The Lost Army of Cambyses (42 page)

explanations. Perhaps this Dymmachus didn't go

with the army after all. Or perhaps the dagger had

already passed to another owner by the time he

did go with it. Or perhaps Herodotus simply got it

wrong and the army wasn't overwhelmed by a

sandstorm.'

'Or perhaps it was and this Dymmachus

survived.'

The professor was silent for a moment.

'I would say that was the least likely of the

possibilities. Although certainly the most

intriguing.'

Khalifa pulled deeply on his cigarette. He wasn't

supposed to smoke in the bedroom because the

baby slept there and, leaning forward, he pushed

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open the window. Thoughts were rushing through

his mind, too quickly for him either to keep track

or make sense of them.

'I presume the tomb of a soldier from the army

of Cambyses would be a significant find?' he said.

'If it was proved to be genuine,' said Habibi. 'Of

course. A huge find.'

Was that it, then? Abu Nayar had discovered

the tomb of a man who'd been part of the lost

army of Cambyses. Like the professor said, it

would be a huge find. One of the most important

in Egypt for years. Yet that didn't explain why

Dravic would go to so much trouble for just one

small piece of hieroglyphic text. He had, after all,

not bothered about the other objects in Iqbar's

shop. Just that one piece. There was something

missing here. Something more.

'And the army itself?' The question seemed to

come from his mouth before he'd even thought of

asking it.

'How do you mean?'

'The lost army of Cambyses. How significant a

find would that be?'

There was a long pause.

'I think possibly we're entering the realms of

fantasy here, Yusuf. The army's buried somewhere

in the middle of the western desert. It'll never be

found.'

'But if it was?'

Another pause.

'I don't think you need me to tell you how

important that would be.'

'No. I don't.'

He threw his cigarette out of the window and

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waved his hand around to clear some of the smoke.

'Yusuf?'

'Yes, sorry, I was just thinking. What else do

you know about the army, Professor?'

'Not a lot, I'm afraid. Not my period. The

person you need to speak to is Professor Ibrahim

az-Zahir. He's spent most of his life studying it.'

'And where do I find him?'

'Right there in Luxor. He spends six months of

the year at Chicago House. But he's getting on a bit.

Had a stroke last year. His mind's starting to go.'

There was another silence and then, thanking

the professor and promising to come for dinner

next time he was in Cairo, Khalifa rang off. He

went through into the living room. Zenab was

cradling the baby in her arms, still naked. He went

over and hugged them both.

'I have to go down to the office.'

'And there's me doing everything I can to get

him back to sleep!'

'I'm sorry. It's just . . .'

'I know.' She smiled, kissing him. 'Go on. And

don't forget it's the children's parade this after-

noon. I told Ali and Batah we'd be there to watch

them. Four o'clock. Don't be late.'

'Don't worry,' he said. 'I'll be back. I promise.'

T H E WESTERN DESERT

Tara woke twice during the journey – brief chinks

of consciousness in an otherwise all-enveloping

shroud of oblivion.

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First, in a hot, cramped, vibrating space that

stank of petrol, and which, despite the impen-

etrable blackness and the excruciating pain in her

head, she knew instantly was the boot of a car. She

was alone, curled in a foetal position, her hands

tied to her ankles, her mouth taped. She presumed

they must be driving along a tarmacked road

because, although the car was juddering, the jolts

were not violent and they seemed to be moving at

quite a speed. She found herself thinking of all the

films she had seen in which people locked in boots

are able to work out where they are going by pay-

ing careful attention to the various sounds and

sensations encountered during the journey. She

tried to do the same now, listening for any

external noises that might give a clue as to her

whereabouts. Apart from the occasional beep of a

car horn, however, and, once, a blare of loud

music, there was nothing to tell her either where

she was or where she was going, and she soon

sank back into unconsciousness.

The second time she woke there was a loud

thudding overhead. She listened to it for a while

and then opened her eyes. She was sitting upright,

strapped into a seat. Daniel was beside her, head

lolling on his chest, blood caked around the side of

his cheek and neck. Strangely, she didn't feel any

concern for him. She merely noted he was there

and then turned away and stared down at an

endless expanse of yellow beneath her. For some

reason the thought struck her that she was looking

at a huge steaming sponge cake, and she started to

laugh. Almost immediately she heard voices and

some sort of sack was forced over her head. She

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began to sink again, but not before she had

experienced a sudden, blinding instant of clarity: 'I

am in a helicopter,' she said to herself, 'flying over

the desert towards the lost army of Cambyses.'

And then the blackness swept over her, and she

remembered no more.

LUXOR

Khalifa had two surprises when he arrived at the

police station. The first was that he bumped into

Chief Inspector Hassani in the front foyer and, far

from being shouted at for coming in late, was

greeted with something approaching cordiality.

