The Khamsin Curse (10 page)

“It’s all taken care of. My
uncle has been to Egypt many times. He is familiar with the
tiresome rules and regulations since the British takeover.”

“Your father was an
Egyptologist?”

“Yes.”

“You hope to follow in his
footsteps?”

“Yes.”

Major Nash was desperate to
find out more about the fair-haired fraulein and her deceased
father but her responses were deliberately blunt and any further
probing might have appeared suspicious. Instinct told him to let
the matter drop.

When they rounded a bend in the
path, just before reaching the steps leading to the hotel terrace,
he noticed the red glow from a cigarette behind some lush foliage.
Someone was hanging back, someone who didn’t want to be seen. Major
Nash wondered if it was the person Miss Lee was waiting for. He was
hoping to bid Miss Graf goodnight and double back through the
vegetation but Mr Jefferson Lee was smoking a cigar on the terrace
and the fire-eater’s cracker-jack eye didn’t miss a trick.

Miss Graf managed to slink off
but Mr Gideon Longshanks was trapped.

“Join me in a glass of
bourbon,” encouraged the nasally Texan. “I hate to drink alone. You
can tell me about Mr Cassel. Is the Jew as rich as they say?”

Herr Graf appeared in the
doorway of the bar a few moments later and was invited to join
them.

“The more the merrier!” laughed
the cattle king, signalling with a click of his fingers for a third
glass to be brought to the table. “Well, how rich is the Jew of
England?”

Gideon Longshanks played his
cards close to his chest. He claimed never to have met Mr Cassel.
He had been hired by Mr Cassel’s legal advisor. His remit was
simply to look into the construction of the dam and make sure all
was proceeding according to schedule. As he spoke he made sure
not
to glance at the three British engineers seated at a
table in the corner nursing glasses of whiskey and speaking in
undertones, and instead, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted
Dr Watson passing alone through the foyer.

“Excuse me for a moment,” he
said as his heart leapt into his throat and he pushed urgently to
his feet in an effort to catch up to the doctor. He latched onto
him where the stairs turned at the first landing. He had
practically sprinted across the foyer. “You didn’t leave the
Countess alone in the garden, did you?”

Dr Watson was taken by surprise
by the blunt tone but recovered quickly. “No, no, of course not.
She’s with Mallisham. To be frank, I find the man’s conceit hard to
take. I left her with him and opted for an early night.”

Major Nash looked relieved; he
lowered his pitch. “I don’t need to tell you things are turning
dirty. Rossiter’s torture has upped the ante. You wouldn’t mind
proceeding on your own to Philae, would you? I’m going to put the
Countess on the first train leaving Cairo tomorrow morning.”

Dr Watson managed to keep a
straight face. “Good luck with that plan, Mr Longshanks, and
goodnight to you.”

The swimming pool in the
perfumed garden was like a giant mirror-moon reflecting the
astrological vault of heaven. Professor Mallisham and the Countess
were walking side by side along the dark edge of the glassy pond
dimpled with quicksilver stars, drunk on the scent of jasmine and
oleander when a predatory figure cut a blistering swathe though the
foliated darkness in the direction of the lion fountain,
momentarily breaking the serenity.

“What can you tell me about
Rhinehart Graf?” posed the Countess, eager to discover all she
could while she had the professor to herself. “I spent a pleasant
afternoon with Miss Ursula Graf and there seemed to be a shadow
hanging over her. I vaguely recall some sort of scandal attached to
the death of her father – is that correct?”

“Yes, it happened about ten
years ago. I was working in Edfu at the time. Rhinehart had just
published his book on the Heliopolis papyrus and was basking in
academic glory when it came to light that a number of artifacts he
had purchased for several German museums were fakes. It was never
established whether he knew they were fake and tried to pass them
off as the real thing or whether he had been fooled into buying
them. Either way, his reputation was destroyed. There was no coming
back from such a scandal. He took his own life. I believe the
daughter went to live with the older brother – Jurgen Graf. He was
also an archaeologist but inferior to Rhinehart. I’ve seen Jurgen
hanging around various sites over the years. He buys artifacts for
private European clients who have money to burn and don’t ask any
questions.”

