The Lost Army of Cambyses (63 page)

helicopters hovered, raking the ground with gun-

fire. An oil drum erupted. The noise was

deafening.

He took in the scene at a glance and then began

running. He'd gone only thirty metres when a

seam of bullets came chewing across the sand

from his right, forcing him to dive behind a crate.

He started to get up, then ducked again as two

khaki-clad figures stepped from the smoke directly

ahead, both wearing gas masks. For a moment he

thought they'd seen him. Then one signalled to the

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other and they disappeared back into the

maelstrom. Khalifa counted to three, got up and

began running again.

He skirted a pile of burning drums, leaped over

a smouldering corpse, then glanced up to check

the position of the helicopters. One of Sayf al-

Tha'r's men staggered out in front of him and

collapsed onto the sand, hands clutching his

stomach, blood pumping between his fingers.

Khalifa dropped to his knees beside him.

'Sayf al-Tha'r,' he cried. 'Where's Sayf al-Tha'r?'

The man stared up at him, bubbles of blood

frothing at the corners of his mouth.

'Please,' yelled Khalifa. 'Where's Sayf al-Tha'r?'

The man's mouth was working, but no sound

was coming out. One of his hands was clawing at

Khalifa's shirt, smearing it with blood. Khalifa

took the hand and held it.

'Tell me! Please! Where is he?'

For a moment the man just stared at him,

uncomprehending. Then, with a supreme effort,

he pulled his hand free and pointed behind him,

towards the excavation site.

'Rock!' He was choking. 'Rock!'

He slumped backwards, dead.

Khalifa muttered a quick prayer, came to his

feet and ran on, oblivious to the turmoil around

him. He reached the edge of the excavation crater

and threw himself behind a bale of straw,

frantically scanning the outcrop away to his left.

'Where are you, brother?' he hissed. 'Where are

you?'

Initially he couldn't see him. There was too

much activity, too much confusion. Then, just as

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he was getting desperate, a curtain of smoke

momentarily parted and he spotted a small figure

hunched at the base of the rock, a thick black

cable snaking away from a box at his feet down

into the excavation trench below. It was a hundred

metres away, but there was no mistaking who it

was. Nor what he was doing.

'Got you!' he cried.

He started running. There was a flash of move-

ment to his left and he swung and fired, a

black-robed figure flailing backwards into a pile

of shields. Another figure half rose from behind a

wooden crate and again Khalifa fired, bullets

thudding into the man's chest. Seconds, that was

all he had. Seconds.

He hit a heavy bank of smoke and everything

went dark. He tripped over, stumbled, somehow

managed to keep his footing and staggered on,

fighting for breath, uncertain if he was even going

in the right direction still. The smoke seemed to go

on and on, and he was beginning to wonder if he'd

ever get out of it again when, as suddenly as it had

come, it cleared. There, just a few metres away, the

rock face rearing massively above him, was Sayf

al-Tha'r, finger poised above the detonator

button, ready to destroy the remains of Cambyses'

army. Khalifa powered forward and leaped, slam-

ming into his brother and knocking him back

against the rock.

For a moment Sayf al-Tha'r lay still, winded, his

body limp, a trickle of blood leaking down his

temple from where it had hit the jagged stone.

Then, with a painful rasping, the breath rushed

back into his lungs and he launched himself at

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Khalifa, tearing at his face and hair, mouth twisted

into a foaming knot of fury.

'I'll kill you,' he roared. 'I'll kill you!'

He got his hands around Khalifa's head and

slammed it against the rock, once, twice, three

times.

'You betrayed me, Yusuf! My brother! My own

brother!'

He yanked him onto his knees and punched him

in the mouth.

'You can't fight me! I'm too strong. I've always

been too strong. God is with me.'

He punched him again and again, and then

threw Khalifa sideways onto the sand, struggling

upright and turning back towards the detonator.

Desperately, Khalifa lashed out with his foot,

catching Sayf al-Tha'r just behind the knee, buck-

ling his legs, knocking him down. He scrambled

on top of him and pinned his arms to the ground.

'I loved you!' he cried, tears filling his eyes. 'My

brother. My blood. Why did you have to become

like this?'

Beneath him Sayf al-Tha'r bucked and writhed.

'Because they're evil!' he spat. 'All of them.

Evil.'

'They're women and children! They've done

nothing to you.'

'They have! They have! They killed our father!'

He got one hand free and clawed at Khalifa's eyes.

'Don't you see that? They killed our father. They

ruined our lives!'

'It was an accident, Ali! It wasn't their fault!'

'It was their fault! They destroyed our family!

They're evil. All of them! Devils!' With ferocious

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strength he threw Khalifa off and, leaping to his

feet, kicked him in the ribs. 'I'll butcher them! Do

you hear me? I'll butcher them! Every last one!'

He kicked again and again, shunting Khalifa

downwards to the very edge of the excavation

crater. Desperate, the detective looked around for

something to use as a weapon. There was an

ancient dagger lying on the sand nearby, its iron

blade green and notched, and he grabbed it, slash-

ing at the figure above, trying to keep him away.

Immediately Sayf al-Tha'r was on him, grabbing

his wrist and, knees pressing down on his chest,

slowly twisting the knife so the point was aiming

at Khalifa's throat.

