The Lost Army of Cambyses (61 page)

under the rear wheel and they flew forward. A

figure leaped out in front of them, but Daniel

raised his foot and kicked him out of the way.

Other figures loomed, ahead and to either side

and, clutching Daniel's waist with one hand, eyes

half closed as if that would somehow protect her,

Tara unleashed spasms of bullets all around,

uncertain whether she was actually hitting any-

thing. Somewhere nearby there was an explosion

and a man staggered across the periphery of her

sight, robes flaming.

They roared on, zigzagging madly through the

tents, swerving this way and that, skidding, slid-

ing, until eventually they burst from the northern

edge of the camp and flew towards the mound on

whose summit they'd stood the night the army

was discovered. Black-robed figures were pouring

towards them from either side of it. Daniel

slowed, looked around, then heaved back the

throttle.

'Hold on!'

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They sped straight towards the mound. The

men ahead held for an instant, then scattered.

When she saw what he was about to do Tara

threw the gun aside and clasped both arms tightly

around his waist.

'No fucking way!' she screamed.

They hit the bottom of the slope, powered

upwards and took off, arcing up, over and, after

what seemed like an impossible length of time,

down again on the far side, putting the mound

between them and their pursuers. Their rear tyre

slewed badly as it hit the ground and for a

moment it looked as if they were coming off.

Somehow they remained upright, however, and

sped away along the valley. There were sporadic

bursts of gunfire from behind, but none from

above, most of the lookouts having left their posts

and run back towards the camp as soon as the

shooting started. They were out.

'Jesus, look at all this stuff,' cried Daniel as they

flew past the excavations.

Tara tightened her grip around his waist.

'Don't look,' she yelled. 'Drive!'

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41

T H E WESTERN DESERT

'You're not my brother,' said Khalifa, staring up at

the man in front of him. 'My brother's dead. He

died the day he and his thugs came to our village

and murdered four innocent people. The day he

took the name Sayf al-Tha'r.'

Now that they were beside each other the

similarity was obvious: the same high cheekbones,

narrow mouths, hooked noses. Only their eyes

spoke of some fundamental difference. Khalifa's

were clear blue; Sayf al-Tha'r's brilliant green.

Their gazes remained locked for some time,

their bodies motionless, the air between them

seeming to crackle and burn, and then Sayf al-

Tha'r held out his hand towards Dravic.

'Your gun.'

The giant stepped forward and handed him the

weapon. Sayf al-Tha'r took it and aimed the

muzzle at Khalifa's head.

'Take the men and get back to work,' he

ordered. 'Bring the lookouts down too. The

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helicopters will be here in thirty minutes and there

is much still to do.'

'What about the prisoners?'

'Let them run. We don't need them.'

'And him?'

'I will deal with it.'

'We can't—'

'I will deal with it.'

Muttering, Dravic turned and walked away.

The men followed, leaving the two of them alone.

Sayf al-Tha'r motioned Khalifa to his feet and they

stood facing each other, Sayf al-Tha'r slightly the

taller of the two.

'You should have killed me when you had the

chance, Yusuf. When you came into my tent just

now. It was you, wasn't it? I could feel you behind

me. Why didn't you pull the trigger? I know you

wanted to.'

'I tried to think what my brother Ali would have

done in that situation,' said Khalifa. 'And I knew

he would never have shot a man in the back.

Especially not when he was at prayer.'

Sayf al-Tha'r grunted. 'You talk as if I'm not

your brother.'

'You're not. Ali was a good man. You are a

butcher.'

The generators stopped suddenly and the arc

lamps flicked off, immersing the camp in the

softer, more subtle hues of dawn. Northwards a

column of heavy black smoke rose into the air.

'Why did you come here, Yusuf?'

Khalifa was silent for a moment.

'Not to kill you,' he said. 'No, not that.

Although you're right: I wanted to. For fourteen

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years I've wanted to. To wipe Sayf al-Tha'r from

the face of the earth.'

He fumbled among the folds of his robe and

pulled out his cigarettes. He removed one, but

then realized Dravic had taken his lighter and so

just stood with it in his hand, unlit.

'I came because I wanted to understand. To look

you in the face and try to understand what

happened all those years ago. Why you changed.

Why Ali had to die and give way to this . . .

wickedness.'

Sayf al-Tha'r's eyes flashed momentarily, his

hand tightening around the gun. Then his grip

eased and he broke into a half-smile.

'I opened my eyes, Yusuf, that is all. I looked

around and saw the world for what it is. Evil and

corrupt. The
sharia
forgotten. The land overrun

by
Kufr.
I saw and vowed to do something about

it. Your brother didn't die. He simply grew.'

'Into a monster.'

'Into God's true servant.' The man stared at

Khalifa, eyes boring into him. 'It was easy for you,

Yusuf. You were not the elder son. You did not

have to bear the things I bore. Shoulder the same

responsibilities. Eighteen, twenty hours a day I

worked to feed you and Mother. I felt my life

slowly draining from me. And all around the rich

Westerners in their fine hotels, spending more on

a single meal than I earned in a month.

Such things change a man. They show him the

world as it really is.'

'I would have helped,' said Khalifa. 'I begged

you to let me help. You didn't have to take the

whole burden.'

