The Lost Army of Cambyses (20 page)

pregnant with their first child.

And so he had abandoned Egyptology and

joined the police force instead. His mother

and Zenab had both begged him not to, as had his

tutor Professor al-Habibi, but he had seen no

other way of providing a decent life for his family.

The pay wasn't brilliant, but it was better than

that of a junior antiquities inspector and at least

the force offered some sort of security for the

future.

He had been sad at the time. Was still sad in a

way. It would have been nice to work among the

objects and monuments he so loved. He'd never

regretted the decision to put his loved ones first,

though. And anyway, archaeology and detective

work weren't that dissimilar. They were both about

following clues, analysing evidence, solving

mysteries. The only real difference was that while

the archaeologist tended to unearth wonderful

things, it was the detective's lot, more often than not,

to find terrible ones.

He drew on his cigarette. The argument behind

him was getting louder. There was a hammering

sound, as of someone banging his fist on a desk, and

then suddenly the door of al-Masri's office flew open

and a wiry man in a dirty djellaba emerged. He

turned briefly to scream, 'I hope a dog shits on your

grave!' before stomping angrily out of the building,

gesticulating wildly with his arms.

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'And I hope two dogs shit on yours!' bellowed

al-Masri after him. 'And piss on it too!'

Khalifa smiled to himself and, flicking away his

cigarette, stood. The office door was open and,

approaching, he put his head inside.

'Ya Doktora?'

The old man was sitting behind a small ply-

wood desk piled high with papers. He was tall and

thin, with a long, dark-skinned face and curly,

close-cropped hair – a typical Saidee, or native of

upper Egypt. He looked up.

'Khalifa,' he grunted. 'Well, come in, come in.'

The detective entered, al-Masri pointing him to

one of the armchairs that lined the wall.

'Damned peasant fool,' he snapped, nodding

towards the door. 'We discover what looks like an

extension of Seti I's mortuary temple in one of his

fields and he wants to plough it up and plant

molochia
on it.'

'A man has to eat,' smiled Khalifa.

'Not if it involves destroying our history, he

doesn't. Let him starve! Ignorant barbarian.' He

banged his hand on the desk, sending a sheaf of

papers tumbling to the floor. He bent down to

retrieve them. 'Tea?' he asked, head hidden

beneath the desk.

'Thanks.'

Al-Masri shouted and a young man entered.

'Get us a couple of glasses of tea, will you,

Mahmoud?' He fiddled with the papers, placing

them in one pile, then moving them to another,

then dividing them in half and placing each half

on a different pile, before finally opening a

drawer and cramming them inside. 'To hell

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with it. I won't read the damned things anyway.'

He sat back and looked over at Khalifa, hands

clasped behind his head. 'So what can I do for

you? Come to ask me for a job, have you?'

The doctor knew of Khalifa's background and

liked to tease him about it, albeit in a friendly

way. Although he never said as much, he

admired the detective. Khalifa was one of the

few people al-Masri knew whose passion for

the past came anywhere near to rivalling his

own.

'Not exactly,' smiled Khalifa.

He leaned forward and tamped out his cigarette

in an ashtray on the desk, then filled al-Masri in on

the murder of Abu Nayar. The old man listened

quietly, clicking his fingers behind his head.

'I presume you haven't heard anything?' asked

Khalifa when he'd finished.

Al-Masri snorted. 'Of course I haven't heard

anything. If there's ever a new discovery around

here we're always the last to know about it.

They're better informed on the moon.'

'But it's possible something could have been

found?'

'Sure, it's possible. I'd say to date we've only

uncovered about twenty per cent of what's left of

ancient Egypt. Perhaps less. The Theban Hills are

full of undiscovered tombs. They'll be finding

them for another five hundred years.'

Mahmoud came back with the tea.

'I think this might be something big,' said

Khalifa, taking a glass from the proffered tray and

sipping it. 'Something people are prepared to kill

for. Or to keep secret.'

167

'There are people around here who'd kill for a

couple of
shabtis.'

'No, it's more than that. People are scared.

We've interviewed every antiquities dealer in

Luxor and they're all shitting themselves. This is

something important.'

The old man took his own tea and sipped it. He

seemed relaxed, but Khalifa could tell he was

interested. He sipped again and then, laying the

glass aside, came to his feet and began wandering

around the room.

'Intriguing,' he muttered to himself. 'Very

intriguing.'

'Any idea what it might be?' asked Khalifa. 'A

royal tomb?'

'Hmmm? No, not likely. Not likely at all. Most

of the great royal burials are already known,

except Tuthmosis II and Ramesses VIII. And

possibly Smenkhkare, if you accept that the body

in KV55 was Akhenaten, which personally I

don't.'

'I thought Amenhotep I's tomb was still lost,'

said Khalifa.

'Rubbish. He was buried in KV39, as any

sensible archaeologist knows. Anyway, the point is

that if it was a major royal burial it would almost

certainly be in the Valley of the Kings, and you're

not going to keep a new find there hushed up,

however many people you kill. The place is so full

of tourists you can hardly move.'

His hands were clasped behind his back, the

thumbs slowly rotating. Every now and then his

tongue slipped out and ran along his lower lip.

'What about the West Valley?' asked Khalifa,

168

referring to a smaller, less-frequented gorge that

branched off the main valley about halfway along

its course.

'Sure, it's less busy, but we'd still know if any-

thing had been found there. It's not that much of

a backwater.'

'A mummy cache?'

