The Hidden Oasis (63 page)

‘We’re out of here,’ said Flin, grabbing Freya’s arm and propelling her through the first of the curtains hanging across the chamber entrance. As he did so Kiernan’s voice rang out from the darkness behind.

‘Do you see what it can do! Oh my Holy Lord, it’s a miracle! A beautiful miracle! Humble yourselves under the mighty hand of God! Thank you, Lord, thank you!’

As soon as they emerged into the courtyard, the shadows now lengthening as the sun dropped west, they started to sprint. Freya was fighting back an irresistible urge to vomit. She no longer cared what happened to Girgis and the others or about avenging her sister’s murder. She just wanted to get out.

They didn’t take the direct route back through the temple. Instead they left the yard by a side gate and zigzagged their way through a labyrinth of passages and galleries and colonnades in an effort to bypass the flak-jacketed guards at the front of the building. Eventually, more by luck than design, they emerged into the second of the giant courts through which they had passed earlier, the one crowded with an array of different-sized obelisks. They
paused to catch their breath, listening, making sure they weren’t being followed and then ran on. They had just passed through the pylon at the head of the court into the first and outermost quadrangle when the curious pulsing sound again reverberated behind them, exactly the same volume as it had been back in the chamber. The entire temple complex seemed to shudder.

‘We’ve got to get out of the oasis!’ cried Flin, waving her on across the court, stumbling on the uneven, moss-covered paving. ‘Whatever they’ve started, this is just the beginning of it. We have to get out!’

‘What’s going to happen?’ Freya shouted, powering along beside him.

‘I don’t know, but on the basis of what we’ve just seen it’s not going to be pretty. And that’s before you even start factoring in all the curses that are supposed to have been laid on the oasis.’

Thirty minutes ago Freya would have dismissed this last comment with a snort of derision. After the events in the chamber, she took them very much at face value.

‘Come on!’ he cried. ‘We’ve got to move!’

They reached the first pylon, the one at the very front of the temple complex, and started through, its trapezoid towers rearing above them, a sea of tree-tops spreading away into the distance ahead.

‘What if there are more of those men?’ she called, remembering the shadowy figures she’d seen lurking in the undergrowth as they made their way up the valley earlier. ‘The guys with the sunglasses.’

‘We’ll deal with that when it happens. Let’s just get down—’

There was a blur of movement and a squat, brawny figure stepped out from a niche in the pylon wall and slammed a ring-covered fist hard into the Englishman’s face, splitting his lip and knocking him to the floor. An identical figure emerged from a niche in the opposite wall, tripped Freya and sent her sprawling down beside Flin, her forehead cracking on the paving, her palms grazing on the bare stone.

‘Hello, Eengleesh,’ said a gruff voice. ‘You go home?’

‘You go grave,’ came another, eerily similar voice.

Laughter, and then the feel of rough hands hoisting them to their feet.

The moment the lights had come back on in the chamber and Freya and Flin’s absence had been noted, Girgis had sent the twins after them, which was a shame because after two days pissing around doing bugger all things had finally started to get interesting, what with Usman getting barbecued like that. Funniest thing they’d ever seen, fucking hilarious. But Girgis was the boss – for the moment at least – and so off they’d gone, heading straight back through the temple so that they’d reached the front of the complex ahead of the two westerners. Taking up position inside the entrance gateway, they’d pounced the moment their quarry had appeared, giving that poncey Englishman a bloody good thumping, which he’d had coming for a while now.

They hauled the pair of them to their feet, the Englishman wiping blood off his chin and jabbering at them, first in what they assumed was his native language, then in Arabic, some shit about inscriptions and curses. They gave him another couple of punches and dragged him and the girl back into the first of the giant courtyards where
they made them kneel side by side while they discussed how best to get rid of them. Bullet through the head? Slit their throats? Stamp them to death? This being their last job before retirement they wanted to make sure they got it right. Went out on a high.

‘I vote we put them in with Usman,’ said the one with the torn earlobe.

‘I don’t think they’d let us,’ replied his sibling, clearly disappointed by the fact. ‘In case, you know, stuff got out. Nice idea though.’

