The Khamsin Curse (19 page)

Her voice trembled not only
from shock and anger but fear. The words came in breathless bursts.
“There were no crocodiles when we arrived. None during the party.
Someone must have released them. They were all babies. It was
planned to put the fear of god into us. It was meant to cause
serious injury rather than death.”

“But who?”

Rationality was returning,
albeit slowly. “Someone who wants to scare us off. Someone who
doesn’t want us to stay on the island. Where were the servants?
That’s what I want to know.”

“I’m guessing they were the
people departing hastily in boats just after I arrived. I pulled my
boat up on a sandy bank and hid it among the reeds. I was about to
light up a gasper when a large group of locals decided to leave. I
presumed they had been dismissed from their duties.”

“No! The party was still going.
They must have been paid off or threatened. Did you see anyone else
lurking about?”

“There were two men in
jellabiyas.”

“Jellabiyas or burqas?”

“Hard to tell in the dark.”

“Did you get a look at their
faces?”

“No, like I said, it was dark.
They were fiddling with something on the riverbank.”

“Something in the water?”

“No, on the bank. Once this
storm passes you’ll probably find dozens of empty cages.”

She gave a shudder. It would be
years before she reconciled herself to the hideous sight of so many
dead reptiles and the terror they instilled not only in the women
but the men too.

“I don’t know what we would
have done without you. If you come to the Sekhmet tomorrow, Mr
Jefferson Lee will no doubt be extremely grateful, if not
immediately, then in the near future. I think Colonel Moran will be
in for a nice bonus too.”

“Playing the hero doesn’t sit
well with me and I’m glad you’re not about to suggest Moran had
anything to do with what happened.”

“I might have considered it,
but when he arrived on the scene the look on his face was one of
genuine shock. He killed at least five of the biggest crocodiles in
rapid succession before his gun jammed. If he hadn’t leapt onto the
stone block the rest of the creatures would have made mincemeat of
him. Congratulations, by the way, on your commission.”

“Nash told you?”

“Yes.”

“I think Mycroft might have had
something to do with it.” He managed that modestly, though his
cheeks were glowing with pride in the pitch darkness. Yes, he was
proud, dammit! “What’s Nash doing here? I couldn’t believe it when
I saw him parading around the construction site in a suit that
looked like it had been cobbled together from unwashed dishrags,
not quite the dapper dress code as pertains to the hallowed halls
of the Diogenes Club, although the three British engineers were
still kow-towing as if he was some sort of Grand Vizier.”

“You didn’t give the game
away?” She was alarmed that Gideon Longshanks had had his cover
blown wide open.

“Don’t worry, I figured he was
up to something top secret with the Foreign Office or maybe the War
Office. Which one is it?”

“Foreign Office,” she said a
little too quickly. “Someone may try to sabotage the dam. He’s
posing as a bean-counter for Mr Ernest Cassel.”

He laughed out loud and the
risible strains were magnified in the confines of the tiny chamber.
For a moment he found it funny that Nash was still playing at
paper-shuffling while he was leading the first Irish Guards
regiment to war. The two of them had always been ambitious and it
felt good to get one over his old rival. But then it dawned on him
that he was likely to get killed and Nash would get the girl. It
cut short the laugh. “And you?”

“Me?”

“What are you doing here in
Egypt? Before we even set up camp in Aswan I heard that Dr Watson
and a rich foreign countess were travelling to Philae with an
American millionaire to join some archaeological project run by Max
Mallisham. I didn’t buy it for a minute. Are you checking into the
sabotage too? Is that why you said someone might be trying to scare
you off the island?”

Major Nash must have been
keeping tabs on Jim from day one. In fact, he may even have been
feeding him information, or, perhaps, misinformation. “Dr Watson
and I are working with Major Nash. It’s top secret. You cannot
breathe a word. Our lives may be compromised. Major Nash believes
his cover has already been blown. Someone tried to kill him in Kom
Ombo. By the way, he’s going by the name Gideon Longshanks. It may
be wise to use that name from now on.”

