Night Train to Memphis (40 page)

It would have been a formidable job even if we had had proper tools and if the weather had been comfortable. With only a tyre iron as a lever, and a temperature in the high nineties, and our
supply of water running low . . . I remember thinking sympathetically of Sisyphus, the guy in the Greek legend who had been condemned to spend eternity pushing a big rock up a hill. As soon as he
got it to the top, it rolled back down again.

When we stopped for a rest, Feisal mopped his forehead with what had once been a white handkerchief and was now a filthy rag. The sun had moved farther west and there was some shade. We passed
the water bottle around and sat there wheezing. Even John was too far gone to make jokes. His shirt was soaking wet and not all the liquid was sweat. The bullet wound must have opened up again. As
if he felt my eyes on him he raised his head and gave me a hard stare, daring me to speak. I didn’t.

‘A little more should do it,’ Feisal said, after a while.

‘Do you really think so?’ I asked

‘I really do.’ He took my hand and turned it, inspecting first the scraped palm and then the broken nails and bleeding fingers.

‘Those are not the hands of a lady,’ I said. ‘Guess I won’t be invited to the Junior Cotillion.’

‘You’re number one on my list,’ Feisal said softly. He raised my filthy, bloody hand to his lips.

John stood up. ‘I hate to interrupt this tender scene, but could we please get on with it?’

When Feisal called a halt there were still a lot of rocks on that slope. We all climbed into the jeep and Feisal backed off, to get a good running start, and then gunned the engine. I closed my
eyes, and kept them closed while the jeep bounced up and over the ridge and then began to descend.

The descent wasn’t as steep as the ascent, but it was just as bumpy. When we reached relatively level ground Feisal picked up speed and I opened my eyes.

He was watching me in the cracked rearview mirror ‘The worst is over,’ he yelled. ‘Not long now.’

‘Don’t look at me,’ I yelled back. ‘Keep your eyes on the – you should excuse the word – road.’

Experience is broadening, all right; never again would I complain about any road surface, anywhere. Compared to what we’d been through, this stretch was a piece of cake. I now had leisure
to realize how hot it was. The air was bone-dry; I could feel my skin stretching and cracking. After approximately an hour Feisal pulled up and turned off the engine.

‘Almost there. People come this way occasionally, so we’d better lie low until dark.’

Stretched out on the hard ground, we finished the water. I was bone-tired but not sleepy; I waited till John had dropped off, or passed out, whichever came first, before I spoke. ‘He
can’t go on much longer.’

‘I know. But there’s nothing we can do for him now. Get some rest, Vicky. You worked like a hero today.’

‘What’s going to happen when we reach Amarna?’

‘He’s got something in mind, but don’t ask me what. He told me where to go and what to say, but he did not condescend to explain further.’ Feisal stretched out with a
long, heartfelt sigh. ‘At least we can be sure no one has followed us. Only an idiot would attempt this route. Don’t worry, love, we’ll bribe or bully someone into helping
us.’

‘We haven’t any money.’

Feisal’s long fuzzy lashes were drooping. He opened his eyes a little wider and grinned at me. ‘We’ll sell something. You, perhaps. A woman who can work that hard should fetch
a good price.’

I let him sleep. I tried to, but I couldn’t, so I lay still counting John’s breaths and watching the sky darken and the stars brighten against the night.

Finally Feisal stirred. ‘Did we finish the water?’

‘There’s some fizzy lemonade. I’ve been hoarding it.’

‘Well done. All right, let’s do it. Johnny?’

‘I told you not to call me that,’ said a grumpy voice from the darkness.

‘I assumed you’d prefer it to “blue eyes.” Someday perhaps one of you will explain those esoteric comments to me.’

‘A cold day in hell, perhaps,’ John said.

When we emerged from the widening mouth of the wadi the moon was shining down on the plain of Amarna. Lights twinkled among the dark bank of trees along the river.

Nobody felt like cheering. Not yet.

