business in hand. "As I promised, I won't detain you longer than is
absolutely necessary. Inspector Galla here will be recording your
statements. Firstly I would like to deal with the disappearance and
death of Major Brusilov. I presume you are aware that he was formerly an
officer in the Russian KGB?"
The interview lasted much longer than they had expected. General Obeid
was thorough, but unfailingly polite. Finally he had their statements
typed out by a police stenographer, and after they had read and signed
them, the general walked with them as far as the entrance where their
car was waiting. Nicholas recognized this as a mark of special favour.
"If there is anything I can do for you, anything that need, please do
not hesitate to call upon me. It has you been a great pleasure meeting
you, Dr Al Simma. You must come back to Ethiopia and visit us again
soon."
"Despite our little misadventure, I have thoroughly enjoyed your
beautiful country" she told him sweetly. "You may see us again sooner
than you expect."
"What a charming man," she remarked, as they settled into the back seat
of Sir Oliver's Rolls. "I really like him."
"It would seem to be mutual,'said Nicholas.
yan's words were prophetic. There were idenical envelopes addressed to
each of them lying at their places on the dining-room table the next
morning when they came down to breakfast.
Nicholas opened his as he ordered coffee from the waiter in his
ankle-length shamnia, and his expression changed as he read the note.
"Hello!" he exclaimed. "We made an even bigger impression on the boys in
blue than we realized. General Obeid wants to see me again."He read
aloud from the note, "You are ordered to present yourself at police
headquarters at or before noon."' Nicholas whistled softly. "Strong
language. No please or thank you."
"Mine is identical." Royan glanced at the note on an official police
letterhead. "What on earth do you suppose it means?"
"We will find out soon enough," Nicholas promised her. "But it sounds a
little ominous. Methinks the love affair is over."
This morning, when they arrived at police head, quarters, there was no
reception committee to welcome them. The guard at the private entrance
sent them around to the general charge office, where they were involved
in a long, confused discussion with the desk officer, who had only a
rudimentary knowledge of English. From previous experience in Africa
Nicholas knew better than to lose his temper, or even to let his
irritation show. Finally the desk officer held a long whispered
telephone conversation with some unknown person, at the end of which he
waved them airily towards a hard wooden bench against the far wall.
"You wait. Man come soon." fill For the next forty minutes they shared
their seat with a colourful selection of other supplicants, applicants,
complainants and petty criminals. One or two of them were bleeding
copiously from assault by persons unknown, and yet others were in
manacles.
"It seems our star is on the wane," Nicholas remarked as he held a
handkerchief to his nose. It was obvious that some of his neighbours had
not had a close acquaintance with soap and water for some time. "No more
VIP treatment." At the end of forty minutes Inspector Galla, he who so
deferentially the day before, looked had treated them over the partition
and beckoned to them in a high-handed fashion.
He ignored Nicholas's outstretched right hand and led them through to
one of the back rooms. There he did not offer them a seat but addressed
Nicholas coldly. "You are responsible for the loss of a firearm that was
in your possession."
"That is correct. As I explained to you in my statement yesterday-'
Inspector Galla cut him off. "The loss of a firearm due to negligence is
a very serious offence," he said severely.
"There was no negligence on my part," Nicholas denied.
"You left the firearm unguarded. You made no attempt to lock it in a
steel safe. That is negligence."
"With respect,- Inspector, there is a notable dearth of steel safes in
the Abbay gorge."
"Negligence," Galla repeated. "Criminal negligence.
elements opposed to the government?"
"You mean some unknown person may overthrow the government with a 275
Rigby?"Nicholas smiled.
Inspector Galla ignored the sally, and produced two documents from the
drawer of his desk. "It is my duty to ation orders on both you and Dr Al
serve these deport Simma. You have twenty-four hours to leave Ethiopia,
and thereafter you will be considered to be prohibited immigrants, both
of you."
"Dr Al Simma has not lost any weapons," Nicholas pointed out mildly. "In
fact as far as I am aware, she has never been even mildly negligent in
her entire life." And again his comment was ignored.
"Please sign here to acknowledge that you have received and understood
the orders."
"I would like to speak to General Obeid, the Commissioner of Police,'
said Nicholas.
"General Obeid left this morning for an inspection tour of the northern
frontier districts. He will not return to Addis Ababa for some weeks."
"By which time we will be safely back in England?"
"Exactly." Inspector Galla smiled for the first time, a thin, wintry
smirk. "Please sign here, and.here."
"What happened?" Royan demanded, as the driver opened the door of the
Rolls for her and she settled into the seat beside Nicholas. "It was all
so sudden and unexpected. One moment everybody loved us, and the next we
are being booted down the stairs."
