The Hidden Oasis (41 page)

Flin fought to keep his face blank, but it was impossible to hide the fact that Fadawi’s words had struck a chord. The Egyptian’s smile broadened.

‘He told you about the oasis, didn’t he? That I’ve discovered something. And you want to know what it is.
Need
to know what it is. That’s why you’ve come up here.’

He was grinning now, sensing the effect his words were having, enjoying it, turning the screw.

‘I knew you’d come eventually, of course, but so soon? You must be desperate. Really desperate.’

Flin bit his lip, the gravel digging into his knees.

‘It’s not what you think, Hassan. It’s not just for me.’

‘Oh heavens no! It’s for the greater good of mankind! It’s to save the world! You always were an altruist.’

He chuckled, motioning Flin to stand.

‘Something wonderful it was,’ he crowed. ‘Something extraordinary. Something that will tell us more about the
wehat seshtat
than all the rest of the scattered pieces of evidence put together. The greatest find of my career. And you know what makes it even more satisfying?’

He beamed.

‘The fact that you are never going to find out what it is. Not from these lips. The most important discovery since Imti-Khentika and it’s all in here.’

He lifted the gun and tapped its butt against his temple.

‘Which is exactly where it’s staying.’

Flin was standing now, fists clenched impotently at his sides. He didn’t know what to say, how to turn the situation round.

‘You’re bluffing,’ he muttered.

‘Am I? Either way, you’re never going to know. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not ever.’

Again Fadawi tapped the gun butt against his head.

‘All up here, safe and sound, under lock and key. Now if
you don’t mind I’ve had a difficult three years, I’m not as young as I used to be and so, delighted as I am to see you, I’m going to have to cut this little reunion short. Goodnight, my old friend. Have a safe drive home.’

He laid the gun in the crook of his arm, patted Flin on the shoulder and, with a final grin, turned and started towards the front door of his house.

‘Please help us.’

The voice was Freya’s. Up to this point she had remained silent in the Jeep, leaving the two men to play out the scene between them. Now, unable to stop herself, she pushed open the door and stepped out onto the gravel.

‘Please,’ she repeated, coming forward to Flin’s side. ‘We need your help.’

Fadawi stopped and turned, cocking his head. Although he had been standing just a few metres from the Cherokee, his attention had been focused so unswervingly on Flin that he hadn’t even noticed her. ‘Dear me,’ he said, tutting and shaking his head as he looked her up and down. ‘I knew you were lacking in self-respect, Flinders, but to involve a young lady in this grubby business … And such a pretty young lady, too.’

Suddenly his manner was all charm and politeness; a transformation that, since he was standing there in nothing but his pyjama bottoms, came across as not so much endearing as outright creepy.

‘Aren’t you going to introduce us?’ he said to Flin.

‘Leave it, Hassan,’ snapped the Englishman, clearly not amused by the turn of events.

‘Freya. My name’s Freya Hannen.’

Fadawi smiled at this, although at the same time a slight frown creased his forehead.

‘Not …’

‘Her sister,’ said Flin, fixing Fadawi with a stony look. ‘You won’t have heard but Alex died.’

The smile remained, but Fadawi’s frown deepened, as though different parts of his face were registering different emotions, the one contradicting the other.

‘I’m very sorry to hear that,’ he said, his gaze flicking from Freya to Flin and back again. ‘Very sorry indeed. Your sister was a fascinating woman.’

He raised a hand, swiping at a mosquito that was zinging around his head. Something in his eyes, in the fractional tightening of his smile, suggested a momentary uncertainty on his part, like an actor who has suddenly lost track of where he is in a soliloquy. It was fleeting, and almost immediately his smile broadened and the frown disappeared.

‘Yes, yes, an absolutely fascinating woman. And a beautiful one as well. Although I must say, her sister is even more so. Freya, you say?’

‘Just leave it,’ repeated Flin, his voice now a threatening growl.

Fadawi ignored him, his attention zeroing in on Freya.

‘I’m so sorry we have to meet in such unpleasant circumstances,’ he said, swiping at the mosquito again before bringing his hand down onto his head and combing the fingers through his hair. ‘Had I known you were coming I would have made rather more of an effort with my appearance. As you can see, I’m not quite at my sartorial best. May I?’

He stepped forward and, taking Freya’s hand, raised it to his lips, kissing her fingertips.

‘Divine,’ he murmured. ‘Quite divine.’

‘That’s enough, Hassan!’

Flin pushed Fadawi’s hand away and took Freya’s arm.

‘Come on, we’ve done everything we can here.’

He tried to steer her back towards the Cherokee, but she shook her arm free, standing her ground.

‘Please,’ she pleaded. ‘We need your help. I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through these last three years, and I know we have no right to ask, but I’m asking anyway. Help us. Tell us about the oasis. Please.’

Fadawi seemed to be only half listening, his gaze locked onto her breasts, the way they pushed against the slightly too tight material of her shirt and cardigan, the outline of the nipples clearly visible.

‘Exquisite,’ he said, eyes moving down to her crotch and then up to her blond hair. ‘I really can’t remember when I last found myself in the company of such an attractive young lady. It was the thing I missed most in Tura, you know, the pleasure of female society: their companionship, their laughter, their beauty. I do so love a beautiful lady. The closest I came in prison was a postcard someone sent me of the naked dancer in the tomb of Nakht, which I can assure you was a very poor substitute for the real thing.’

He threw a half-glance at Flin and there was something sly in his look, like a hunter drawing an animal into a trap, excited by his prey’s imminent suffering.

