The Age of Ra (22 page)

Their luck held for another two days, during which time they found and eliminated another six holy sites dotted among the Chinese-owned oilfields of Libya's south-eastern Al Kufrah municipality.

Then, just as David was thinking that the time had come to cut and run, a spotter plane located them. It flew directly over the three vehicles, returned for a second pass, then hurtled off into the blue. The Freegyptians sent trails of machine-gun fire after it, nipping at its tail.

''Saqqara Birds not working, so the Libyans have gone conventional,'' said David. ''Pilot's radioing base right now, relaying our position.''

''We should make for the border,'' said Zafirah.

''Too damn right we should. They'll be scrambling jet fighters from Maaten al-Sarra. Say twenty minutes for them to get here. We're about fifteen miles from Freegypt. It's going to be tight.''

The ZT and the two trucks tore across the desert at a mean sixty miles an hour, ploughing straight over rocks, clefts, and other obstacles normally best avoided at that sort of speed. Axles grumbled, suspension groaned. Everyone kept one eye on the sky. David reflexively sent up a small prayer to Osiris, asking for protection, while the Freegyptians, with no gods to importune, put their faith in the laws of probability. It was probable that they would reach the border in time. It was probable that the planes would arrive too late to catch them.

Probability, however, had little regard for human wishes, and Osiris, if he was listening today, turned a deaf ear.

A pair of Nephthysian jets appeared on the horizon to the rear, flying low - Locusts, to judge by the swept-back wings and the twin-bubble cockpit canopy. David's map and compass told him that he and his team were on Freegyptian soil, or at any rate so close you'd hardly notice the difference. Borders, however, were tricky things to define, especially from the air, and he suspected the Neph pilots' orders didn't involve giving the interlopers the benefit of the doubt. Two or three miles further into Freegypt, and there would have been no question of attacking. It would have been an overt infringement of Freegypt's sovereignty. But here, at the point of contiguity, in a stretch of desolate no-man's-land, there was room for uncertainty. Margin for error.

A bolt of purple
ba
hit the ground a few yards to the left of the ZT. The vehicle rocked. Debris from a freshly drilled crater rained down on the roof and bonnet. A second bolt struck just in front, and the ZT reared and came down with neck-jarring force. The windscreen shattered. Glass fragments flew everywhere inside the cab. Zafirah fought to maintain control, pulling out of a skid that threatened to turn into a somersault. The off-roader slewed and slalomed but kept going.

The Locusts shot ahead in side-by-side formation. Afterburners glowed as the planes went into a steep ascent, peeled off in different directions, and came round for a second run.

''Faster!'' David yelled, wind slamming into his face. ''We've got to go faster! It's our only hope!''

''No shit!'' Zafirah shouted back, shifting down a gear and flooring the accelerator.

In one of the trucks behind, a Freegyptian clambered out through the cab's rear window and loosed off a volley of bullets at the oncoming jets from the machine gun mounted on the flatbed. He might as well have been spitting at the planes for all the good it did.
Ba
crackled outward from under their wings. Zafirah swerved hard left, then hard right. Two of the
ba
blasts struck either side, missing narrowly both times. There was a loud detonation from behind, and in the wing mirror David saw the rearmost of the two trucks erupt, blown apart by purple light. Orange flame billowed a split-second later as the truck's fuel tank went up. Bodies and bits of bodies were hurled clear as the wreckage spun end over end, disintegrating a little more with each impact. When the truck finally came to rest, it barely looked like anything that might once have rolled off a production line. It was several sections of twisted, charred metal that were somehow still clinging on to one another, like an animal carcase after flaying and evisceration, held together by sinews alone.

Zafirah swore loudly and angrily. The two Freegyptians in the back seat of the ZT swore too.

The Locusts veered around for a third pass, but this time they did not open fire. As they thundered overhead they see-sawed their wings in a victory salute, then peeled off in a 180 degree turn, heading back to base.

''Bastards,'' David hissed, but in his heart he knew the pilots had let them off lightly. They could have kept on strafing till all three vehicles were gone. This way, honour was served and there were survivors left to carry the message back home:
That's how we treat people who come into our country and cause trouble
.

The ZT and the remaining truck drove the rest of the way to Luxor at a sombre pace, much like a funeral cortege.

16. Fraternity

T
he inner chamber of the Temple of Hatshepsut had been transformed since David's first visit. Now there were maps tacked to the walls, showing Africa north of the equator, most of Arabia and even the southern reaches of the Ottoman Empire. There were trestle tables and canvas chairs. There was electric lighting, a TV set, a shortwave radio, a phone. Cables snaked around the floor, all leading to a side chamber where a generator hummed. A mausoleum, a place of the dead, had become a place of activity, a base of operations - a command bunker.

When David walked in, the Lightbringer was busy conferring with half a dozen of the local faction leaders. Glancing round, the Lightbringer held up a hand -
won't be a second
- and continued his discussion. David stood by and listened. He barely understood a word being said but it was clear who was in charge here. He marvelled at the authority his brother commanded. The warlords were a slab-faced, rough-and-ready lot, the sort of men who were very hard to impress. The Lightbringer had them hanging on his every word.

David was still finding it hard to reconcile the Steven he used to know with the masked figure before him, this self-made icon, this sweet-talking demagogue. Five years was a long time. People changed. But they tended to change into slightly different but still recognisable forms of themselves. They didn't, as a rule, undergo a complete metamorphosis, as from caterpillar to butterfly. Watching Steven at work, he was filled with a sense of pride. He imagined this was how younger brothers felt about older brothers, how Steven had once felt about him: pleased to be able to look up to him, glad to be related by blood, conscious that what was great about the other might be great about himself as well.