‘Head north,’ John said. ‘I suggest you follow the cliffs as long as possible. Less chance of our being observed.’

‘If people don’t know we’re here, they’re deaf,’ I remarked.

‘Back to your old form, I see,’ John said. ‘Perhaps you’d prefer to walk. It’s only six or seven miles.’

I said no more.

Feisal proceeded at a slower speed, and if I hadn’t had other things on my mind I might have enjoyed the scenery. The cliffs enclosing the plain were icy-pale in that eerie light,
checkered with shadow where crevices and canyons broke their ramparts. One deeper, darker opening might have been the entrance to the royal wadi which we had visited earlier. After we crossed the
road that led from the landing to the tombs, Feisal stopped and shut off the ignition.

‘That’s the village, over there.’ He indicated a few lights along the river.

John didn’t move. ‘We’ll wait here.’

‘What are you up to now?’ Feisal asked.

‘Taking reasonable precautions, that’s all. Three people are more conspicuous than one, especially when two of them are obviously foreigners. Someone must have heard us. You can have
a look around and withdraw if there’s trouble. The house you want is on the northeast corner of the village. There’s a brickyard on one side and – ’

‘I know, you told me.’ Feisal hoisted himself out of the car and stretched. ‘I’ll signal if it’s safe to proceed and wait for you on the edge of the cultivation.
Six flashes and then two at ten-minute intervals.’

He started off. John watched him for a few minutes and then climbed over the side of the jeep. ‘Get out.’

‘What for?’

‘I would love to live long enough to see you respond to a sensible suggestion without asking why. A little exercise will be good for you.’

I got up, stretching. ‘Oh, God. If this is what it feels like to be eighty, I’m not sure I want to live that long.’

‘I’m sure.’ John steadied me as I climbed arthritically over the side of the jeep.

We settled down next to a rock outcropping a few hundred yards away. ‘This isn’t very comfortable,’ I grumbled, squirming around in the hope of finding some surface that
wasn’t littered with sharp pebbles.

‘It’s flat and it’s in shadow. Oh, for Christ’s sake. Here.’ He took off Feisal’s jacket and spread it on the ground.

‘Aren’t you cold?’

‘No.’

‘Have you got a temperature?’

He moved away from my outstretched hand and sat down a few feet away, his back against a rock. ‘It will certainly begin to rise if you don’t stop asking meaningless
questions.’

‘How about a few meaningful questions?’ I handed him one of the cans of soda.

‘Such as?’

‘Were you really planning to rob the Cairo Museum?’

‘Good God, no. I’ve already robbed the damned place twice, why should I do it again? A man’s reach should exceed his grasp, don’t you think?’

‘Stealing an entire tomb is certainly a challenge.’

‘Your sympathetic understanding touches me more than I can say.’ He opened the can and drank deeply before going on. ‘It isn’t the entire tomb, you know. Only a few
selected walls.’

‘I still find it difficult to believe. How he hoped to get away with it – ”

‘Oh, he’ll get away with it,’ John said calmly. ‘Unless we can stop him. It’s a pity, in a way. This might have been the high point of my distinguisbed career. You
can see why the idea appealed to me.’

‘When did it start appealing?’

John settled himself more comfortably. ‘My first arrangement with Blenkiron concerned the princess’s diadem. You ought to have noticed the anomaly of that item during your encounter
with my friends in Rome. All the other jewellery we – er – replaced was Renaissance or later in date, and it was all in private collections. The diadem was in the Cairo Museum, and only
a fanatical collector would want an item that could never be displayed. You might have postulated a man like Blenkiron – obscenely wealthy and totally unscrupulous-when you saw
that.’

‘Don’t hassle me, John. I’m trying very hard to be nice.’

‘Are you? Sorry, I hadn’t noticed. As I was saying, the beauty of my arrangement with Blenkiron was that I only had to liberate the objects from the museum. They stayed in the
country, so there were no nerve-racking encounters with customs. The only exception was the Tetisheri statuette. He was so besotted with it he insisted on carrying it around with him. However,
smuggling antiquities into Egypt isn’t as difficult as smuggling them out.’