“Well, Egyptology is very
popular among the aristocracy. Everyone desires to have an Egyptian
room and some treasures to show off to one’s friends.” She was
paraphrasing the German to see what the professor might make of
it.

“Indeed, but Jurgen wouldn’t
know a bas relief from a mud brick.”

A visit to the souk, the
Citadel, a few mosques; a couple of glasses of Pimms; a moonlit
stroll through a perfumed garden, and some luxurious cotton sheets,
all conspired to induce the Countess to dream deeply. A cool
cross-current of air blew through the open doors leading to the
balcony. Gauzy curtains danced in the breeze.

A dark figure crept across the
chamber toward her bed. The first inkling she had that she was not
alone was when a huge hot hand clamped her mouth. Charged with
shock, her sleepy brain struggled to separate cause from effect and
action from intent in that moment between unconscious existence and
conscious inexistence.

“Don’t scream.”

Scream?

The guttural threat, full of
foreboding, filled her with the sort of primitive terror that vexes
the senses so that body and soul cannot distinguish friend from
foe. Seized with primal terror, she struggled to breathe let alone
scream. A tattoo of drumbeats inside her head banged out a dreadful
death-march that was so deafening she could barely hear herself
think.

The Countess had often read
such things in books but she had never believed them. The
characters were simpering virgins! The plots were contrived! The
situations implausible! The inaction incredulous!

Until now.

“I’m going to remove my hand.
You’re safe. I’m not going to hurt you. We need to talk. I didn’t
finish what I wanted to say when we were interrupted by Herr Graf
in the garden.”

The moment her assailant
removed his hand a ferocious revival of strength and sanity
shuddered to life and she sucked back a deep breath like someone on
the point of drowning. “Major Nash! How dare - !”

His hand clamped down hard a
second time. “Shut-up! There’s a man out in the corridor. He’s been
there for over an hour. I had to come through the balcony. I’m
sorry to wake you like that. I’m sorry to give you a fright. There
was no alternative. Tomorrow morning will be too late. Nod if you
understand what I’m saying.”

Slowly, she nodded and he
removed his hand.

“Take a few quick short
breaths,” he directed with an empathetic pitch; using his eyes to
graph the dimensions of the room, noting the doors and windows.
“Where’s your maid?”

“She has her own room on the
floor above this one.”

“And your manservant?”

“The same.” She sat up and
tucked the bed sheet under her arms.

Slowly, an intermingling of
dark and light imprinted itself on the furnishings and she began to
distinguish between various shadows that gradually gained
definitiveness and brought the comfort of familiarity. Ivory inlays
glimmered and several oriental looking-glasses reflected silvery
moonlight. Her midnight visitor had finished scanning the room and
was now scrutinizing her.

“Do you always sleep
naked?”

“Is that what you came to ask?”
Her voice lashed him like a whip-cord and he felt the sting.

“I just wondered.”

She maintained the whip-sharp
tone. “What’s so important it couldn’t wait until tomorrow
morning?”

He reached into his pocket and
pulled out three pieces of paper. “Don’t light a candle or turn on
a gas lamp,” he warned. “Here are three train tickets - first class
for you and second class for your maid and manservant. The train is
leaving at half past seven tomorrow morning. Make sure you don’t
miss it.”

She picked up on the urgent
empressement
. “Where is it going?”

“Suez.”

“Why isn’t Dr Watson
coming?”

“He’s going to Philae; you’re
going to Suez.”

“What’s happening in Suez?”

“Nothing – that’s why you’re
going.”

Maybe she was still in the grip
of disturbed impulses; she seemed to be missing something vital. “I
don’t understand.”

“You need to get out of Cairo.
I’ve already telegraphed Mycroft Holmes. He agrees with my
assessment.”

“I’m sorry. I seem to be
lagging behind whatever is afoot. Assessment?”

“This business is getting
dangerous. It’s not safe for you to stay.”

“Oh, I see…and Dr Watson?”

“He’s ex-army. He can handle
himself.”

“You mean like that Cambridge
chap?”