'But there aren't any mummies left to cache. Or

no great ones at least, aside from a couple of the

later Ramessids, and I can't see anyone consider-

ing those worth killing for.'

'A minor royal burial, then. A prince. A

princess. A secondary queen.'

'Again, they would have been buried in the

Valley of the Kings or the Valley of the Queens.

Somewhere close to the centre of the necropolis.

These people liked to stick together.'

Khalifa leaned forward and lit a cigarette. 'An

important official? A noble?'

'More likely,' admitted the old man, 'although

I'd still be surprised. Almost every significant

official's tomb we've ever discovered has been

either in the valley or close to it. Too close to make

clandestine excavation possible. And these burials

rarely contain anything valuable. Historically

valuable certainly, but no gold or anything like

that. Or at least not enough to make it worth

killing someone for. The obvious exception being

Yuya and Tjuju, but that was a one-off.'

He stopped in front of the window, his rotating

thumbs slowing until they were almost still.

'You've got me puzzled, Khalifa. For someone

to turn up a new tomb isn't surprising in itself. As

I said, the hills are full of the damned things. But

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for someone to turn up a tomb whose contents are

worth killing for and for that same tomb to be

sufficiently off the beaten track for them to be able

to keep it so completely under wraps, now that is

unusual.'

'You've no idea, then?'

'None at all. Of course there are tales of fabu-

lous hoards of buried treasure up in the hills. The

priests of Karnak are supposed to have hidden all

the temple gold in a cave underneath the Qurn

somewhere, to stop it falling into the hands of the

invading Persians. Ten tons of the stuff by all

accounts. But they're just old wives' tales. No,

Inspector, I'm afraid I'm just as much in the dark

as you are.'

The doctor returned to his desk and sat down

heavily. Khalifa finished his tea and got to his feet.

He hadn't slept since the night before last and felt,

suddenly, exhausted.

'OK, OK,' he said, 'but if you hear anything be

sure to let me know. And no amateur sleuthing.

This is a police matter.'

Al-Masri waved his hand dismissively. 'Do you

seriously imagine I'm going to go traipsing round

these hills on my own trying to find your damned

tomb?'

'That's exactly what I imagine,' said Khalifa,

smiling fondly at the old man.

Al-Masri scowled at him for a moment,

annoyed, and then broke into a wry chuckle. 'OK,

Inspector. Have it your own way. If I hear any-

thing you will be the first to know.'

Khalifa moved to the door.
'Ma'a salama, ya

Doktora.
Peace be with you.'

170

'And with you, Inspector. Although if what

you've told me of this case is true, peace is the last

thing you're going to be getting.'

Khalifa nodded and went out.

'Oh, Inspector,' al-Masri called after him.

Khalifa put his head back round the door.

'If you ever did come and ask me for a job, I'd

be more than happy to give you one. Good day.'

171

17

SAQQARA

They took a taxi out to Saqqara, following much

the same route that Tara had taken two days

before. Hassan, the man with whom she had

found her father's body, wasn't in the office. One

of his colleagues recognized her, however, and

handed over the dig-house keys. They drove on

along the escarpment and pulled up in front of the

building, telling the driver to wait while they went

inside.

The interior was dark and cool. Daniel opened

a couple of windows and pushed back the shut-

ters. She gazed around sadly, taking in the

whitewashed walls, the threadbare sofas,

the rickety bookshelves, thinking how happy her

father had been here, how the building had, in a

sense, become a part of her own life as well as his.

She wiped her sleeve across her eyes and turned to

Daniel, who was gazing at a framed print on the

wall.

'So what exactly are we looking for?' she asked.

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'No idea.' He shrugged. 'Something that looks

ancient, I guess. With hieroglyphs on it.'

He moved away from the print and began

perusing one of the bookshelves. Tara threw her

bag onto a chair and drifted into one of the rooms

off the main lounge. There was a narrow bed in

one corner, a wardrobe against the wall and, hang-

ing from the door, a tattered old safari jacket. She

delved into one of the pockets and pulled out a

wallet. She bit her lip. It was her father's.

'This is Dad's room,' she called.

He came in and together they went through her

father's possessions. There wasn't much, just a few

clothes, some camera equipment, a couple of

notebooks and, on a chair beside the bed, a

leather-bound diary. Its entries were brief and un-

revealing, concerned almost exclusively with the

progress of that season's work. There were several

mentions of Tara – whom he styled 'T' – the last

on the day before her arrival in Egypt, the pen-

ultimate day of his life:

Into Cairo morning. Meeting at American Uni. re.

next year's curriculum. Lunch Antiquities Service.

Afternoon shopping Khan al-Khalili for T.'s

arrival. Back S. late afternoon.

And that was it. Nothing that shed any light on

recent events. They laid the diary aside.

'Perhaps they've already found whatever it is,'

she said.

'I doubt it. Otherwise why would they have been

chasing you?'

'Then how do we know it's here, not in Cairo?'

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'We don't. I'm just guessing that, whatever this

thing is, your father only had it for a few days.

And since this is where he's been living for the past

three months it makes sense to start looking here.

Try the other rooms.'

They spent an hour going through the house,

looking in every drawer and cupboard, even get-

ting on their knees to peer under the beds.

Without success. Aside from her father's camera

equipment there was nothing there to interest even

a normal thief.

'I guess I must have been wrong,' said Daniel

eventually, deflated.

Tara was in one of the bedrooms. The adrenalin

had been pumping through her as they searched.

Now she was overcome by a sudden weariness.