The Khamsin Curse (31 page)

“Do you think Jurgen Graf is
still dealing in fakes?”

“He deals with Mallisham and
Mallisham deals with fakes - yes.”

“What about Colonel Hayter? Do
you think he could be involved with Mallisham and Jurgen Graf?”

Ali Pasha did not need to think
for long. “Mallisham and Jurgen, they would not wish to split the
money three ways, but if the British High Commissioner threatens to
arrest them then they would pay him, yes, they would pay him.”

“Now that Mr Lee is dead what
will you do about the tomb?”

“The tomb has waited thousands
of years. It can wait another year or two. I will find a new buyer.
Maybe Jurgen and Fraulein Graf? Maybe Miss Lee? Maybe you, Countess
Volodymyrovna? You are rich. You can be famous too.”

It was an enticing proposition.
“The prospect of discovering an Egyptian tomb is thrilling and
money is no object, but if I were to ‘discover’ a tomb I would
prefer to actually ‘discover’ it. There is enough fakery going on
as it is. Thank you for your hospitality. Colonel Moriarty and I
should be getting back to the mainland before anyone misses
us.”

Ali Pasha picked up on the
innuendo. “You wish to have private moment. You may use my humble
tent.” He indicated a fabulous little tent that could have been
transported from the Field of the Cloth of Gold.

“No, but thank you for the
kind…”

“Yes, we will - thank you for
the kind offer.” Jim grabbed her hand and jerked her along. As soon
as they were inside the tent he swung her into his arms. “I leave
for the Transvaal first thing tomorrow morning. I’m not going to
get another chance to say goodbye. I won’t ask you to wait for me.
I know you’ll be off somewhere else with the doctor: solving
murders. I know Nash will try to muscle in. I just want you to know
I love you. I’ll be thinking of you day and night. If you could
occasionally spare me a thought…”

His throat constricted and he
kissed her.

It was a passionate, beautiful
kiss, hard and hungry, but sensual too; a kiss she would recall
often, just as she would recall often that strange night they
shared in the tomb.

Colonel James Isambard Moriarty
was much dearer to her than he knew and if he only wanted a lover,
he could have had her, but he wanted more than she was prepared to
give.

She would not sacrifice her
independence for any man. Independence was the rarest of gifts,
especially for a woman. Women who enjoyed independence, enjoyed it
at the expense of their dignity, their social standing and their
financial security. Men made sure of it, otherwise there would have
been far fewer women desperate to be wed.

She was the exception that
proved the rule.

The felucca reached the
mainland in time to be seen by those making their way back from a
tour of the dam. Jim helped her ashore and she thanked him kindly
and wished him well. There was nothing else to say.

Daisy and Ursula led the way to
the jetty, followed closely by Lorna Baxter and Herr Graf. Two
scruffy workmen with their wrists bound were coming up the rear,
escorted by Colonel Hayter and Gideon Longshanks. Dr Watson was
nowhere to be seen. Presumably, he was still busy assisting Dr Bell
with the post mortems. Hypatia had returned earlier than the
others. She was standing in the shade of a doum palm, talking to
Colonel Moran. They parted ways as soon as they spotted the others,
but not before something changed hands. Hypatia caught up to the
others. Moran quickly approached Gideon and after a brief
conversation the gun for hire took over and escorted the two
workmen aboard the Sekhmet. Gideon was now free to join the
Countess and Colonel Moriarty.

“How did everything go on
Agilkia?” he asked.

“It was interesting,” replied
the Countess vaguely, hoisting her lacy parasol. “I’ll fill you in
later. Who are the two Arabs?”

“Two sappers found with
explosives hidden in their bedding. They’ve already confessed and
Colonel Hayter will escort them to Cairo where they will stand
trial. In the meantime, they’ll be secured below deck. There’s no
brig. It’s the best we can do. The only problem is that someone
else is directing them. The sabotage won’t stop until we find the
man giving the orders.” He turned to Jim. “Any trouble on the
island?”

“The place was like a Sunday
school.”

“Khartoum first thing
tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll probably get back to
London before me!”

“Probably. It’s a shitty
half-baked war.”

“A bullet is a bullet.”

