
'What's that got to do with it?'
'As we say in
love can mistake a wart for a dimple. Passion can make us blind to the truth.'
Weaver ignored the remark. Sanson
nodded to Arkhan.
'Thanks, Yosef. You can go now.'
The captain replaced the files in
his briefcase, tucked it under his arm, and bowed politely. 'Good-day,
gentlemen. It's been a pleasure meeting you, Lieutenant-Colonel Weaver.' when
the Egyptian had left, Sanson looked over at Weaver.
Arkhan's a good policeman.
Whenever I've had to put my faith m his judgment, I've rarely been
disappointed. Like when he came to me about Evir's murder. He has a sixth sense
about these things, one that's seldom been proven wrong. He knew something
didn't smell right, and he was spot on. But you don't believe him, do you?'
'No, I don't.'
Sanson sighed, made a steeple of
his fingers. 'The desert searches turned up a bit of good luck. I got a phone
call from Myers just before you arrived. His men have picked up a man named
Achmed Farnad, a German agent who runs a small hotel at a place called Abu
Sammar, about twenty miles from Alex. He was shot and seriously wounded during
the arrest, but he's still conscious, and they managed to get him to talk a
little. It seems he was the link man Berlin arranged to meet their team. The
plan was that they would rendezvous at a nearby deserted airfield, and Farnad would
send them on their way to Cairo. They never made the rendezvous, but some hours
after the crash they arrived at his hotel in the Jeep they stole from the
murdered officers. Five people - the pilot, three men and a woman. The way
Farnad is telling it, Haider is in charge. The pilot was badly injured in the
crash, and later died. Which leaves four, as we suspected.'
'When can we interrogate him?'
'It's imperative that he's
thoroughly questioned, of course, but that's my business, Weaver. Though I
don't know how much more he can tell us - he's probably got no idea what the
Germans are really up to. But from here on, this has nothing more to do with
you.'
'What do you mean?'
Sanson said firmly, 'It's my duty
to inform you that you're no longer on the case. I can't put my trust in a man
whose judgment I think is suspect.'
'You can't do that, Sanson, damn
you!'
'I already have, and with General
Clayton's full consent. In fact, he wanted to dismiss you at our meeting this
afternoon. I asked that you be given one more chance. Once you'd considered the
evidence, I thought you might have changed your mind. But you've been
pig-headed and ignored my professional judgment in this matter. If you'd
accepted it, I might have allowed you to remain on the case. But to be truthful,
I'm not sure I can rely on you to carry out your duties effectively and with
proper vigour, Weaver.’
'What the hell do you mean?'
'I told you when this began I
needed an officer who was prepared to do his duty and follow orders - to kill
the enemy if necessary. I'm not at all certain you'd be prepared to do that in
this instance. You and your friends are on opposite sides of the fence, but
it's obvious this friendship of yours ran very deep. And there just might be a
conflict between your loyalty to your friends and your duty to your country.
You might even be tempted to allow them to escape, rather than have them face
military justice. And I can't have that.'
Weaver fumed. 'You're totally
ignoring the real issue here, Sanson. There's no hard evidence Rachel Stern is
a spy. Only hearsay and guesswork. You'd be killing an innocent woman.'
'That's a matter of opinion.
Arkhan's accusation is enough for me. Not that it really matters. These friends
of yours are condemned anyway. But I wanted to give you the benefit of Arkhan's
information.' Sanson stood and picked up his cap, the meeting at an end. 'Now,
if you don't mind, I've got to attend to Farnad's interrogation. Good-day,
Weaver.'
Weaver pushed back his chair
angrily. 'You can't just dump me like that.'
'The decision's made.'
'Listen to me, Sanson-'
'I said good-day.'
'Then just do me one favour,'
Weaver pleaded. 'If you find Haider and Rachel Stern, at least let me attempt
to talk to them before any shooting starts - let me try to convince them to surrender.'
'You see? My point's proven. You
still want to try and save their necks. But if you think I'm going to risk the
lives of my men by pussyfooting around and asking these friends of yours to
surrender, you've got another think coming. Forget it, Weaver.
I won't do that.'
Haider kept his speed down as he
drove the motorcycle, Rachel holding on to him in the pillion seat. The moonlit
track was dark and bumpy, full of ruts and potholes, and he wore sand goggles
to protect his eyes from the gritty desert air. Half an hour after leaving the
villa they came to the outskirts of the busy little village of Nazlat as-Saman,
at the foot of the majestic Sphinx.
