The Lost Army of Cambyses (31 page)

'We go to Omar.'

'Omar?'

'An old friend. Omar Abd el-Farouk. He was

my
rais
up in the valley. A hundred years ago his

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family were the most famous tomb robbers in

Egypt. Now they work for the archaeological

missions and run a couple of souvenir shops.

There's not much goes on around here that they

don't know about.'

The pump attendant came over and began fill-

ing their tank.

'And what if he can't help us?' asked Tara.

'What if we don't find anything here?'

Daniel took her hand. 'It'll be OK,' he said.

'We'll get out of this. Trust me.'

He sounded far from convinced.

Omar lived in a large mud-brick house backing

directly onto the ruin-field that had once been the

great palace of Malqata. He was working in the

garden when they arrived, raking up palm fronds

and piling them in a corner, where an aged donkey

was lethargically nibbling on their sun-browned

leaves. As soon as he saw them he let out a shout

of pleasure and came hurrying over.

'Ya Doktora!'
he cried. 'It has been too long!

Welcome!'

The two men embraced, kissing twice on each

cheek. Daniel introduced Tara, explaining who

she was.

'I hear about your father,' said Omar. 'I am very

sorry. May he be peaceful.'

'Thank you.'

He shouted something towards the house and

led them to a table in the shade beneath a banana

tree.

'I dig with Dr Daniel for many years,' he said as

they sat. 'I work with other archaeologists too, but

262

Dr Daniel always the best. No-one knows as much

about Kings' Valley as he does.'

'Omar says that to everyone he works for,'

Daniel said, smiling.

'It is true.' The Egyptian winked. 'I only mean it

with Dr Daniel, though.'

A pretty girl emerged from the house carrying

three bottles of Coke, which she placed on the

table. She glanced at Daniel, blushed and hurried

away again.

'My eldest daughter,' explained Omar proudly.

'Already she has had two offers of marriage. Local

boys, good families. She only thinks of one person,

though.'

He tipped his head towards Daniel and

chuckled.

'Just drink your fucking Coke, Omar.'

They chatted for a while, lightly: about Omar's

children, their journey down from Cairo, other

missions currently working in the area. The pretty

girl reappeared with a tureen of lentil soup and,

when they had finished that, a platter of fried

chicken, rice and slippery green
molochia.

Afterwards Omar's wife came out with a
shisha

pipe, which she placed between the two men. She

accepted their thanks for the meal, collected the

plates and with a curious backward look at Tara,

disappeared into the house again.

'So,' said Omar, exhaling smoke from his

nostrils, 'you are here for a reason, I think, Dr

Daniel? Not just as a friend.'

Daniel smiled. 'You can't keep anything from

the el-Farouks.'

'My family has worked with English

263

archaeologists for over a hundred years.' Omar

laughed, winking at Tara. 'My great-great-grand-

father was with Petrie. My great-grandfather with

Carter. My great-uncle with Pendlebury at

Amarna. We see through them like glass.' He

passed the pipe across to Daniel. 'So speak, my

friend. If there is anything I can do for you, I will.

You are a part of my family.'

There was a silence and then Daniel turned to

Tara. 'Show him,' he said.

She hesitated for a moment and then, bending

down, pulled the cardboard box from her knap-

sack and handed it to Omar. He removed the lid

and lifted out the decorated fragment, turning it

over in his hands.

'I think it came from round here somewhere,'

said Daniel. 'A tomb, probably. Have you seen it

before? Do you know anything about it?'

Omar didn't answer immediately, just continued

turning the piece, examining it front and back

before returning it to its box and replacing the lid.

'Where did you get this?' he asked eventually.

'My father bought it for me,' said Tara. She

paused and then added, 'Sayf al-Tha'r wants it.

And so do people at the British embassy.'

She felt Daniel shift uncomfortably beside her

and sensed he hadn't wanted her to mention that.

Omar just nodded and, taking back the pipe,

puffed slowly on the brass mouthpiece. 'That is

why you came such a long way round from

Cairo?'

'Yes,' Daniel conceded. 'We thought it best to

avoid middle Egypt. You do know something,

don't you?'

264

The Egyptian exhaled a thick billow of smoke,

taking his time.

'Yesterday morning I was brought in for

questioning by the police,' he said. 'Not in itself

unusual. If ever a crime is committed involving

antiquities, the first thing the police always do is

bring in an el-Farouk. We tell them over and over

again that we're not involved in that sort of thing

any more, haven't been for a hundred years, but

it doesn't make any difference. They still bring us

in.

'This time, however, it wasn't the usual sort of

silly questions. This time there'd been a murder. A

local man. The detective thought maybe he'd

found a new tomb. Taken some things out. Upset

some powerful people. Wanted to know if I knew

anything about it.'

He paused, leaning forward to fan the embers of

the
shisha.

'I told the police nothing, of course. They are

dogs and I'd rather die than help them. The truth

is, however, I have heard things. About a new

tomb up in the hills. Where I don't know, but it's

something big. Something they say Sayf al-Tha'r

wants very badly.'

'And you think this piece might be a part of it?'

said Daniel.

Omar shrugged. 'Maybe, maybe not. I don't

know. What I can tell you is that if it is you are

both in very great danger. It is not good to go

against the Sword of Vengeance.'

His eyes flicked back and forward between the

two of them. The donkey had stopped toying with

the palm fronds and was sniffing around the

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mouth of a clay bread oven on the corner of

the house. There was a long silence.