Jim gave a careless shrug.
“Find the bastard passing information to the Boers and I won’t have
to worry about the bullet I can’t see coming.” He indicated the
Countess with a nod of his head; the two men were talking as if she
wasn’t there. “We’ve said our goodbyes. The rest is up to you. Try
not to stuff up.”

Without speaking, they watched
Jim stride off across the sand. He did not look back. When he was
out of sight but not out of mind, they forced themselves to square
up to the problems facing them.

Who was behind the sabotage of
the dam?

Who was passing information to
the enemy?

Who released the
crocodiles?

Who murdered Lee and
Mallisham?

Having had sufficient time to
recover from her initial shock, the Countess revealed that Japhet
was alive and well, apart from a sprained ankle. “He was hanging
around the workshop in Luxor keeping an eye out for Mallisham when
he got coshed on the head, same as you, so he couldn’t have been
your attacker in Kom Ombo. By the way, he had his slippers stolen
possibly to incriminate him in your supposed death.”

“Let’s walk slowly toward the
ship as we speak. You think his attacker and mine were the same
man?”

“No, your attacker was Nubian
and his attacker was an Arab.”

“Did Japhet get a good look at
this Arab?”

She tried not to sound bigoted.
“Dark hair and eyes, beaked nose and thick neck.”

“That could be anyone in
Egypt.”

She decided to change the
subject when she spotted Colonel Moran on the foredeck talking to
Azrafel, presumably about the two prisoners. “Hypatia and Moran
were alone together before you showed up. I’m sure he passed her a
small package or vice versa. Did you notice?”

“I was busy watching you and
Moriarty.” He knew she’d be constantly worried about the Jim in the
Transvaal but Jim had the luck of the Irish about him. He’d
probably be awarded a VC and come back a fucking hero!

They reached the foot of the
gangway and paused.

“I better go and check if Xenia
and Fedir found any torn burqas,” she said.

“And I better check that the
saboteurs have been properly secured. I want to speak to Azrafel
about keeping an eye on them. Hayter is useless.” He offered her an
arm and seemed to remember something. “Oh, I invited the three
engineers and Dr Bell to dine with us on the Sekhmet tonight. I
need to speak to Azrafel about extra guests. Can you speak to Miss
Lee about it? The Sekhmet is her ship now. I should have consulted
her beforehand but she disappeared from the guided tour early.”

Countess V knocked on Hypatia’s
door as she was passing. The millionairess was seated at her
dressing table, gently patting her face with a powder puff to
reduce the redness. There was not time for small talk and no time
to deal with histrionics. She explained about the dinner invitation
and made it sound as if it was to express thanks to the engineers
and Dr Bell for their assistance with the post mortems. Hypatia
nodded vacantly and continued to pat her face. Her colour was
unnaturally high and the Countess wondered if she might be coming
down with a fever. The strain of the last twenty-four hours was
probably catching up with her. Such a tragedy and on her birthday
too – who said that? As she closed the door she realized the
Limoges seashell had been replenished.

When she reached her cabin she
found Xenia slumped in an armchair. Her imperturbable,
russet-cheeked maid was looking pale and distrait. The normally
steady voice quivered.

“I…I search for burqas. Miss
Clooney and Fraulein Graf, they have the burqas. Miss Lee, she have
no burqa. Mrs Baxter…she have…she have…”

“Yes?” prompted the Countess
when Xenia’s voice faltered. “Mrs Baxter had what?”

“Scorpions!”

“What? Where? How many?”

“In small case like case you
have for old boots, but this case is green. Six, seven, eight,
maybe ten.”

The Countess knew her maid was
referring to her purple leather, Morocco, jewel case. She also knew
certain scorpion bites could be deadly if left untreated. “Did you
get bitten?”

Xenia’s death-stare revealed
how stunned she was at her narrow escape. “No, I cry out and close
lid. Fedir, he comes. One, maybe two scorpions, they fall out.”

“You mean a scorpion is
somewhere in Mrs Baxter’s cabin?”

Xenia nodded glumly. “Fedir, he
looks, he finds one, he kills with boot, but Azrafel, he is making
inspection of cabins. We hear him come. We must go out. Then all
come back to ship. We have no chance to go back.”

