The Khamsin Curse (22 page)

But his imagination had been
running away from him ever since he paid a visit to her room in the
middle of the night and she rambled on about Anubis and Sekhmet,
fear and courage, sacred terror and irrational thought. Egypt did
that to you. It was a strange land, peopled with anthropomorphic
beings who moved effortlessly between the living and the dead,
between the real world and the Underworld.

Last night didn’t help! He’d
never been so shit scared in his life as when he fell backwards and
two snapping jaws rushed straight for his face! He wondered if Jim
kicked that croc his way deliberately. His aim was uncanny.

She was still wearing the
clingy, red, assuit tunic of Sekhmet, though the green lioness
headdress was gone, probably whipped off by the Khamsin.
Fleetingly, he wondered if she was wearing anything underneath.
Slumberous tresses tumbled over bare shoulders as she handed Jim
back his jacket.

Sheened with sand and sweat,
Jim was naked from the waist up. He didn’t bother to do up the gold
buttons. The smart red and black Guards uniform would be replaced
by clothes more suited to desert warfare, probably after the
regiment made Khartoum, but Jim had wanted to show-off last night.
It rankled that he arrived in time to play the hero.

“There’s something you should
both see,” Gideon said vaguely as they drank thirstily from his
canteen, draining every drop. He steeled himself and started
walking toward the Inner Courtyard.

“If you’re going sightseeing,”
essayed Jim sardonically, “I’ll say goodbye. I’ve got more
important things to see to. I left my boat in the other direction.
Good luck with whatever game you’re playing. I’ve got a war to
win.” He caught the Countess by the hand.

“Stop being such a fucking
Irishman,” barked Gideon, guessing that Jim was about to deliver
one last cocky kiss to the lips of the woman they both wanted to
marry. “The game we’re playing relates to your bloody war. Someone
is passing information to the enemy. The Boers will be waiting for
you with open arms. The word ambush springs to mind. Good luck with
that.”

The Countess sensed an
unwinnable stand-off but she also sensed this wasn’t just about
male rivalry. Gideon had something important to show her. His tone
was serious at the best of times, but this time it came with an
ominous edge. She and Jim had talked most of the night and she
hadn’t fallen asleep until almost daybreak. That’s probably why Jim
let her sleep so late. When Gideon showed up she was still dreaming
about being devoured by crocodiles.

Going by the position of the
sun, it was nearing midday and a lot might have happened in the
meantime. She needed to catch up with whatever had transpired since
the party ended so cruelly. Gideon’s ominous tone filled her with
fresh terror. What had happened to the other guests after she left
with Jim? Where was Dr Watson?

Fear had her hand snapping
free. Her voice was level. “Congratulations on your commission,
Colonel Moriarty. I wish you well in your endeavour. May you and
your regiment return safely to England in the not too distant
future. My thoughts and hopes go with you.”

“Colonel Moriarty is it now?”
The Irishman ignored the flowery words that frilled the edges of
her polite goodbye, catching hold of both her hands this time,
forcing her to look him in the eye. “Last night it was Jim.”

“Last night was last night. It
was a night like no other. I hope I never have to live through
anything like that again, and by that you know what I mean. I thank
you for leading me to safety and comforting me during the storm.
But I’ve got a job to do too, same as you. Don’t make it difficult
for everyone.”

“Difficult!”

She jerked free and looked at
Major Nash. “Lead on.”

Jim tramped off in the opposite
direction, muttering obscenities and kicking up sand. Most it flew
back into his face. Dammit! He was attracted her to her because she
was unlike any woman he had ever met. That, plus her wealth! He
could speak to her without mincing words. She could give as good as
she got without resorting to tears. But right now he wished she was
the helpless type who needed a man to give her life meaning. Right
now he wished she was the type to bawl into her handkerchief as he
tramped off to war.

Endeavour! Comforting! You know
what I mean!

Yes, he knew exactly what she
meant!

And he wished that she knew it
too!

He paused in his tracks to
relieve himself against the wall of the temple then swung round and
caught up to the other two in the Inner Courtyard. If Nash meant
what he said about someone passing secrets to the enemy he’d be a
fool to ignore it. And if it was only himself he needed to worry
about, he would have kept right on tramping, but he now had a
regiment to think about and the thought of leading his men straight
into an ambush was not something he cared to contemplate.