“Hmm, Gideon Longshanks, the
poncy name suits him.” He took her hand and locked it into place
between his legs before she knew what he was doing. Time was
galloping away from him and he was conscious that he only had this
night. “Don’t panic,” he snapped, when she jerked back. “No one’s
coming this way any time soon and I’m not about to force myself on
you. Relax. We’re going to be here for a while and I want to know
where you are. If I fall asleep, don’t wander off.”

Whoever released those
crocodiles had done him a favour. He expected to spend an hour or
two in her company and then bid her a polite goodbye. Instead, he
had managed to get her away from Nash and all to himself for the
entire night, and best of all, nobody would be disturbing them. But
nerves were tightly strung and they both needed to unwind. She must
have realized it too. She stopped fighting him and her hand began
to soften.

“How is Ballyfolly coming
along?”

She was referring to the
matrilineal family seat – a castle in Country Antrim, Ireland. He
had made it his life’s mission to restore the ruin to its former
strength if not splendour.

“Another year and it should be
done. Things have slowed down. I’ve run out of money and now I’m
off to the Transvaal. I’ve left the farm manager in charge. He’s
got a good head on his shoulders. He knows what needs doing and
I’ll send him my pay.”

“Splendid! You can have a party
when you get back - a combination of welcome home party and house
warming party.”

“I’m not very good at parties.
By that I mean: hosting them. I’ve attended plenty of parties but
I’ve never actually thrown one. I’ll probably send out invitations
only to find they are all declined. No one wants to come to the
windiest and wettest spot in Ireland where you have the Atlantic
blowing in your face day and night.”

“I can organize the party for
you. I’m good at parties. I’ll send out the invitations. I know
just who to invite. Everyone will come. No one cares about the
weather when the company is good. I think ten or twelve people
would be best. A stay of about two weeks, perhaps a month.”

“A month!”

“You remind me of Jack. He used
to say that in that same tone of voice.”

He knew she was referring to
her late husband – a true-blue Australian rogue and the luckiest
bastard who ever lived, twenty years her senior; he became crippled
after a horse-riding accident and shot himself, leaving her a very
rich widow. “I bet being married to him was the most thrilling time
of your life.”

“It was thrilling at the
start,” she sighed wistfully, “but it was the sort of thrill that
burns up quickly.” Her head came to rest comfortably on his
shoulder.

“Get some sleep,” he said
softly. “We’ll be safe here till morning.”

It just occurred to her that he
had led her straight here, wherever
here
was, despite the
blinding storm. “What is this place?”

“A small chamber or temple.
Outside is the colonnade. You’ll see it in the morning providing
the sandstorm clears.”

She remembered the spectacular
colonnade from her own visit earlier in the day. “How did you know
this chamber would be here?”

“I visited the island
yesterday.”

“You came to see Moran?”

He swallowed hard. “Yes,” he
admitted; knowing that a lie would spoil the intimacy that was
helping to forge a bond between them. “He’s like family. I don’t
see him often but when I see him we can just pick up where we left
off. And before you start lecturing me about keeping bad company –
I actually respect the man. Say what you like, but I like him.
Maybe Moran and I have more in common than just being Irish. Speak
your mind and then get some sleep.”

“You sound just like Jack.”

If only! He’d give anything to
step into the shoes of her late husband but in two days he’d be off
to the Transvaal. He’d always wanted to lead his own regiment and
he was so proud of the Irish Guards he could burst – Quis Separabit
- but war often changed men, and not for the best. Not that they
could lose this bloody war. The Boers were South African farmers.
They had no trained soldiers, no permanent army, no hope of
winning. But individual battles still took their toll; every
skirmish was hard-fought and demanded its pound of flesh. And if
the Germans decided to get involved it would be another story
altogether. The Boers would suddenly have proper soldiers and more
weapons and the war could drag on for years.

“Get some sleep,” he repeated
softly.

“Thanks for turning up
tonight,” she whispered.

As if he could stay away! His
lips found hers in the melting darkness…and everything outside the
chamber ceased to exist.