There was a booming thud as another of those weird pulsing sounds echoed around the temple, the ground quivering underneath their feet. Barodi, or whatever the hell his name was, waved his hands frantically, banging on about curses again, forces that couldn’t be controlled. They kicked him in the balls – try that for a force! – and he slumped down, gasping. The girl screamed and threw a punch at them, so they gave her a good slap as well. Silly pig.
Ugly
pig. Thin. Way too thin.

They backed off a couple of steps and resumed their discussion while in front of them the Englishman slowly hauled himself back onto his knees.

‘You have to believe me,’ he pleaded, helping the girl up as well, checking she was OK. ‘This is just the start. We have to get out of the oasis. You can do whatever you want once we’re out of here, but if we stay we’re dead. You understand what I’m saying? We’re dead. All of us. You too.’

They tried to ignore him, but he kept on at them and in the end they concluded a bullet through the head would be the best thing after all, if only because it would be
the quickest way of shutting the prick up. Decision made, they took another couple of paces back and pulled out their Glocks. The Englishman wrapped an arm around the girl and drew her protectively against him while continuing to rant.

‘You want to take him or the girl?’ asked the twin with the flattened nose.

‘What the fuck’s wrong with you!’

‘Easy either way,’ replied his brother.

‘This whole place is going to blow and you’re discussing who’s going to shoot who!’

‘I’ll take him, then,’ said the first twin.

‘Fine by me,’ replied his sibling.

‘At least let her go!’

‘Count of three,’ they said in unison, lifting their guns. ‘One … Two …’

‘You ignorant fucking shitbags!’ he spat. ‘So much for Red Devils always looking out for each other!’

‘Three.’

No shots. The twins stood there, arms still extended, guns pointing, a faintly quizzical expression on their faces.

‘You support El-Ahly?’ they both asked simultaneously.

‘What?’

Barodi looked ashen-faced, confused, his arm still wrapped around the girl.

‘You said Red Devils always look out for each other,’ said one.

‘Why would you say that unless you supported El-Ahly?’ put in the other.

‘Are you an
Ahlawy?’
they chorused.

He couldn’t seem to work out if they were toying with him or not, playing some sort of sick joke. Beside him the girl was trembling, her eyes darting back and forth in shocked bemusement.

‘Are you an
Ahlawy?’
they repeated.

‘I’m a season ticket holder,’ he mumbled.

The twins frowned. This was unexpected. And troubling. They lowered their weapons slightly.

‘Where do you sit?’

‘What?’

‘In the stadium. Where do you sit?’

‘You’re about to kill me and you want to know where I sit to watch football!’

The guns came up again.

‘West stand, lower tier. Just above the touchline.’

The twins exchanged a look. A season ticket holder. And in the west stand. Just above the touchline. Impressive. Although he could be bluffing.

‘How many League titles have we won?’

The Englishman rolled his eyes in disbelief.

‘Is this some sort of fucking—’

‘How many?’

‘Thirty-three.’

‘Egyptian Cups?’

‘Thirty-five.’

‘African Champions Leagues?’

He counted on his fingers, the girl kneeling there beside him, wide-eyed and bewildered.

‘Four,’ he said. ‘No, five!’

The twins exchanged another glance – the guy certainly knew his stuff. There was a pause, then, just to be sure:

‘Who scored the winning goal in the 2007 Cup Final?’

‘For God’s sake! Osama Hosay, from an Ahmad Sedik cross. I was there. Mohamed Abu Treika gave me a complimentary ticket after I took his sons round the Egyptian Museum.’

That sealed it. Orders or no orders, foreigners or not, there was no way they were going to take out a fellow Red Devil. Especially not one who’d done a favour for Mohamed Abu Treika. They lowered their guns and slipped them back inside their jackets, motioning the westerners to their feet, muttering a grudging sorry, didn’t know you were Devils, no hard feelings, maybe catch you at a game some time. They all faced each other in embarrassed silence, then, as yet another of the deep pulsing sounds echoed around the temple complex, Barodi started pulling the girl backwards before the pair of them turned and broke into a run. As they reached the gateway at the front of the temple the Englishman slowed and shouted over his shoulder.

