That’s what they all promise. And sooner or later, in the Middle East or Ireland or the States, the noble aims are distorted; violence inspires answering violence, and often the ones who
suffer most are the poor devils both sides claim to be defending. The repressive measures of the State Security forces had won a lot of waverers over to the revolutionary cause, and I
wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that everyone in the village was a secret sympathizer. We were in Middle Egypt now; the city of Asyut, across the river, had been and probably still was
one of the centres of rebellion – or terrorism, depending on which side you supported.
The door finally opened and Feisal went inside. John had gotten out of the car and was leaning against the door, hands in his jacket pockets. I’d never known him to carry a weapon before.
I wondered if he really would use the gun or if the guy inside the house would shoot first.
Feisal was only gone for ten minutes. When he returned he was accompanied by his – friend? He didn’t look very friendly. He had wound his woollen scarf around his head and throat,
but I could see his face clearly in the bright moonlight.
‘It’s all right,’ Feisal said, eyes fixed on John’s right-hand pocket. ‘He’s agreed. He’s not happy about it, but he has agreed.’
‘Good.’ John took his hand out of his pocket and opened the car door. ‘Come on, Vicky.’
The sight of me didn’t make the other guy any happier. He let out a spate of low-voiced Arabic and began waving his arms. I gave him an ingratiating smile. ‘What’s he mad
about?’ I asked.
‘Everything,’ Feisal said. ‘I don’t blame him. The situation has deteriorated, if that is possible. They’re setting up checkpoints on this side of the river now.
And along the Red Sea highway.’
‘That’s encouraging,’ John said coolly. ‘They don’t know which route we’ve taken.’
‘They’ll soon find out if we don’t get moving. This way.’
We followed our unwilling host to the back of the house, where the jeep – or, to be more accurate, the rusting skeleton of a jeep – was parked. The doors were tied on with rope. I
climbed over the side, noting, as I sat down, that there were a few springs left. One, at least.
Feisal dumped the luggage in on top of me and turned to John. ‘How much money have we?’
‘A couple of hundred pounds. Why?’
‘We’re going to need more supplies. Water, blankets, petrol. No, don’t argue, just listen. The moon will be down before long and I daren’t risk driving this route in the
dark. We’ll have to hole up somewhere for the rest of the night, and probably all day tomorrow. I presume you don’t want to arrive in broad daylight?’
John began, ‘It’s only thirty or forty miles – ’
‘As the vulture flies. You’ve never done this. I have. You don’t know this country. I do.’
The moonlight drained all the colour from John’s face. It looked like bleached bone. I said impulsively, ‘You’ve got to get some rest before we go much farther,
John.’
He turned on me. ‘I told you to keep quiet.’
‘Keep quiet yourself. Feisal, how long – ’
Feisal waved his hands wildly. ‘Don’t ask. Don’t ask any more questions, either of you. Leave this to me.’
Our reluctant ally was becoming more reluctant by the minute, but – in exchange for all the money we possessed – he grudgingly produced a few jerricans of gas, a couple of blankets
– taken off a donkey, to judge by the smell – several bottles of water, and a six-pack of what turned out to be fizzy lemon-flavoured soda. Our departure was not marked by formal
farewells. I started to say thank you, but the man just shook his head and trudged off.
After a few abortive coughs the engine started. The racket was appalling. It must have roused every sleeper who wasn’t already awake, but not a light showed in any of the windows.
I popped the top of a can and poured half a cup of lemonade down my front when Feisal threw the jeep into gear. We went bouncing off across the plain; there may have been a track of sorts, but
you couldn’t prove it by me. I clenched my teeth to keep from biting my tongue and refrained from comment. I knew why Feisal was proceeding at such an uncomfortable speed. We had to get well
away from the village and into hiding before morning, and the moon was setting. I had an unpleasant feeling I also knew why Feisal didn’t want to drive in the dark, and that suspicion was
confirmed when I saw we were heading straight for the cliffs that rose sheer ahead. They call them wadis – canyons, cut by water, in the ramparts of the high desert. Flash floods and natural
erosion have littered the uneven ground with rubble varying from pebbles to Chevy-sized boulders. The one into which Feisal drove, without slackening speed, was fairly wide at first, and there was
a track of sorts through the centre. The boulders weren’t much bigger than toasters. We hit every one of them. I bit my tongue.