'They think they can treat us like animals!' he

screamed. 'They think they are above the law. But

they're not above God's law. God sees their

wickedness. And God demands vengeance!'

He began to push the dagger downwards.

Khalifa tried to hold it away, arms trembling with

the strain, wrists twitching, but his brother was

too strong. Inch by inch the tip edged closer to

his throat until eventually it was pressing right up

against his Adam's apple, breaking the skin. He

held it for a moment longer, and then slowly eased

his grip. He gazed up into his brother's eyes.

Suddenly the noise of battle receded and it was

just the two of them.

'Do it,' whispered Khalifa.

Although he alone was holding the dagger,

Sayf al-Tha'r's hands were trembling violently,

as though he was struggling with an unseen

force.

'Do it,' Khalifa repeated. 'It's time. I want to be

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free of you. Be with my brother again. My beauti-

ful brother. Do it. Do it!'

He closed his eyes and braced himself. The knife

pushed a hair's breadth further into his throat, a

trickle of blood running down his neck. Then it

stopped. There was a pause and, slowly, the blade

was withdrawn. Something thudded onto the sand

beside Khalifa's head and the weight was lifted

from his chest. He opened his eyes again.

His brother was standing over him. They gazed

at each other for a brief second, each looking deep

inside the other, searching for something they

could understand, something they could hold

onto, and then Sayf al-Tha'r turned back towards

the detonator. He took one pace, two, and then a

crack of gunfire blasted him sideways against the

rock and down onto the ground. For a moment he

sat slumped against the stone, a ribbon of blood

spilling from his mouth, hand clawing limply at

the sand. Then another flurry of bullets punched

into his chest and he toppled away and down,

rolling over and over into the crater, where a

tangle of desiccated arms and legs closed around

him, as if the army was claiming him as one of its

own.

Khalifa looked up, horrified. Ten metres away

Daniel was standing, gun in hand. He came slowly

forward and, bending, ripped the cable from the

detonator. Khalifa slumped back and looked up at

the sky, eyes blinded with tears.

'Oh God,' he whispered. 'Oh Ali.'

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Dravic heaved Tara away from the ridge, the

mayhem below disappearing from view behind a

slope of sand. She punched and clawed at him, but

he was far too strong, manhandling her as though

she was no more than a rag doll. She didn't waste

her breath screaming, knowing the sound would

make no impression on the cacophony of gunfire

and explosions that filled the air.

'I'm going to teach you a lesson you'll never

forget,' he snarled. 'You've fucking ruined every-

thing and now you're going to pay.'

He kept pulling her until they were well below

the summit of the dune, then forced her down onto

her face, digging his right foot into the slope and

jamming his left knee into the small of her back. She

tried to punch up into his crotch, but he was too

tall and her fist flailed harmlessly against his thigh.

He grabbed a hank of her hair and yanked her

head back, exposing the pale arc of her neck. The

stench of his sweat filled her nostrils like

ammonia.

'By the time I've finished with you you'll wish

you'd only been raped!'

'You're a brave man, Dravic.' She was choking.

'Killing women and children. A real fucking hero.'

He laughed and yanked her head back further,

her vertebrae cracking in protest.

'Oh I'm not going to kill you,' he said. 'That

would be far too kind. I'm just going to scar you

a bit.'

He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out his

trowel, holding it up in front of her eyes, showing

off the well-honed edge.

'I like to think that after today you'll never look

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in a mirror without remembering our time

together. Although you'll have to beg me to leave

you an eye to look in the mirror with.'

He ran the flat edge of the trowel across her

cheek and down onto her breast, slapping the tip

of it against her nipple. The areola hardened

slightly.

'Well, well.' He chuckled, easing back the

material of her shirt to expose her chest. 'You are

a dirty girl, aren't you? Seems you like it rough

after all.'

'Fuck you, Dravic.'

She tried to spit at him but there was no saliva

in her mouth. He leaned right down so his face

was almost against hers, his lips wet and

quivering.

'What shall we start with, then, eh? An ear? An

eye? A nipple?'

He lifted the trowel to his mouth, licked it and

then lowered it again to her breast, leaning back

slightly to avoid her hand, which was vainly trying

to claw at his eyes. She could feel the trowel

against her skin, knew he was about to cut her

and, in a final desperate effort to free herself, she

clasped a handful of sand and flung it backwards

into his face.

'You bitch!' he bellowed, letting go of her hair

and raising his hands to his eyes. 'You fucking

bitch!'

She squirmed out from under him and rolled

onto her back. He was half standing, half kneel-

ing, legs to either side of her, eyes weeping from

the sand. With every ounce of strength she

possessed she drew her right foot back and drove

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it into his crotch, pulping his testicles.

He screamed – a hysterical, high-pitched woman's

scream – and doubled over, coughing violently.

'I'll cut your face off.' He was slobbering. 'I'll

fucking slash you.'

He stabbed at her with the trowel, but she

dodged the blow and began scrambling away

along the side of the dune. Dravic swarmed after

her. He lunged, missed, lunged again, grabbed the

corner of her shirt, and suddenly they were both

rolling, tumbling madly down the slope, over and