'Well, we made it.' Haider pulled
off the goggles. 'Now let's find the others.'
The village was a rabbit-warren of
boisterous narrow streets, carnival stalls everywhere, fire-eaters and
snake-charmers giving displays, and they realized there was some kind of local
festival in progress. Near the end of the main street a dirt road led up past
the Sphinx, and on a rise behind it loomed the site of the
the moonlit night sky.
As Haider inched the BSA through
the noisy, good-humoured crowd, he saw two groups of American military police
up ahead, stopping civilians and off-duty soldiers to check their papers.
'There's no end to it, is there?'
he said over his shoulder to Rachel. 'Still, there's no point in inviting
trouble.'
'You think it's us they're looking
for?'
Haider shrugged. 'It could be just
routine, but somehow I doubt it. I'm sure Harry and his pals are tearing
He turned down an alley, hoping to
skirt around the MPs, but realized they were in a dead end. When he looked back
down the alley, he saw another group of MPs stroll past on the street.
'Damn. We'd better keep our faces
out of the way until they've gone.'
'What about meeting the others?'
'They'll just have to wait.' He
told Rachel to dismount, then propped the motorcycle on its stand. There was an
open doorway opposite, the hallway lit by an oil lamp. 'Let's see if there's a
way out of this dead end, just in case.' He saw a beaded curtain at the end of
the hallway, pushed his way through, and Rachel followed.
They were in a tiny candlelit room
that smelled powerfully of incense. A young girl wearing a cotton wrap and loop
earrings sat behind a rickety table, flicking through a tattered magazine, as
if to pass the time. She smiled up at them. 'You have come to consult with
Khalil, the oracle?'
Haider realized the girl thought
they had come to have their fortunes read, but he didn't miss a beat. 'Indeed
we have.'
'This way.'
The girl led them through another
beaded curtain, as Rachel whispered to Haider, 'What are you doing?'
'It'll keep us out of harm's way
for a while. Besides, maybe we could do with a glimpse of what lies in store.'
'You don't really believe in all
that hocus-pocus nonsense?'
Haider laughed. 'Oh, I don't know.
There might be something in it. The Pharaohs put a lot of faith in their
mystics, remember?'
They were in another small
candlelit room. A bassara, an Egyptian fortune-teller, sat cross-legged on a
carpet - a shabbily dressed old man with wrinkled skin the colour of walnut.
One of his eyes was milky white, the blind pupil staring into nothing.
In front of him was a brass tray
with some tiny cups, a coffee pot heating on a tiny charcoal brazier near by.
'A couple to see you,
Grandfather.'
The girl left and the old man
said, 'So, you have come to consult with Khalil. Be seated.’
They sat cross-legged on the
floor. 'Is it just the young lady, or you also, effendi?'
'Both of us, I think.' Haider
smiled as he turned to Rachel. 'I'll go first, if you like. Seeing as how
you're a disbeliever.' He nodded to the old man. 'Let's hear what the future
holds, my friend.'
The man poured thick Turkish
coffee into one of the cups and handed it over. 'Drink, effendi.'
Haider swallowed the treacly black
liquid and returned the cup. The fortune-teller rolled it between his palms and
stared into the grounds at the bottom. 'The effendi has come from a far
country, but he is no stranger to this land. I see pain and trouble in his
past, and more lies ahead. There is an opportunity to redeem himself, if he
does not give in to evil. There is also a woman he desires very much, but he
will be forced to choose between desire and duty.'
Haider turned to Rachel with a
smile. 'What can I say to all that?'
'Something else,' the old man went
on solemnly. 'Someone the gentleman loved has recently passed away.' He
hesitated, a cloud crossed his face, and he shook his head.
'That is all I see.'
'Nothing more?'
'I am sorry.'
Haider said to Rachel, 'Now it's
your turn.'
'I'd rather not, Jack. It's
stupid.'
'Humor him.'
The man said to Rachel, 'Khalil
doesn't lie. His gift comes from the mystic power of the pyramids. The future
is there, if you wish to know it. Hold out your hand, dear lady.'
Rachel held it out to the man. He
filled another cup, placed it in her hand, and she drank the coffee. She
returned the empty cup to Khalil, who studied the grounds, but his face clouded
again, and he suddenly put it down. 'I'm afraid Khalil can see nothing in the
lady's future that she doesn't already know.'