"Do you want my guess?" Nicholas asked, and then went on without waiting
for her reply. "Nogo is not the only one in Pegasus's back pocket.
Overnight Obeid has been in contact with von Schiller, and received his
orders."
"Do you realize what this means, Nicky? It means that we will not be
able to return to Ethiopia. That puts the tomb of Mamose beyond our
grasp." She stared at him with large dark eyes full of dismay.
"When Duraid and I visited Iraq and Libya, neither of us had letters of
invitation from either Saddam or Gadaffi, as I recall."
"You look delighted at the prospect of breaking the law," she accused.
"You are smirking all over your face."
"After all, it is only Ethiopian law," he pointed out virtuously. "Not
to be taken too seriously."
"And it will be an Ethiopian prison they toss you into.
That you can take seriously."
"You too," he grinned, "if they catch us."
You can be certain that HE has already registered a formal complaint
with the President's office," Geoffrey told them as he drove them to the
airport the next day. "He is most upset at the whole business, I can
tell you. Deportation orders and all that rot.
Never heard the likes."
"Don't fuss yourself, old boy," Nicholas told him. "As it is, neither of
us intends coming back here again. No harm done."
"I
t's the principle of the thing. Prominent British subject being
treated like a common criminal. No respect shown." He sighed. "Sometimes
I wish I had been born a hundred years ago. We wouldn't have to put up
with this sort of nonsense. just send a gunboat."
"Quite so, Geoffrey, but please don't let it upset you." Geoffrey
hovered around them like a cat with kittens while they checked in at the
Kenya Airways counter. They had only their hand luggage, two small cheap
nylon holdalls that they had bought that morning at a street market.
Nicholas had rolled his dik'dik skin into a ball and wrapped it in an
embroidered shamma that he had purchased in the same market.
Geoffrey waited with them until their flight was called and waved to
them after they passed through the barrier, aiming this affectionate
display more at Royan than Nicholas.
They had been allocated seats behind the wing, and Royan was beside the
window. The Kenya Airways plane started its engines and began to taxi
slowly past the airport buildings. Nicholas was arguing with a
stewardess who wanted him to stow his precious dik-dik skin in its
purple nylon bag in the overhead locker, while Royan peered out of the
porthole beside her for her last glimpse of Addis during takeoffs
Suddenly Royan stiffened in her seat, and while still gazing out of the
window reached across and seized Nicholas's arm.
"Look!" she hissed with such venom in her tone that he leaned across her
to see what had excited her.
"Pegasus!" she exclaimed, and pointed to the Falco executive jet that
had just taxied in and parked at the far end of the airport buildings.
The small, sleek aircraft was painted grpen and on its tall tail fill
the scarlet horse reared on its hind legs in that stylized pose. While
they watched through the window, the door in the fuselage of the green I
Falcon was lowered, and a small reception committee waiting on the
tarmac pressed forward expectantly to greet the passengers as they
appeared in the doorway of the jet.
The first of these was a small man, neatly dressed in a cream tropical
suit and a white panama straw hat. Despite his size he exuded an air of
confidence and command, that special aura of power. His face was pale,
as though he had come from a northern winter, and it looked incongruous
"in this setting. His jaw was firm and stubborn, his nose I prominent
and his gaze beneath dark beetling eyebrows penetrating.
Nicholas'recognized him immediately. He had seen him often enough on the
auction floors at Sotheby's and Christie's. This man was not the type of
person whom anyone would forget in a hurry.
"Von Schiller!" he exclaimed, as the German surveyed with an imperial
gaze the men who waited on the tarmac below him.
"He looks like a bantam rooster," Royan murmured, "or Thai') a standing
cobra."
Von Schiller raised his panama hat and ran down the steps of the Falcon
with a light, athletic tread, and Nicholas said quietly, "You wouldn't
think that he is almost seventy." moves like a man of forty," Royan
agreed. "He "He must dye his hair and eyebrows - see how dark they are."
"My oath!" Nicholas was startled. "Look who is here to greet him."
There was the glint of sunlight on decorations and regimental insignia.
A tall figure in blue uniform detached itself from the welcoming group
and touched the shiny patent-leather brim of his cap in a respectful
salute, before taking von Schiller's hand and shaking it cordially.
"Your erstwhile admirer, General Obeid. No wonder he could not meet us
yesterday. He was much too busy."
"Look, Nicky," Royan gasped. She was no longer watching the pair at the
foot of the steps, who were still clasping hands as they chatted with
animation. Her whole attention was focused on the top of the steps of
the Falcon jet, where another, younger, man had appeared. He was
bareheaded, and Nicholas had the impression of sallow skin and dense,
dark, wavy hair.