Before long the moonlight faded as the canyon narrowed and the cliffs closed in on either side. Feisal switched on the headlights. They didn’t help much. One had burned out and the other
was about to go. Feisal went on a little farther and then stopped, with a jolt that jarred my back teeth together. He turned off the lights and the ignition.
‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘The terrain gets rougher from here on. I don’t want to break an axle.’
‘Rougher?’ I croaked.
Our voices echoed eerily in the silence. It was so dark I couldn’t even see their outlines, but I heard the springs creak when John shifted his weight.
‘How much farther?’ he asked, in a voice flat with fatigue.
‘Irrelevant.’ Feisal sounded equally exhausted. ‘We can’t go on tonight. Let’s get some rest. Hand out a couple of those blankets, Vicky. You can curl up in the
backseat.’
‘Curl up is right,’ I said. ‘I’d rather sleep on a rock.’
Which was precisely what I did. Feisal cleared away some of the bigger boulders, leaving a space just wide enough for the three of us to lie down, huddling together for warmth. I expected John
would make some rude comment about bundling but he didn’t speak at all. He was trying to keep his teeth from chattering, I think. We were all shivering; the air was cold and the blankets were
too thin to be much use. Without discussing the subject aloud, Feisal and I put John between us. He fell asleep immediately. Not even the hard ground and the stench of donkey and the cold could
keep my eyes open, but as I drifted off I was thinking longingly of Suzi’s great big furry white coat.
Against all the odds I slept for over six hours. It was the heat that woke me, the heat and a sensation of vague discomfort. When I pried my sticky eyes open I realized I had
shifted position during the night; John’s head was on my shoulder and my left arm, which was around him, had gone numb. He looked like one of the better-preserved mummies, skin stretched
tight over cheekbones and forehead, eyelids shrivelled and sunken, lips cracked.
I heard a gurgling sound and looked up through my loosened hair to see Feisal standing over me. His appearance wasn’t much of an improvement over John’s – or, I suspected, my
own. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he offered me the bottle of water. I swallowed, or tried to – my throat was as dry as the sandy dust – and shook my head.
John slept for another half hour. When he opened his eyes I croaked out a cheery ‘Good morning.’ Removing himself from my limp embrace, he sat up and lowered his head onto his
hands.
‘Did I ever mention,’ he said, ‘that one of your least lovable characteristics is that you are so bloody cheerful early in the morning?’
‘You’re usually pretty bloody cheerful yourself.’
He lifted his head. ‘On the occasions to which you refer I had excellent reasons to be – ’
‘Stop it,’ Feisal ordered. ‘Come and have breakfast, such as it is.’
Water and dry bread, oranges and hard-boiled eggs was what it was. There was no way of heating water even if we had had coffee or tea with us, which we didn’t. Chewing on the hard bread, I
studied our surroundings: stony desert underfoot, steep rocky walls around. There wasn’t so much as a blade of grass, much less a tree, dead or alive. The pale limestone of the cliff opposite
dazzled in the sunlight.
‘At least it’s not raining,’ I said.
John gave me a look in which amusement and exasperation were mingled. Feisal was not amused.
‘Pray it doesn’t. We don’t have much rain here, but when it comes it comes hard and the water is all funnelled through these wadis. A flash flood would be the end of
us.’
‘Say something positive,’ I suggested.
‘I’m trying my damnedest,’ Feisal said morosely. ‘All right, let’s take stock of where we stand.’ Clearing a patch of sand with a sweep of his hand, he took a
pen from his pocket and used the blunt end to sketch a rough map. ‘Here’s the river, here’s the wadi we’re in. And this is the one we’re heading for. It passes the
Hatnub Quarries and comes out eventually into the Amarna plain near the southern tombs.’
I studied the sketch doubtfully. ‘The two wadis don’t connect.’
‘Not according to the standard maps, no. But it’s barely possible to get a vehicle through,’ Feisal said, rubbing his prickly chin. ‘At least it was five years ago. I
can’t be more specific about the route because it’s too hard to describe. If anything happens to me – ’
‘It will happen to all of us,’ John said evenly. ‘At this point you’re the least expendable member of the party. More precious than diamonds, more precious –
’
‘Than gold,’ I said. ‘One point for me.’