Rachel was silent for a moment,
then she shrugged and looked at Haider. 'See, I told you. It's all nonsense,
anyway.'
The man stared across at Haider,
who placed a handful of coins on the table. 'Let's get out of here.’
He led Rachel out past the girl,
into the hall, and lit a cigarette. 'You don't seem too comfortable. Did he
upset you?'
'I never believed in
fortune-tellers. It's gibberish.'
'You're still not impressed, are
you? But one or two things he said had a ring of truth.'
'You think he meant about your
father's death, don't you?'
Haider's face darkened and he
shivered. 'Maybe, but the feeling it gave me when he mentioned a death was
quite uncanny. Like someone walking over my grave. I had this vision, not of my
father, but of Pauli-'
There was a morbid look on his
face, a terrible unease, and Rachel quickly put a reassuring hand on his arm. 'Jack,
don't be silly. You're reading something into nothing.'
He did his best to shrug off the
feeling of dread. 'Maybe you're right. You'd better wait here.'
He went down the alley and peered
into the street, then came back. 'It looks all clear, so let's give it a try.
I'm sure Deacon and Kleist are wondering what's happened to us.' He retrieved
the motorcycle, climbed on, helped Rachel on to the back, and started the
engine.
Five minutes later he had cut
around the village and was on a gravel road, halfway up to the pyramids.
Deacon's car was parked off the road, Kleist in the passenger seat, and he
drove up beside them. He and Rachel dismounted.
Deacon stepped out, frowning,
wiping his forehead with a handkerchief. 'What the devil kept you?'
Haider nodded back towards the
village. 'A small problem of some military police we had to avoid. Did you have
any trouble getting here?'
'There were a couple of army
checkpoints on the way. But fortunately your friend's papers passed the test.'
Kleist said, 'Are you ready,
Major?'
Haider nodded. 'I'll leave the
motorcycle here and we'll go on together.'
He wheeled the machine off the
road, left it hidden behind some rocks, and climbed into the back of the car
with Rachel.
The massive Cheops pyramid lay
ahead as they drove on up the hill, and there was a jumble of boulders on the
right-hand side of the road, the tumbling ruins of several tombs. They saw a
redand
white barrier pole blocking their way, a wooden
sentry box beside it, and suddenly a shabbily dressed Egyptian policeman
appeared out of the shadows, wearing a red hat with a tarboosh, and a pair of
scruffy sandals instead of boots. He flashed a torch for them to halt.
When Deacon pulled up, Haider
said, 'Leave this to me.' He climbed out and showed his ID. Tm a professor from
The policeman looked at the
documents, a kind of awe on his face, but he said nothing, until Haider realized
the poor fellow was probably barely literate. There was a noise behind him, and
a stout man wearing a sergeant's uniform came out of nowhere, his thumbs stuck
in his leather belt. He was obviously in charge.
'What's the trouble, Ali?' the
sergeant asked.
'The effendi says he's a
professor, from
'Some students of mine are working
on the site,' Haider went on quickly, and offered the sergeant his papers.
'Some colleagues and I need to make an inspection of their progress.
Are any of the excavating teams
still here?'
'They have all gone home. The site
is empty.' The sergeant looked in at the passengers, then examined the
documents under the torch light and scratched his head. 'A thousand pardons,
Professor, but is it not a little late in the evening for this sort of thing?'
Haider smiled. 'Not when you're
expecting an important visit from a Ministry of Antiquities delegation first
thing tomorrow.
We need to make absolutely certain
everything's in perfect order. I'm sure you understand. Lift the barrier,
there's a good fellow.' Haider took out his wallet and generously slipped the
sergeant a couple of banknotes. 'A small token of my gratitude, for your kind
help.'
The money vanished instantly into
the sergeant's back pocket and he bowed his thanks. 'Of course, effendi. I am
at your service.' He clicked his fingers. 'You heard the professor.
Lift the barrier, Ali.’
The policeman scurried away to do
as he was told.
Haider climbed back into the
Packard, and as they passed under the barrier, the sergeant drew himself to
attention and saluted. Haider smiled at Deacon. 'See. I told you. Easy.'
Deacon wiped his brow with the
back of his sleeve. 'Let's just hope our luck holds out for the rest of it,
Major.'