“Good grief! What if Mrs Baxter
gets bitten!” Something had to be done. Panic was about to win the
day when there was a knock on the door. It was Gideon. He sauntered
in swinging a green leather jewel case.

“I found this in the saloon.
You shouldn’t leave valuables lying around. It’s too tempting and
we’ve got enough to deal with. We don’t need to add robbery to the
list of things to solve. You might want to check nothing’s missing
before you go to lunch.”

He placed it on the bed. The
two women gasped and jumped back in fright.

Warning bells started ringing;
he looked from one terrified face to the other. “What’s wrong?
What’s going on?”

“That’s not my case. Mine is
purple. That belongs to Lorna Baxter. It’s full of scorpions.”

Instinctively, he stepped back
from the bed. “Scorpions?”

“Xenia found them this morning
while searching for burqas. There might be a scorpion or two on the
loose in Lorna Baxter’s cabin.”

Warning bells turned into alarm
bells. “Sweet Jesus! What next!” He stared at the green leather
case and then at Xenia. “How did this case get into the saloon?” he
demanded to know.

Xenia’s eyes were moist and
about to get moister. She had suffered a terrible fright and felt
guilty, though none of it was her fault. “I know not,” she
whimpered. “I know not.”

In an instant he regretted his
harshness. There was nothing to be achieved by apportioning blame.
“All right, this is what needs to happen next. Find Fedir. Tell him
to meet me here. He can help me search Lorna Baxter’s cabin. In the
meantime, the Countess goes to lunch. She tells everyone I’m
suffering from heatstroke and I’m resting in my room. I requested
not to be disturbed.”

Xenia hurried away.

Gideon watched the Countess
pull on three pairs of gloves, one after the other, then hitch up
her petticoat and skirt. “What are you doing?” he said, but even as
he said it he knew. “Oh, no you don’t!” he hissed, blocking her
path to the bed.

“We have to check how many
scorpions are left,” she argued. “Xenia said there were between six
and ten scorpions in that case. What if they are now running loose
in the saloon? We have to warn the others. The sooner we do it the
better. You flip open the lid and then stand back. I’ll count the
critters then slam it shut.”

He marvelled at her
perspicacity and coolness. Most women would have hyperventilated
and then fainted. Or was it that men hoped women would faint and so
most women lived up to that expectation? He heaved a breath to make
sure
he
didn’t hyperventilate. “Go ahead,” he said,
releasing the clasp and flipping the lid.

The case was empty.

He uttered an expletive for
both of them. “Great! Just what we need! Those scorpions could be
anywhere. Let’s hope they’re not Deathstalkers! Whoever released
them could have released them into the bedrooms as well as the
saloon.” They both looked at the floor and felt a creeping shudder.
“We’ll have to search the entire ship. You interrogate Lorna Baxter
as to why she kept scorpions in her case. I’ll alert Azrafel and
organise…”

He didn’t finish the sentence
because Fedir burst in. Urgency propelled him swiftly forward.
“Prisoners dead,” he blurted.

Gideon felt his head spin. “Say
that again.”

“Prisoners dead,” Fedir
repeated. “Someone put scorpions in room with prisoners. Both men
dead.”

Gideon rushed from the room. He
didn’t know who to throttle first – Hayter or Azrafel.
Interrogating the two saboteurs once they returned to Cairo had
been the plan. He wanted the name of the man who put them up to it.
But, of course, whoever killed those two men wanted to make sure
they didn’t give up the name. Sharif was the most likely suspect
but without proof his hands were tied. The foreman was highly
respected by the workforce. If the descendent of Ibn-the-Mad was
arrested without proof the workmen would down tools and the dam
project would come to a grinding halt.

Only this afternoon, he felt as
if they were finally making progress. He had found the culprits who
set the explosives. The three engineers had begged him to sort out
the matter of the dead crocodiles and the double murder. The
workmen are starting to believe the project is cursed, they said.
You have no idea what superstition can do to a project of this
magnitude, they said. If the workmen desert in droves it could be a
disaster, they said. He had assured them not to worry.

Who held the key to the luggage
room? Hayter or Azrafel? That’s what he needed to find out
first.

Lunch went ahead as normal on
the aft deck under the striped canopy though it was a quiet affair.
Dr Watson had not yet returned and Gideon Longshanks was
absent.