"Never seen him in my life before. Who is he?" Nicholas asked her.
"Nahoot Guddabi. Duraid's assistant from the museum.
The man who now has his job."
As Nahoot started down the steps of the Falcon their own aircraft
trundled on down the -tarmac, then swung out on to the main taxi-way and
blocked any further view of the gathering beside the Pegasus jet. Both
of them fell back in their seats and stared at each other for a long
moment.
Nicholas recovered his voice first.
"A witches' sabbath. A convocation of the ugly ones.
We were lucky to witness it. There are no more secrets now. We know very
clearly who the opposition is."
"Von Schiller is the puppet-master," she agreed, breathless with anger
and horror. "But Nahoot Guddabi is his
,Bell hunting dog. Nahoot must be the one- who hired the killers in
Cairo and turned them loose on us. Oh God, Nicky, you it's should have
heard him at the funeral, going on about how much he admired and
respected Duraid. The filthy, murib derous hypocrite!'
They were both silent until the aircraft had taken off and climbed to
cruise altitude, then Royan said quietly, "Of course, you were right
about Obeid. He is deep in von Schiller's pocket also."
"He may simply have been acting as the representative of the Ethiopian
government, paying respect to a major foreign concession-holder,
somebody who they hope is going to discover fabulous copper deposits in
their poverty stricken country and make them all rich."
She shook her head firmly.
"If it was as simple as that, it would be one of the cabinet ministers
meeting him, not the chief of police, No, Obeid has the stink of
treachery on him, just the same as Nahoot." kIN Seeing her husband's
killers in the flesh had reopened the half-healed wounds of Royan's
grief and mourning.
These bitter emotions were a flame that was burning he up ee, like the
bushfire in the trunk of a hollow forest tr consuming her from within.
Nicholas knew that he, could not quench that flame, that he could only
hope to distract her for a while. He talked to her quietly, turning her
dark thoughts away from death and vengeance to the challenge of Taita's
game and the riddle of the lost tomb.
By the time that they had changed planes at Nairobi and landed at
Heathrow the following morning, the two of them had sketched out a plan
of action for their return to the Nile gorge and the exploration of
Taita'spool in the chasm. But although now Royan appeared on the surface
to be her usual calm and cheerful self once again, Nicholas knew that
the pain of her loss was still there beneath the surface.
They landed at Heathrow so early that they walked through the
immigration gates without running into a queue, and since they had no
bags in the hold they did not have to play the customary game of
roulette at the luggage carousel - will they arrive or won't they?
carrying the dik-dik skin in the nylon bag under his arm, and with Royan
limping on her cane on his other arm, Nicholas sauntered through the
green channel of HM
Customs, as innocent as a cherub from the roof of
the Sistine Chapel.
"You are so brazen," she whispered to him once they were through and
clear. "If you can lie so convincingly to Customs, how can I ever trust
you again?"
Their luck held. There was no queue at the taxi rank, and in a little
over an hour after touch-down the taxi deposited them on the pavement
outside Nicholas's town house in Knightsbridge. It was only eight-thirty
on a Monday morning.
While Royan showered, Nicholas went down to the corner shop under an
umbrella to fetch some groceries Then they shared the task of cooking
breakfast, Royan taking care of the toast while Nicholas whipped up his
speciality, a herb omelette.
"Surely you're going to need expert help when we go back to the Abbay
gorge?" Royan observed, as she let the butter melt into the hot toast.
I already have the right man in mind. I have worked before," he told
her. "Ex-Royal Engineers. Expert with hi in diving and underwater
construction. Retired and living in a little cottage in Devon. I suspect
he is a little short of the ready, and bored out of his considerable
mind. I expect him to jump at any opportunity to alleviate either
condition."
As soon as they had finished breakfast, Nicholas told her, "I will do
the dishes. You take the films of the stele to be developed. There is a
one-hour service at the branch of Boots opposite Harrods."
"That's what I call a fair distribution of labour," she remarked with a
long-suffering air. "You have a dishwasher, and it's raining again
outside."
"All right," he laughed. "To sweeten the pill, I'll lend you my
raincoat. While you are waiting for the films to be developed you can go
shopping to replace the togs you lost in the rockfalls I have some
crucial phone calls to make."
As soon as she had left, Nicholas settled at his desk with a notepad at
one hand and the telephone at the other.
His first call was to Quenton Park, where Mrs. Street tried not to show
how delighted she was to have him home.
"Your desk is about two feet deep with mail awaiting your return. It's
mostly bills."
"Cheerful, aren't we?"
"The lawyers have been pestering me, and Mr Markham from Lloyd's has
been ringing every day."
"Don't tell any of them that I am back, there's a good girl." Nicholas