“No, er, yes.” It nettled him
that she was questioning his judgment. “No, that’s not what I meant
but since you brought it up then yes - I don’t want you to end up
like Rossiter. The people we’re dealing with won’t care that you’re
female, they won’t care that you’re an amateur, they won’t care
that you have money or a title or friends in high places!”

“Now who’s shouting?”

He kicked himself, heaved an
exasperated breath and aimed a fearful glance at the door. There
was an all-night gasolier burning in the corridor. A crevice of
golden light showed under the gap of the door where a shadow moved
as if someone was loitering outside, listening. He put his finger
to his lips then pointed at the door. A few moments later the
shadow moved away.

“Look,” he said gruffly as he
planted himself at the side of the bed. “This isn’t a game.”

“I never thought it was.”

“Take those tickets and
leave…please.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Because of Dr Watson?”

“And because I want to stay and
see this through. Does Colonel Hayter know that Gideon Longshanks
is really Major Inigo Nash, ADC to Mycroft Holmes?”

“What?” Her pertinacity forced
him to re-focus. “No, when I work undercover I prefer as few people
as possible to know who I am. You think he might be a traitor?”

“It’s possible. What about the
three engineers? Do they know who you really are?”

He shook his head and moved on.
“What do you think of Miss Ursula Graf?”

She recalled the phrase: ‘handy
in the spying game’. “She seems genuinely interested in
archaeology. Being proficient in a number of languages is an asset
in that field. It’s not unusual. Do you think she might be a German
spy?”

“It’s possible. Tonight as I
was walking with her in the garden she said: ‘British takeover’ and
she sounded bitter.”

“But the Germans have nothing
to do with the Boer War.”

“Not yet, but there is a
feeling in the government that if the Germans were to become allies
of the Boers it would alter the course of the war dramatically.
What’s the story with her father? He spent a lot of time in Egypt
but then he was involved in some sort of scandal back home, is that
right?”

She recounted the story of
Rhinehart Graf’s suicide and the fake artifacts that ended up in
German museums. “The interesting thing about that story was that
Professor Mallisham was scathing of Jurgen Graf, the older brother.
If there is a market for fake artifacts he is likely to be
involved. He sells Egyptian treasures to wealthy clients who don’t
ask any questions because they don’t know what to ask.”

“Or they don’t
want
to
ask because the treasures are in fact genuine, possibly stolen from
sites and smuggled out of Egypt. There’s more money to be made
selling authentic treasures to private collectors than to museums.
He could be picking up where his brother left off. ”

“Mmm, yes, I hadn’t thought of
it that way.”

“By the way, I think I know why
Herr Graf was bribing Colonel Hayter. Miss Graf reminded me that
foreigners need a permit to work on archaeological sites. They get
the permits from the office of the British High Commissioner.
Hayter may be taking bribes and personally handing out permits that
bypass official channels. That ties in with stolen artifacts
getting smuggled out. Another thing, when I was walking with Miss
Graf we came across Miss Lee by the lion fountain. She was waiting
to meet someone. She seemed tightly strung. Near the terrace was a
man smoking a cigarette. Not unusual, except he was hiding in the
bushes. I couldn’t see who it was. Did you see anyone else in the
garden after I left?”

“When I was walking with
Professor Mallisham I saw someone darting in the direction of the
fountain. I could have sworn it was Colonel Moran.”

He seemed surprised. “Are you
sure?”

“Fairly sure, why?”

He stroked his blond beard. “It
just seems an odd tryst. I thought he was keen on Mrs Lorna Baxter,
and Hypatia Lee was keen on the professor.”

“Maybe it wasn’t a tryst. They
could have been meeting for some other reason.”

“Such as? And don’t say
espionage. We’ve had people watching Colonel Moran for the last
three months.”

“Dam sabotage.”

“The Americans? No!”

“Shhh! Mr Cassel gets the
interest paid on his money whether the dam is finished or not but
what about the Bank of England? If you wanted to put a strain on
England’s finances, blowing up the dam might just do the trick.
There is suddenly less money available for the war effort. Where
does England go in the event they need to borrow funds? The
Americans?”