‘Yes, yes, it’s been a very long time since I saw a real woman naked,’ he continued, running his tongue across the underside of his top lip, nostrils flaring slightly. ‘Hips, breasts, private—’

‘Stop this!’ shouted Flin. ‘You hear me? Stop this now. I
don’t know what you think you’re playing at, but we’re not standing here listening—’

‘You like her, don’t you?’ the Egyptian purred.

‘What?’

‘You like her.’

Fadawi was grinning, the sly look now more pronounced.

‘You really like her.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘You feel for her, you’re attracted to her, you …’

‘Let’s go.’

Flin seized Freya’s arm again, more roughly this time, pushing her back towards the Jeep. Fadawi called after them.

‘I’ll tell you what you want to know. About the oasis. What I found. I’ll tell you everything.’

Flin stopped and turned, his hand still gripping Freya’s arm.

‘Where it is, what it is, everything you want,’ said the Egyptian. ‘Only first …’

He paused, smirking maliciously, then closed the trap.

‘… I want to see her naked.’

Flin’s eyes widened in fury and disgust. His mouth opened, ready to unleash a tirade of abuse. Before he could say anything Freya wrenched her arm from his grip.

‘I’ll do it.’

Flin stared at her, aghast.

‘The hell you will!’

‘Here or in the house?’ she asked, ignoring him, addressing herself to Fadawi.

‘Freya, there is no way I’m letting you …’

‘Here or inside?’ she repeated.

Flin seized her arm again.

‘You are not—’

‘Don’t you dare tell me what I can or cannot do,’ she snapped, pulling herself free and rounding on Flin. ‘You understand? It’s nothing to do with you.’

‘It’s everything to do with me! If I hadn’t told you about it you’d never have heard of the bloody oasis. I will not have you prostituting yourself to some geriatric pervert because of something Molly and I have—’

‘It’s nothing to do with you. With Molly. With the oasis. With any of it.’ Her face was starting to redden. ‘It’s for Alex. For my sister. My dead, murdered sister. I’m doing this for her, because
she
wanted to know.’

‘If you seriously think …’

‘What I think is none of your business! It’s between me and Alex and that’s the end of it!’

‘God Almighty, Freya, this is the very last thing Alex would—’

‘That’s the end of it,’ she cried, swinging back to Fadawi. ‘So where are we doing this?’

The Egyptian had stood silently through the argument, grinning, relishing Flin’s discomfort.

‘Oh, in the house, I think,’ he chortled. ‘Yes, indoors would definitely be best. Away from prying eyes. Shall we?’

He held out a hand towards the front door.

‘I will not allow you to do this!’ yelled Flin.

Freya ignored him, nodding at Fadawi and starting across the gravel.

‘I will not allow you to do this!’ Flin repeated, jabbing a finger at her. ‘You hear! To hell with the plane, to hell with the oasis. You will not do this!’

She didn’t reply, just continued up to the house. Fadawi opened the door for her and ushered her inside.

‘We might be a little while,’ he said, turning back to Flin. ‘So do feel free to wander around the grounds, try one of the bananas. Although I’d ask you to respect our privacy and not peep through the windows.’

He grinned triumphantly, savouring the younger man’s outrage, then with a wink and a wave, turned into the house and slammed the door behind him.

Killing people just wasn’t as much fun as it used to be. That was the conclusion the twins came to as they hammered balls around Girgis’s full-size snooker table, waiting for news of when and where they were next going to be needed. Even torture no longer provided the job satisfaction it once had. Like footballers who have won every trophy there is to win, scaled every height, the hunger just wasn’t there any more. It had, they agreed, all become a bit boring.

Once it had been so different. They had used to take a real pride in their work. Craftsmen, that’s how they saw themselves, skilled craftsmen. And just as a carpenter will find joy in a perfectly turned chair leg, a glass-blower in a beautifully finished vase, so they too had been passionate about what they did, got a genuine buzz from it. Making that junkie drug dealer eat his own eyeball, feeding the
Al-Ahram
journalist to the polar bears in Giza Zoo, taking out four separate people in the same day up in Alexandria and still getting home in time to make their
omm
dinner – these were things that had given them a real sense of fulfilment.

The magic had been fading for some time, however, and with this current assignment their disillusion had come to a head. Sure the car chase had been fun, and they’d enjoyed cutting up the old pervert down in Dakhla, but flying around the desert looking for a heap of ancient ruins, getting shouted at by that turd Girgis – what the hell was the point of that? They were wasting themselves, no doubt about it. Wasting themselves and wasting their talents.

Which was why, as they potted the final black and started racking up the balls for a new game, they decided that this would be their last job for Girgis. The time had come to make the break and open up their food stall. They’d thought maybe to leave it a little longer, at least until the start of the new football season, but all things considered now seemed as good a moment as any. This one final job and that was the end of it. Aged thirty, they were retiring.

‘Should we kill him?’ asked the twin with the flattened boxer’s nose, rattling the reds in their wooden triangle, carefully positioning it just below the pink spot. ‘Girgis. Just to keep things neat.’

‘It might be an idea,’ said his brother.

‘We don’t want him giving us trouble.’

‘Certainly don’t.’

‘We’ll finish the job …’

‘… it would be unprofessional not to …’

‘… then take him out.’

‘Sounds good to me.’

They high-fived, chalked their cue tips and bent low over the table. The brother with the shredded left earlobe slammed the white ball into the reds, sending them careering off in all directions. His twin tapped the cushion with
his ring-covered fingers to acknowledge what a good shot he thought it was.