“This had better be important,”
he growled as he followed them into a small, dark, windowless
chamber that reeked of cat piss. Bloody hell!

After a sharp intake of breath
and an abrupt halt, she rushed forward, fearing the worst, fearing
that the lifeless man tied to the stones might be her dear Dr
Watson.

Colonel Sebastian Moran spotted
Azrafel and Ali Pasha emerging from the Vestibule of Nectanebos. He
picked up his step and caught up to them. They had not seen any
signs of anything out of the ordinary and were going to check the
last couple of buildings on their map before heading back to the
ship. Moran told them he hadn’t spotted anything either. He was
about to return and collect Hayter when another idea occurred to
him. He offered to check the last few temples for them if they
would collect Hayter and walk him back to the ship. They agreed and
set off at once…

“It’s Mallisham!” She tried not
to gag. “What…What’s that smell?”

“Urine,” said Gideon before
moving on quickly. “Dr Watson and I found the body a short while
ago. It must have happened last night. Mallisham never made it back
to the ship. Neither did Jefferson Lee. He’s in another chamber.
Same sort of set up. Herr Graf is missing too but he’s not here.
There’s a search party out scouting the island: Moran and Hayter,
Azrael and Ali Pasha. Dr Watson has returned to the ship. He’s
coming back with some crew members to collect the bodies. Follow
me. We can look at the American.”

“How did the men actually die?”
she asked, trailing after him.

“Poison,” said Gideon. “If you
look closely you can see a small stick propping their mouths open
so that something could be tipped down their throats.”

“It smells foul,” she said,
wrinkling up her nose, and checking for the stick.

“That’s cat piss,” said
Moriarty, checking the chamber for feral felines. “What’s your idea
on this?” he directed at Gideon, studying the way the bodies were
secured at the wrists and ankles and tied to four large blocks of
stone. “Why kill Mallisham and the American? And why do it in this
manner?”

Gideon shook his head; coming
straight after the crocodile incident he was totally flummoxed. “No
idea at all. If you’ve got any theories I’m willing to hear them
out.”

Moriarty shrugged. “This is
really the territory of the Acting High Commissioner. What’s his
name? Colonel Hayter? Isn’t he an ex-army chum of Dr Watson? Let
him take care of it.”

Gideon gave a dismissive laugh.
“You’ve never met Hayter?”

“No, why? We landed in Suez and
by-passed Cairo. Why do you ask?”

“He’s a drunk; totally out of
his depth.”

“Plus he’s selling official
permits to work on archaeological sites on the sly,” she added
gravely, studying the black cloth used to secure the men. “He’s
open to bribery and may not be trustworthy. If we don’t solve this
double murder ourselves it will most likely go unsolved, or someone
who is innocent will wear the blame.”

Moriarty rubbed his stubbly
chin. It was probably time to start growing a beard like Nash.
Shaving would be a waste of time in the Transvaal. “How is any of
this related to what you said earlier about passing secrets to the
enemy?”

“Information is being passed to
the Boers in secret code written on papyrus or stelae using
hieroglyphics. It is most likely someone who is part of our party.
My money is on the two Germans. Herr Graf and his niece, Ursula
Graf.”

“Germans?” said Moriarty,
starting to see the relevance. “You think the Germans could be
about to enter the war?”

“It’s possible.”

The Countess straightened up.
“Mallisham had several papyri in his suitcase and he admitted to
knowing Herr Graf for years. Something suspicious passed between
the two of them in the souk. Mallisham could be in it simply for
the money. Excavations are expensive and he might be planning a new
dig which will require finance. I cannot see how Jefferson Lee
could be tied to this. I can’t see him bringing his only daughter
to Egypt and putting her life in danger.”

“Damn good cover, though,” said
Moriarty cynically.

“He may have been in the wrong
place at the wrong time,” suggested Gideon. “If everyone was
stumbling about last night, lost, he may have come across something
he shouldn’t and paid the price. Shh! Someone’s coming!”

Moriarty moved to one side of
the doorway; Gideon moved to the other. They both had their weapons
drawn. The Countess crouched in the farthest corner with the
deepest shadow. She still had her double-barrelled Derringer
strapped to her thigh and one bullet left.

Someone was moving stealthily
near the doorway of the chamber.