Gideon Longshanks continued to
search fruitlessly for his Webley. When he back-flipped off the
divan the gun flew from his hand and he had no idea where it
landed. He had waited patiently for everyone to leave the Kiosk
before checking underneath every dead crocodile - to no avail.
Either someone had picked up his gun or one of the reptiles had
swallowed it. He thought that last bit unlikely since only two or
three of the smaller crocs had survived up to that stage. That
meant somebody had pocketed it. He hoped it was Dr Watson but a bad
feeling in the pit of his stomach told him otherwise.

So, here he was in Aswan with
no weapon. Colonel Hayter was likewise minus a gun. He wondered if
Jefferson Lee had a gun cupboard aboard the Sekhmet, though he was
loath to seem too eager to borrow a weapon. Most bean-counters
didn’t go about with loaded Webleys. Of course, that was before the
surprise party. Surprise! That was an understatement. The
alternative was to speak to Jim. He would be sure to have a spare
Webley or two in the arsenal.

Jim! He had spied the Irishman
taking the love of his life by the hand. He just hoped the wily
bastard led her safely back to the ship. In fact, if he was forced
to admit it, Jim was the next best man for getting her there in one
piece. Whoever released those crocodiles wasn’t messing around.
There were easier and quicker ways to kill a party of revellers but
for creating fear and panic it was up there with the most
imaginative. If not for Moran and Moriarty, they would have all
been dead meat by morning.

He thought at first the
crocodile stunt might be Ali Pasha’s doing – Sobek and all that -
but the antiquities trader looked genuinely terrified. So did Herr
Graf. Sick with fear, he vomited afterwards. Fraulein Graf ended up
escorting her uncle back to the ship instead of the other way
around. Daisy Clooney volunteered to go with them to make sure
Ursula could cope with her sickly uncle. Hayter, looking ever more
bereft, trailed hopelessly after them. Dr Watson did his best to
look out for his old chum without making it seem obvious. Ali
Pasha, having nowhere else to go, joined the doctor. Jefferson Lee
and Mallisham both escorted Hypatia with one arm under each of her
elbows. She could barely walk. Colonel Moran left with Lorna
Baxter. No surprises there. He probably led her straight to his
lair. She would no doubt sneak back onto the ship at first
light.

The Khamsin had died down for
the present. White light was just breaking in the east. The orange
cloud had settled. It was time to head back to the Sekhmet. He was
anxious to check that Jim had done the right thing by the
Countess.

He wondered fleetingly if the
others had made it back safely. That sandstorm was fierce. It was
impossible to see where they were going. But the alternative,
sitting it out in the Kiosk among the dead reptiles, was
unthinkable. He should have led them back to the Arc of Diocletian
but he was desperate to locate his weapon before the torches burnt
themselves out.

Maybe they all took shelter in
that small temple en route. What was it? Temple of Hathor? That
would have been the sensible thing to do. But no one was thinking
straight. Their brains were scrambled. Colonel Moran was probably
the only one with a clear head but he had other ideas on his mind.
He and Lorna Baxter were definitely conducting an illicit affair.
Not that there was anything wrong with that. Neither of them was
married. Still, it complicated matters.

Someone wanted them off the
island that’s for sure. This wasn’t just an act of revenge against
Professor Mallisham for opposing the dam, or Jefferson Lee because
he was a rich American trespassing on sacred ground, this reeked of
cold-blooded cunning. Someone had snared those baby crocs and kept
them in cages until it was time to release them. The local servants
Mr Lee had hired had all disappeared in a convenient hurry but he
doubted they were in on it. They probably had no idea what evil
barbarity was about to be unleashed, and if they heard gunfire
above the din of the wind, they simply ignored it as they fled to
their homes ahead of the sandstorm.

He stopped at the Temple of
Hathor to check if anyone was inside. The place was emptier than a
burial chamber after some tomb raiders had been through it. He
hadn’t slept all night. Checking under every dead croc had taken
longer than he thought, and then there was all that broken china
and glassware. He had to pick his way gingerly to avoid cutting
himself. In this sort of climate infection set in quickly. He’d
seen a man lose a limb to gangrene in less than a month.