‘So the one in the British Museum is a fake.’

John chuckled. ‘Ironically enough, Blenkiron’s is probably a fake as well. It wasn’t only the analysis of the paint that cast doubts on the one I removed from the B.M.;
there’s something a bit off about the hieroglyphs. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn that the first one was manufactured by the great-grandfather of the little old forger in
Gurnah who made the second one for me. Manufacturing forgeries is an old tradition there.’

‘How did you find him?’

‘It’s a long story,’ John said. ‘Reaching back into the mists of the past, and replete with details Schmidt would undoubtedly find extremely romantic’

‘Then don’t tell it now. The British Museum must have been a real test of your skills. Their security measures are pretty good.’

‘I shan’t respond to your subtle hints, darling, so don’t bother asking how I did it. Trade secrets, you know. However, I will say that the theatrical plots concocted by
writers and producers of thrillers are completely unworkable, especially the ones that depend on esoteric equipment. The more complicated a gadget, the more likely it is to break down just when you
need it.’

He paused for refreshment before going on. ‘The idea of stealing Tetisheri’s tomb came to Blenkiron soon after the Getty people began working on the other queen’s tomb –
that of Nefertari. It was really rather a clever idea. Restoring the reliefs was precisely the sort of philanthropic endeavour people had come to expect of him, and it gave him a perfect
opportunity to have them copied. There was even a suggestion that a replica of the tomb might be made, in order to satisfy tourists without endangering the original. If at any point his activities
had been discovered he could claim that’s what he was doing, as a boyish surprise for his good friends in the EAO. It was a monumental job, of course, but as Feisal pointed out,
Blenkiron’s rich enough to buy all the expertise he needs.’

‘And the experts,’ I murmured. ‘Poor Jean-Louis.’

‘That was one of the most difficult aspects, actually,’ John said. ‘You’d be surprised how many honest scholars there are. They had to he approached very, very carefully.
But there aren’t many positions in archaeology open, and there are a lot of poor, overeducated devils like Mazarin and Feisal seeking employment. Mazarin wasn’t the one I would have
chosen. Instead of admitting his own venality he had to convince himself he was guided by noble motives. Such men are dangerous. Their consciences are never at ease, and they are apt to crack under
pressure. I told Blenkiron that. He ignored my advice, and now you know why. He was prepared from the first to remove inconvenient witnesses.’

‘Is that why you tried to pull out?’

‘It was certainly a consideration. However, Max was an even stronger deterrent. If you recall, he was already vexed with me when we ran into one another in Sweden. I had advised Blenkiron
not to hire him for this job and Max knew it. He took my refusal to work with him personally, I’m sorry to say. He’s such a sensitive chap.’

‘How did he learn your real name?’

I had caught him off guard. The empty can crumpled in his hands. ‘That’s not – ’

‘You’ve been controlling the direction of this conversation. Now it’s my turn. How did they find you? Max didn’t know who you were before. He kept calling you
Smythe.’

John didn’t answer. I knew he must be feeling rotten or he’d have been able to come up with a facile lie. Not that I’d have believed it. I knew the answer.

‘It was through me, wasn’t it? Max knew you weren’t dead. He knew my identity.
She
knew it, from him. When she set out to track you down she started with me. They must
have been watching me for months, hoping – expecting – you’d turn up. All they had to do then was follow you home.’

John tossed the crumpled can aside. ‘What difference does it make?’

‘None at all,’ I said morosely. ‘It’s just the last goddamn straw that broke . . . Look! Isn’t that a light?’

John caught my arm as I started to stand up. ‘It’s a light, certainly. One of several. Hold on.’

‘You think it’s not Feisal?’

‘There hasn’t been time for him to reach El Till, much less have a look around. They’re coming this way. Oh, dear, oh, dear,’ John said. ‘I always expect the worst,
but I loathe having it happen.’

I

‘T
HEY GOT HIM
,’ I whispered.