‘Entoo aarfeen en Girgis Zamalekawy.
You know Girgis supports Zamalek, don’t you?’

And then they were gone, out through the gateway and into the oasis beyond.

‘Did he say Girgis supported Zamalek?’ asked one of the twins, horrified.

‘That’s exactly what he said,’ replied his brother, equally shocked.

‘We’ve been working for a White Knight?’

‘A
Zamalekawy?’

They looked at each other, uncomprehending. Apart from their turd of a father there was nothing in the world
they despised more than a Zamalek supporter – scum, all of them, lowlife scum. And now they’d been told they were working for one. Had been for the last decade.

‘Let’s get out of here.’

‘Girgis?’

‘We’ll deal with him back in Cairo. Teach him a lesson he’ll never forget.’

‘Wanker!’

‘Wanker!’

They scowled and were about to set off towards the main gateway when the brother with the torn ear suddenly reached out and grabbed his brother’s arm.

‘We could take a bit of that gold with us,’ he said. ‘You know, from the big pillar thing.’

He pulled a flick-knife from his pocket, clicked it open, made a sawing motion.

‘Strip it off, sell it in Khan el-Khalili.’

‘It might be an idea,’ agreed the other.

‘Buy something nice for Mama.’

‘Open another
torly
stand.’

‘Make the whole thing worth it.’

They hesitated, the courtyard trembling as yet another booming pulse filled the air. Then, with a nod, they turned and started trotting back through the temple complex, discussing gold, and
torly,
and how they’d like to squeeze every Zamalek supporter in the world into that glass tank, flick a switch and watch them fry.

‘What the hell did you say to them?’ gasped Freya as she and Flin ran out through the monumental pylon and across the narrow clearing in front of the temple.

‘I told them I’m a Red Devil.’

‘What?’

‘Long story. For the moment I just want to get out of here. Come on!’

They leapt down the steps that led up to the temple platform. Reaching flat ground, they charged on through the trees, slipping and stumbling on the uneven paving, the pulses now coming at regular intervals, each one sending a rippling tremor through the oasis, as though the rock itself was shivering at the sound.

‘Wasn’t there something about a crocodile? And a snake.’

‘The Two Curses,’ replied Flin, hurdling a giant root that had driven its way up through the path.
‘May evildoers be crushed in the jaws of Sobek and swallowed into the belly of the serpent Apep.’

‘Which means?’

‘I haven’t the faintest bloody idea. Come on!’

They continued downwards, sphinxes and obelisks lining the causeway to either side of them, the gorge starting to narrow. So insistent was the throbbing of the Benben that it was only now Freya noticed that the screech and chatter of birdsong – previously so pervasive – had disappeared, as had the buzz and hum of insects. She looked around and up, but aside from a couple of what looked like vultures circling high in the sky above, the valley seemed suddenly empty and denuded of wildlife. Flin must have noticed the same thing because he slowed to a walk and then a halt, surveying the trees and cliffs before breaking into a run again, pushing on with even more urgency than before. The absence of fauna seemed to have spooked him as much as, if not more than, the booming of the stone.

‘At least all Molly’s people seem to have gone as well,’ called Freya, pounding along behind him. She’d been scanning the undergrowth as they descended and hadn’t spotted any of the shadowy figures she’d glimpsed on their way up through the valley. Her hopes were rising that they might actually make it down to the tunnel and out of the oasis without being challenged. ‘They must all have …’

Flin came to an abrupt stop. A giant dum palm reared to their left, a colossal granite arm to their right. Ahead, standing in the middle of the causeway, was a man in a flak jacket and sand-coloured army combats, a Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine-gun pushed tight into his shoulder, its muzzle aimed directly at them. A second flak-jacketed figure stepped out from behind the palm tree, also wielding a submachine-gun. Flin reached out and took Freya’s hand as another shudder reverberated through the valley. For once he didn’t seem to have anything to say.