'I need to find out where this piece came from,'

said Daniel. 'We have to know why it's so im-

portant. Help us, Omar. Please.'

The Egyptian said nothing for a long while, just

continued puffing on the pipe. Then, slowly, he

stood and walked back towards the house. For a

moment Tara thought he was abandoning them.

At the doorway, however, he turned.

'Of course I will help you, Dr Daniel. You are

my friend, and when a friend asks for help an Abd

el-Farouk does not let him down. I will make

enquiries. In the meantime you will both stay here

as my guests.'

He held out his arm, ushering them into the

building.

266

25

CAIRO

As Khalifa stood in the front foyer of Cairo's

Museum of Egyptian Antiquities, gazing up at the

great glass cupola in the roof and the colossal

statues at the far end of the atrium, he wished he

had more time. It was two years since he'd last

visited the collection and he would have liked to

have at least a cursory look round, revisiting some

of his favourite objects: the coffins of Yuya and

Tjuju, the Tutankhamun treasures, the painted

limestone statuette of the dwarf Seneb.

The afternoon was already well advanced, how-

ever, and he had a train to catch, so without

further ado he turned left and hurried through the

Old Kingdom gallery and up a broad staircase at

the far end, glancing at exhibits as he passed but

resisting the temptation to stop for a longer look.

At the top of the staircase he opened a door

marked Private and climbed another staircase,

wooden this time, walking down a long narrow

corridor until he reached a door with 'Professor

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Mohammed al-Habibi' stencilled on its window.

He knocked twice and a cheerful voice bade him

enter.

His old teacher was standing with his back to

him, bent over his desk examining something

intently with a magnifying glass.

'Won't be a moment,' he said, not turning.

'Make yourself at home.'

Khalifa closed the door and leaned against it,

gazing affectionately at the old man's back. He

knew it was pointless trying to get his attention.

When the professor was engrossed in an artefact a

herd of wild elephants couldn't distract him.

He looked exactly as he always had: the same

rotund figure, unravelling cardigan, jeans that

stopped three inches above his ankles. The

shoulders were a little more stooped and his bald-

ing head a little more wrinkled, but that was to be

expected: he was, after all, approaching eighty.

Khalifa remembered the day they had first met,

almost twenty-five years ago. It was here, in the

museum. He and Ali had been standing in front of

an alabaster libation table wondering aloud what

a libation was, and the professor, who was pass-

ing, had stopped and explained.

They had liked him immediately – his muddled

appearance, his cheerful manner, the way he had

described the table as 'she' instead of 'it', as

though it was a living person rather than an in-

animate object. The professor, too, had taken to

them, touched perhaps by their interest in the past

and their poverty, and also, maybe – although

Khalifa only found this out many years later – by

the fact that his own son was Ali's age when he'd

268

been killed in a car accident several years before.

The professor had become their unofficial

guide, meeting them each Friday and taking them

around the museum for an hour or two before

buying each a Coca-Cola and a slice of
basbousa

from a stall on Midan Tahrir. As they had grown

older the Coke and
basbousa
had given way to

regular Friday lunch at the professor's home,

cooked by his wife, who was even more rotund

and dishevelled than he was, if it were possible. He

had lent them books and given them artefacts to

handle, and allowed them to watch his television,

which, although neither of them would ever have

admitted it, was the thing they enjoyed most about

going to his flat.

He had, in a way, come to fill the gap left by the

death of their father. He himself had certainly

looked on the two boys with a paternal eye. The

pride he had felt when Khalifa won a place at

university had been more that of a father for a son

than a friend for a friend. Likewise the tears he

had later shed when he heard about Ah.

It was several minutes before he eventually laid

aside his magnifying glass and turned.

'Yusuf,' he cried when he saw Khalifa, a huge

smile breaking across his face. 'Why on earth

didn't you say something, you fool!'

'I didn't want to disturb you.'

'Nonsense!'

Khalifa came forward and the two men

embraced.

'How are Zenab and the children?'

'Well, thank you. They all send their love.'

'And little Ali? Is he doing well at school?'

269

The professor was godfather to Khalifa's son

and took a keen interest in the boy's education.

'Very well.'

'I knew he would be. Unlike his father, the boy's

got some brains.' He winked and, shuffling round

the desk, picked up a phone. 'I'll call Arwa. Tell

her you're coming for dinner.'

'I'm sorry, I can't. I'm going back to Luxor

tonight.'

'You haven't got time for a quick snack?'

Khalifa laughed. At Professor al-Habibi's house

there was no such thing as a quick snack. His

wife's idea of fast food was five courses instead of

ten.

'No time. It's just a flying visit.'

Habibi tutted and replaced the receiver.

'She'll be furious she missed you. And I'll get the

blame. She'll say I should have made more effort

to bring you back. Drugged you if necessary.

You've no idea what sort of trouble you're getting

me into!'

'I'm sorry. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing.'

The professor snorted. 'Well, you should come

up here on the spur of the moment a bit more

often. We don't see enough of you.'

He rummaged in a drawer and produced a

bottle of sherry, pouring a hefty tot into a glass on

the table.

'I take it the laws of Allah haven't relaxed since

I last saw you?'

'Afraid not.'

'Then I won't embarrass you by offering you a

glass.' He raised his own. 'Good to see you, Yusuf.

It's been too long.'

270

He drained the sherry in one gulp, burped

lightly and then put his arm round Khalifa and