“You can put down your weapons.
I’m coming in.”

It was Colonel Sebastian Moran.
He must have heard voices, although they were trying not to speak
too loudly, but in lofty structures the slightest sound tended to
echo. They braced for his reaction to the dead body. He didn’t even
blink as he circled the body like a true predator.

“Golden Rain,” he said.

14

Colonel Moran could sum up a
situation in the blink of an eye. He didn’t need to look long and
hard at the woman with the tumbled hair, wearing a strapless red
assuit tunic, khol smudged around her eyes, to know she had spent a
heavy night with a man. He didn’t need to look at Jim to know he
was that man. He didn’t need to look at the Eastern advocate to
know he knew it too.

No situation was too bizarre or
too grisly to a man who had spent the better part of his life
working for Professor Moriarty, committing crimes, murdering on
demand, hunting big game, and fighting wars in foreign climes.

“Golden Rain,” repeated
Moran.

“You’ve seen this sort of thing
before?” pressed Gideon, noting the lack of reaction.

“Yes,” said Moran. “It’s an old
Pashtun custom. I saw two cases like it in Afghanistan. The men
were staked out in the open. And before you try to pin this on me,”
he added curtly, “it’s not my modus operandi. If I wanted to kill
Jefferson Lee I would have shot him through the head. If I wanted
to pin the blame on someone else I would have used someone else’s
gun. This was done by a woman.”

“A woman?” challenged Gideon.
“How could a woman overpower a man of Lee’s build?”

Unperturbed, Moran shrugged.
“She must have had help.”

“She may have drugged him
first,” suggested Moriarty. “Something that knocked him out just
long enough to tie him down. By the time he woke up, he realized he
wasn’t going anywhere.”

The Countess moved to the other
side of the body and crouched down. “I think he was hit on the head
with something. There’s a small amount of blood on the stones under
the head. The injury doesn’t look serious enough to have killed him
but it may have rendered him unconscious for a time. Perhaps just
long enough to be tied down.”

Gideon crouched down on the
opposite side of the body to inspect the wound to the back of the
head. “That might have happened when he found himself tied down. He
could have lifted his head groggily and then clunked back on the
stones, or else his assailant could have pushed his head back none
too gently.” He looked up at Moran. The gun for hire was casually
lighting up a cigarette. “Talk us through what you think happened
here.”

Moran took a quick puff of his
cigarette and offered one to Jim, who also lit up. It helped to
diffuse the stench in the chamber. “Lee was tied down. He was
probably groggy. The stick was placed in his mouth after he was
secured but still only half-awake. The stick needs to be big enough
to make swallowing almost impossible. A woman would have crouched
over him and urinated in his mouth. Among the Pashtun it is usually
more than one woman. They take it in turns. The man eventually
drowns.”

Gideon straightened up. “It’s
always a woman or group of women?”

Moran nodded while he exhaled;
his eyes looked sharp and dangerous.

“It’s quite a humiliating death
for a man,” noted the Countess circumspectly.

“I think that’s the point,”
said Moran coldly. The Countess reminded him of someone but he
couldn’t think who and it began to bother him.

“My money’s on Lorna Baxter,”
said Gideon. “If her husband was a diplomat in the East, she may
have heard of this type of Pashtun practice during their travels.
It’s the sort of bizarre fact that stays in your memory.”

“She was with me last night,”
declared Moran.

“All night?” stressed
Gideon.

“All night,” confirmed the
other, brooking no argument.

“She wasn’t out of your sight
for an hour or two?”

“No.”

“What about when you fell
asleep?”

“I’m a light sleeper. If she
had moved I’d have woken.”

Gideon wasn’t entirely
convinced. If Lorna Baxter had planned this death in advance, she
would have found a way to drug Moran too. He just didn’t want to
admit it. Or else he was in on it. If Lorna Baxter needed an
accomplice then Moran would be the perfect choice. He wouldn’t be
the first man to do the bidding of an attractive woman. And he was
just the type to have no qualms about killing. Plus he was familiar
with this particular Pashtun ritual. And it was uncanny how he just
turned up at the chamber this morning when he was supposed to be
scouting the Kiosk with Hayter on the eastern bank. “Where did the
two of you
sleep
last night?” He used that word loosely and
put an ironic drag on the double vowel that no one could fail to
notice.