'Good to have you back, Yusuf!' said the chief,

using his first name, which, so far as Khalifa was

aware, he had never done before. 'Do me a favour.

As soon as you've got a moment pop up to my

office, will you? Nothing to worry about. On the

contrary. Some rather good news.'

He slapped Khalifa on the back and strode off

down a corridor.

The second surprise was that he found Omar

Abd el-Farouk sitting in his office.

'He wouldn't wait downstairs,' explained

Sariya. 'Didn't want anyone to see him. Claimed

he had information about the Abu Nayar case.'

Omar was hunched in a corner of the office drum-

ming his fingers on his knees, clearly uncomfortable

with his surroundings.

'Well, well,' said Khalifa, walking to his desk

and sitting down. 'I never thought I'd see the day

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when an Abd el-Farouk came in here of his own

free will.'

'Believe me,' snorted Omar, 'I don't do it

lightly.'

'Tea?'

Omar shook his head. 'And tell him to go.' He

indicated Sariya. 'What I have to say is for you

and you only.'

'Mohammed is my colleague,' said Khalifa.

'He's as much—'

'I speak to you alone or I don't speak,' snapped

Omar.

Khalifa sighed and nodded at Sariya. 'Give us a

few minutes, will you, Mohammed? I'll fill you in

later.'

His deputy left the room, shutting the door

behind him.

'Cigarette?' He leaned forward, proffering his

Cleopatras. Omar waved him away.

'I came here to talk, not exchange pleasantries.'

Khalifa shrugged and, sitting back, lit a

cigarette for himself. 'OK,' he said. 'So talk.'

The drumming of Omar's fingers grew faster.

'I think some friends of mine are in danger,'

he said, lowering his voice. 'Yesterday they came

to my house seeking help. Now they have

disappeared.'

'And what does that have to do with Abu

Nayar?'

Omar glanced around, as though to reassure

himself no-one else was listening. 'Two days ago,

when you brought me in, you asked if a new tomb

had been found up in the hills.'

'And you said you knew nothing about it. Do I

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take it you've suddenly remembered something?'

There was sarcasm in the question.

Omar glared at him. 'You must enjoy this,' he

hissed. 'An el-Farouk coming to you for help.'

Khalifa said nothing, just drew slowly on his

cigarette.

'OK, so Abu Nayar found a tomb. Where I

don't know, so don't bother asking me. But he

found a tomb. He removed a piece of wall decor-

ation from that tomb. My friends had

that piece of wall decoration. And now they have

disappeared.'

Outside the window a firecracker went off.

Omar jerked in his seat, startled.

'And who were these friends?'

'An archaeologist. Dr Daniel Lacage. And a

woman. English.'

'Tara Mullray,' guessed Khalifa.

Omar raised his eyebrows. 'You know her?'

'It seems she and Lacage were involved in a

shooting at Saqqara two days ago.'

'I know what you're thinking, Khalifa, but I

have worked with Dr Lacage for six years. He is a

good man.'

Khalifa nodded. 'I believe you.' He paused, then

added, 'I never thought I'd see the day when I said

that to an el-Farouk.'

For a moment Omar said nothing. Then a slight

smile crossed his face. His shoulders relaxed a

little. 'Maybe I will have that cigarette.'

Khalifa leaned forward and offered him the

pack. 'So what exactly happened yesterday,

Omar?'

'Like I said, they came to my house asking for

359

help. They had this piece of decorated plaster in a

box. The woman said her father had bought it for

her and Sayf al-Tha'r wanted it. And the British

embassy.'

'The British embassy?'

'She said people at the British embassy wanted

the piece too.'

Khalifa pulled a pen from his jacket and began

doodling on a piece of paper. What the hell was

going on here?

'What else?' he asked.

'They wanted to know where the piece came

from. I told them it was dangerous and they

should leave it, but they wouldn't. Dr Lacage is

my friend. If a friend asks for help, I do not refuse.

I said I would make enquiries. I went out about

four p.m. When I came back they had gone. I have

not seen them since.'

'Do you know where they went?'

'They told my wife they were going to the top of

el-Qurn. I fear for their safety, Inspector.

Especially after what happened to Abu Nayar.

And Suleiman al-Rashid.'

Khalifa stopped doodling. 'Suleiman al-

Rashid?'

'You know, getting burnt like that.'

The colour drained from Khalifa's face. 'Dead?'

Omar nodded.

'Oh no,' groaned Khalifa. 'Oh God, not

Suleiman.'

'You didn't know?'

'I've been in Cairo.'

Omar lowered his head. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I

thought you'd have heard.' He paused, then

360

added, 'Everyone knows what you did for

Suleiman.'

Khalifa's face was buried in his hands.

'I'll tell you what I did for Suleiman. I killed

him. That's what I did for him. If I hadn't gone to

see him the other day . . . Dammit! How could I

have been so stupid?'

His voice tailed away. Somewhere out on the