John grinned, or tried to. Feisal rolled his eyes.
‘You two are a pair, I’ll say that. Can’t you keep your minds on essentials?’
Laughter is one of the two things that make life worthwhile. Another of John’s sententious sayings, delivered one morning after he had demonstrated the importance of the other one. He was
right on both counts. There are times when you have to laugh to keep from screaming, and if I’m in a tight spot I’d rather be with someone who makes bad jokes instead of big dramatic
scenes.
‘If anything happens,’ Feisal repeated, ‘keep heading west.’
John’s hand obliterated the sketch. ‘Forget that. Will we make it today?’
‘We’ll have to,’ Feisal said curtly. ‘With luck, sometime this afternoon. That’s the next question. We don’t want to come bursting onto the scene while the
site is crowded with tourists and guides and guards, do we?’
‘No,’ John agreed. ‘Let’s set our ETA at nine p.m., when people will be inside eating and watching telly.’
‘We’ve missed Schmidt,’ I said.
My voice was steady, I think, but John said, with unexpected gentleness, ‘Don’t worry about him, Vicky. I have a feeling we’ve both underestimated the old boy rather badly, and
even if they catch up with him they won’t harm him so long as we’re on the loose.’
‘I hope you’re right.’
‘I’m always right,’ John said firmly. ‘Anyhow, we can hardly be said to have missed him when we don’t know for certain where he is or what he’s up to. Pray
that he’s gone on to Cairo. If he can convince someone in authority to search that boat we’ll be in the clear.’
‘The boat won’t he there yet, will it?’ I asked, mopping my sweating face with my sleeve.
‘I shouldn’t think so. But you can be sure Blenkiron has moved up his schedule. He’ll load and be under way as soon as he possibly can, and the
Queen of the Nile
is
capable of a pretty fair turn of speed. If she travels night and day and Blenkiron uses his influence to get her through the locks without delay, she could reach Cairo in a few days. We – or
Schmidt – must get there before the boat does.’
He reached casually into his pocket and took out the Tutankhamon pectoral. Glowing with soft shades of gold and turquoise and coral, it covered his entire palm. The giant blue beetle that
dominated the design held a sun disk of carnelian in its raised pincers.
Feisal caught his breath. ‘From Blenkiron’s collection? Good thinking, Johnny. That should be enough – ’
John shook his dishevelled head. ‘It should be enough to capture the attention of the museum authorities, certainly; that’s why I – er – borrowed it. But once Blenkiron
is out of the country with his collection, it will be my word against his as to where this came from. Eventually they may discover that the other objects are forgeries as well, but things move
slowly in this part of the world and bureaucrats in any part of the world are reluctant to take action. And while they are discussing and debating and arguing and speculating, we will be wasting
away in a dungeon cell. If we’re lucky.’
‘I like you better when you’re being frivolous,’ I said.
‘I don’t.’ Feisal hoisted himself to his feet. ‘We’d better get started.’
Even after seeing the terrain I wouldn’t have believed it would take six hours to cover less than thirty miles. I suppose it could have been worse. Nobody got bitten by a scorpion or a
cobra and the jeep held together, except for one of the doors, which Feisal wired back on. We only had two flat tyres. Smaller canyons opened up along the way and sometimes it was impossible to
tell the main wadi from a dead end. We went for almost a mile into one of the latter before Feisal realized his error. He had to back out. As the sun rose higher it beat straight down into the
canyon and the temperature kept climbing. We were all sticky wet and itching with sweat when we reached the end of the first wadi and found the steep slope ahead completely blocked by fallen
boulders.
‘Is there a way around?’ I asked.
Both of them turned to glare at me. Feisal had taken off his shirt; perspiration ran down his face and puddled in the hollows over his collarbones. It was a pity I was too hot and tired to enjoy
the view, because he did have a great body. John had chosen not to display his.
‘No, my dear,’ said Feisal, baring all his beautiful white teeth in a snarl. ‘This is it. The only way. There must have been a minor quake or a flash flood since I was last
here.’
He got out and began fumbling among the miscellany of rusted tools in the backseat. I didn’t ask any more questions. The options were obvious even to me: either we abandoned the jeep and
proceeded on foot, or we tried to clear away enough of the debris so we could go on.