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'I was the elder son. It was my duty.'

'Just as it is now your duty to kill people?'

'As it says in the Holy Koran: "Fight against the

unbelievers until there be no opposition." '

'It also says: "Let not hatred of a people incite

you to act unjustly." '

'And also: "Those who err from the way of God

shall suffer a severe punishment." And also:

"Against them make ready your strength to the

utmost of your power to terrorize the enemies of

Allah." Shall we stand here and bandy holy verses,

Yusuf? I think I would outdo you.'

Khalifa stared down at the cigarette in his hand.

'Yes,' he whispered, 'I think you probably

would. I'm sure you could quote from dawn to

dusk and beyond. But it still wouldn't make your

actions right.'

He looked up again, into Sayf al-Tha'r's face,

his eyes running back and forth across it.

'I just don't recognize you. The nose, the eyes,

the mouth, yes, they're Ali's. But I just don't

recognize you. Not here.' He raised his hand to his

heart. 'Here you are a stranger. Less than a

stranger. A void.'

'I am still your brother, Yusuf. Whatever you

say. Our blood is the same.'

'No, it's not. Ali is dead. I even made him a

grave, built it with my own hands, although there

was no body to put in it.'

He raised his sleeve and wiped away the blood

on his mouth.

'When I think of Ali, I feel pride. I feel admir-

ation. I feel love. That's why my elder son carries

the same name. Because it will always fill me with

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joy and warmth. But you . . . with you I feel only

shame. Fourteen years of it. Fourteen years of

dreading to open a newspaper for fear of reading

of some new atrocity. Fourteen years of hiding

from my past. Of pretending I'm not who I am

because who I am is the brother of a monster.'

Again Sayf al-Tha'r's eyes flashed and his hands

tensed around the gun, knuckles whitening. 'You

always were weak, Yusuf.'

'You confuse weakness with humanity.'

'No, you confuse humanity with subservience.

To be free one sometimes has to make unpleasant

decisions. But then why should you understand

that? Understanding, after all, is born of suffering

and I always tried to protect you from such things.

Perhaps it was a mistake to have done so. You talk

of shame, Yusuf, but has it occurred to you the

shame I feel? My brother, whom I loved and cared

for, whom I worked my fingers to the bone to feed

and clothe and send to university, now a police-

man. A servant of those who did this to his own

flesh and blood.'

He snapped his fingers in front of his scarred

forehead.

'Is this what I broke my back for? Drained away

my life? Believe me, you are not the only one

who feels disappointment. Nor the only one who

believes he has lost a brother. Not a day goes by,

not a minute of a day, when you are not in

my thoughts. And not a day goes by when those

thoughts are not darkened with regret and anger

and bitterness.'

His voice had dropped to a low hiss.

'When I realized it was you out here, I thought

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perhaps . . . just for a moment . . . after all this

time . . .'

His eyes glowed for an instant, then dimmed.

'But no. Of course not. You do not have the

strength. You have betrayed me. And you have

betrayed God. And for that you will be punished.'

He raised the gun and pointed it at Khalifa's

head, finger tightening around the trigger.

Khalifa stared up at him. 'God is great', he said

simply, 'and God is good. And He does not need

to kill people to prove that. This is the truth. This

my brother Ali taught me.'

Their eyes held, five seconds, ten, and then, with

a growl, Sayf al-Tha'r squeezed the trigger. As he

did so, he flipped the muzzle upwards so that the

gun fired harmlessly into the sky. There was a

pause and then the boy Mehmet came running

into the clearing.

'Take him and guard him,' said Sayf al-Tha'r.

'Watch him closely. Do not speak to him.' He

turned and began walking away.

'You're going to destroy it, aren't you?' Khalifa

called after him, indicating the stack of boxes

behind him. 'That's what these are. Explosives.'

Sayf al-Tha'r stopped and turned. 'What we've

got is useless if the rest of the army survives. It's

unfortunate, but there's no other way.'

Khalifa said nothing, just stared at him.

'Poor Ali,' he whispered.

They drove hard for ten minutes, Tara glancing

constantly over her shoulder for signs of pursuit.

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When it became clear they weren't being followed

Daniel slowed and swung off to the right, up the

side of a dune, skidding to a halt at its summit.

Behind them the camp had faded to a distant blur,

a vague pall of smoke rising above it into the

dawn sky. The pyramid rock shimmered orangey-

purple in the growing light of day. They gazed at

it in silence.

'We can't just leave him,' said Tara eventually.

Daniel shrugged, but said nothing.

'We could call for help.' She pulled the mobile

phone from her pocket. 'The police, the army,

something like that.'

'Waste of time. They'd take hours to get out

here. If they believed us.'

He paused, fiddling with the ignition key. 'I'll go

back,' he said.

'We'll both go back.'

He smiled. 'I get the feeling we've had this

argument before.'

'Then best not to repeat it. We'll go back

together.'

'And then?'

She shrugged. 'Let's worry about that when we

get there.'

'Clever plan, Tara. Subtle.'

He squeezed her knee and, with a sigh, clicked

the bike into gear, setting off down the far side

of the dune.

'At least we've got a nice day for it,' he said over

his shoulder.

'For what?'

'Suicide.'

* * *