The meeting ended. The Lightbringer dismissed his confederates. They filed out, most of them giving David a nod of acknowledgement as they passed. One of them patted him on the shoulder, a gesture of congratulation and of commiseration too. He had done well in Libya. Such a shame that Freegyptian lives had been lost.

''Beer?''

Once it was just the two of them left in the chamber, the Lightbringer relaxed his shoulders, eased out his spine. Mask notwithstanding, he was Steven once more.

''Why not?'' said David.

Steven fetched two bottles from a small refrigerator. He uncapped them and handed one to David. Then he rolled up his mask to just below his nose and took a sip from his bottle. David drank too, sneaking a sidelong, surreptitious glance at his brother. A small portion of Steven's left cheek was exposed and he could see the bottom of the burn-damaged area, hard, waxy scar tissue puckering the unmarred skin next to it. The edge of the scarring formed a surprisingly rounded, neat curve. It looked almost like a cattle brand.

''Don't stare,'' Steven said. ''It's rude.''

''Sorry. I just... One day you'll show me your whole face, won't you? I'm sure I can take it.''

''I'm sure you can, and maybe one day I will. For now, though, it's not something I'm happy about sharing with others. You understand. I used to be a good-looking young lad. Handsome, I'd even go so far as to say.''

''Hey, you are my brother.''

''And you, Dave, are still good-looking. Try to imagine suddenly losing that, becoming the opposite of handsome, having a face that makes people wince and turn away. You wouldn't like it, trust me.''

''I'm sorry it happened, Steven. I'm... I'm sorry about a lot of things that have happened.''

''You mean between us? Ah, fuck it. It's all in the past.''

''I don't think I was the best of brothers to you.''

''What are you talking about?'' Steven exclaimed.

''You know, I wasn't very tolerant. I didn't--''

''Don't talk bollocks. You were a brilliant brother. You looked after me. I know Dad often paid you to, but you could have just taken the money and ignored me. He wouldn't have known. And I was a proper little shit. I'm not afraid to admit it. I was a pest to start with, and I grew up into a pain in the arse.
I
wouldn't have looked after me if I'd been you. I'd have told me to fuck off.''

''I more or less did at school.''

''And I had it coming, and it was probably the best thing you could have done. You're talking about the day you beat up those three boys who beat me up, right? What you said afterwards, that this was the last time you'd do anything like that for me - bang, a revelation. I realised I'd always been counting on you to protect me and it meant I could get away with anything. I'm a born troublemaker, but I was safe because big brother Dave would always be there to mop up my messes. And then, all at once, it seemed he wasn't going to any more. I knew then that I had to sort myself out and think about the consequences of my actions in future and take responsibility for them, because otherwise I was going to keep screwing up and there'd be nobody to bail me out. That was the day - I'm not kidding - when I started to become an adult. You shouldn't feel guilty about what you did. You should give yourself a thumping great pat on the back.''

''Really? OK then, I will.''

''And speaking of pats on the back,'' Steven said, ''excellent job in Libya, Dave. Fucking fantastic. I've been watching one of the Libyan national networks.'' He nodded at the television. ''Reception's crap but the message is loud and clear. Our little invasion is all over the news. Tripoli's up in arms. They've lodged a formal complaint with Cairo and they're lobbying the Afro-Arabian Synodical Council to take action. The hawks on the Council are arguing for military retaliation and even the doves are cooing about some form of 'robust response', which is liberal-speak for the same thing. Whether they end up approving reprisals is open to debate, but it's looking likely. The Libyans are pretty hot under the collar about it all and say their priests have been having visions of disgruntlement from on high, which, if true, is hardly surprising. We've stopped worshippers worshipping. It's only temporary but that doesn't stop the gods feeling the pinch. Meanwhile the parliament in Cairo is strenuously denying any involvement in the attacks and blaming a terrorist element in Upper Freegypt.''

''That'd be us.''

''It would. They've even named me, in the hope of diverting the blame. For the first time Freegyptian politicians have publicly acknowledged the Lightbringer's existence. They're pointing the finger of blame right at me, but it's not helping. They still look bad, weak, because it appears they're not in full control of their own country.''

''Which they aren't.''

''Not down here they aren't. Down here, I am. So Cairo can whimper all it wants about its innocence but Libyan tempers aren't going to be soothed, and if retaliation is sanctioned, you can bet the Libyans won't do it by halves. They'll mobilise everything they've got, and they'll have backup from the Sudan and Chad, who're scared we might go in and do something similar to them and would like to pre-empt that if possible. All in all it's looking good. We tweaked the Nephs' noses and they're going to react exactly as hoped, lashing out. And it's thanks to you, Dave.''

Steven clinked the neck of his bottle against David's.

''You don't look completely delighted,'' he said. ''Why not?''

''I'm exhausted,'' David replied. ''A week on the move, without a decent night's rest...''

''And?''

''And we lost four men, don't forget that.''

''I regret it, truly I do,'' said Steven, sounding sincere. ''I've already sent my condolences to their families. But we knew, going in, there'd be casualties. I was hoping it wouldn't be so soon, but still. Troops die. Leaders have to be prepared to accept that, otherwise they have no business starting a war.''

''I know. But I saw those men die, with my own eyes. You weren't there. I was. You can talk casually about casualties, but watching it happen is a whole different thing. It's not something anyone can ever get used to. I just want you to bear that in mind, Steven. You sent four of your men out to their deaths. And they're only the first. There will be others.''

''Fair point,'' said Steven. ''Duly noted. What you haven't mentioned is that I nearly send
you
out to your death.''