The Alexander Cipher

Chapter Thirty-two

Knox and Rick drove through the sandstorm for what seemed like hour after hour. The whine and screech and roar got to them both, like furious harpies clawing at the Jeep's metalwork, trying to get at them. The engine was increasingly strained, too, with unsettling glugs and belches coming from the radiator. But finally the storm began to abate; and then, in what seemed little more than a moment, the wind died away altogether and they were through, with nothing but open desert around them.

They had driven off the track some time before, and there was no sign of it, either, or any landmarks to give them guidance. They had neither GPS nor a decent map against which to plot it.

"You know where we are?" asked Rick.

"No."

"Then what the fuck do we do now?"

"Don't worry," said Knox. He climbed up onto the Jeep's hood and scoured the horizon through binoculars. People thought of the desert as a single flat landscape, bereft of personality and recognizable features, but it wasn't like that at all, not once you had been out here a few times. Every region had its own personality and look. Some parts were like those Utah salt flats where the land speed records were set. Others were like raging high seas frozen into dunes, and though the sands shifted, the underlying shapes themselves were immortal and unchanging. And there were numerous cliffs and ridges, too, many of which Knox had climbed.

The air was still hazy, but away to the north he spotted a familiar escarpment. Half an hour's drive, and they'd be back in business. "We should eat," he told Rick. "Give the engine a rest."

They sat in the shade of the Jeep and washed cold rice and vegetables down with water, the engine creaking and groaning as it cooled. When they were done, they topped up the water in the radiator and set off again, reaching the track right where Knox had thought they would, then drove on through the seemingly endless desert. Yet it wasn't endless. In fact, it was only a little after dusk that they reached a sealed track, and then progress was even swifter. Within another hour, they pulled into Siwa's main square.

"I could kill a cold drink," muttered Rick.

"Not if I see it first," answered Knox.

Mohammed refueled fifty kilometers north of Siwa, then drove for half an hour with his phone on the seat next to him, waiting for it to pick up a signal. When finally it did, he pulled off the road to call Nur. It did him good just to hear her voice. His premonitions of his own doom had been growing stronger with every passing minute, but then Nur mentioned Layla's name and Mohammed blurted out suddenly how much he loved them both, that if something went wrong and she shouldn't see him again-

"Don't talk like that!" The distress in Nur's voice shocked him.

He breathed in to calm himself and assured her that he was fine; he'd see her tomorrow evening. He hung up, switched off the cell phone before she could call back, and checked his watch. He had made excellent time. He jumped down and walked back along the side of the road, crouched. He scooped up a handful of sand, let it trickle away, and watched the peaks that remained on his fingers, the valleys between them. The sand was so hot from a day of baking in the sun that it left his skin reddened. He scooped up another handful, as though he believed that by punishing himself now, he might avoid more grievous punishment later.

A Bedouin in a dusty white truck honked his horn and leaned out of his window to ask cheerfully if he needed help. Mohammed thanked him but waved him on. He was so tired, time seemed to move at half its usual speed. The sun lowered to the horizon and finally set, and it quickly grew dark. He kept glancing up and along the road to the coast, which was so straight and flat, it would have made a Roman weep for joy. When he saw two four-by-fours and a container truck approaching, he stood, brushed the sand from his trousers, and climbed back into his cab. The vehicles slowed as they drew alongside. An interior light came on in the four-by-four, and Nicolas leaned out its window and motioned for Mohammed to fall in behind them. Mohammed gave him the thumbs-up and pulled out behind them. He followed the convoy a few more kilometers along the road to Siwa, then across the sands and deep into the desert.

Gaille was out walking when she saw Knox and another man glugging bottles of ice-cold water under the awning of a cafe. It was a profound shock to see him, not least because she had been thinking of him all day, about his role in her father's death and the letter he had sent her afterward. She hesitated but then walked over. He looked up, startled to see her. "Gaille," he said awkwardly.

"Daniel." She nodded.

"This is Rick," said Knox, nodding at his companion.

"Nice to meet you."

"Likewise."

She turned back to Knox. "Can we talk? In private?"

"Sure." He gestured at the road. "Want to take a walk?" When she nodded, he turned to Rick. "You don't mind, do you, mate?"

"Take your time. I'll get something to eat."

Knox and Gaille walked off side by side. "Well?" he asked.

"I went out there today."

"Out where?"

"To where my father died. Mustafa and Zayn took me."

"Ah."

She turned to face him. "I want to know what happened, Daniel. I want the truth."

"I'm sure they told you the truth."

"I think they told me what they saw," replied Gaille, walking on again. "But that's not quite the same, is it?"

He gave her a sideways glance. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You stuck with my father when no one else did. You wouldn't have done that unless you cared about him. So why did you let him fall?"

"I didn't."

"Yes, you did. And you must have had a reason. And I think I know what it was. He was already dying, wasn't he?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"What was it? AIDS?"

"It was an accident," said Knox.

She shook her head. "Mustafa and Zayn told me you snarled at them when they offered to help you with his body. All that blood. That's why I'm thinking AIDS."

"It was an accident."

"And then, of course, you had him cremated so quickly."

"I told you, it was an accident."

"You'd have to say that, wouldn't you, or you'd be complicit in insurance fraud." Knox opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. In the darkness of the back street, it was tough to read his expression, but she persevered anyway. "He made you promise to write to me, didn't he? To tell me he'd been thinking of me? Please. I just need to know."

Knox was silent for a while. "Yes."

She nodded several times. Although she had known it in her heart, it still took some effort to assimilate. "Tell me," she said. "Tell me everything."

"It wasn't just AIDS," sighed Knox. "His whole body was in meltdown. He had cancer; his organs were failing. It was just a matter of time. Time and pain. He was never the kind of man to eke things out in a hospital or be a burden. You should know that. He wanted to go on his own terms, in a place he loved. And he wanted to do something for you, to make up for being a bad father."

"A bad father?" asked Gaille bleakly. "Is that what he said?"

"Yes."

"And you just let him… go ahead with it?"

"He didn't give me a choice. At least, my choice was to be there or not to be there. He was my friend. I chose to be there." Then he added mulishly: "I'm sorry if you think that was wrong."

"I don't," she said. "I just wish I could have been there, too."

"You had your chance. He tried often enough to mend fences with you."

"Yes," she agreed. "You don't need to tell me I've behaved badly. I know that. And I'm sorry."

They had looped around in a circle. Rick saw them and waved, so they went to join him. "Cracking chicken and fries," he said. "So you're this famous Gaille, then?"

"Gaille, yes," she acknowledged. "I don't know about famous."

"You are to me. Your man Knox here talks about you nonstop."

"Shut it, Rick," said Knox.

Rick laughed. "So how you getting on with your search?"

"What search?"

"Come on, love. Goods fit for the son of Ammon. "

She looked back and forth between them. "How do you guys know about that?"

Knox shrugged and smiled. "You're not the only one who's been behaving badly."

"How do you mean?"

"Remember when you got lowered beneath the plinth?" He pulled a face and mimicked her voice outrageously: "There's someone there!" he cried.

Her eyes went wide. "That was you!" she laughed. "Daniel, that's awful!"

"I know," he grinned. "So have you had any luck?"

"I can't talk about it. I gave my word."

"Who to?" scoffed Knox. "Elena? Nicolas Dragoumis?"

"No. Yusuf Abbas."

Knox laughed out loud. "That crook? The man's corrupt, Gaille."

"He's the head of the SCA."

"He destroyed your father."

"I don't know," sighed Gaille, putting her hands on her head. "I don't know who to trust anymore."

"You can trust me," said Knox. "Your father did. Or if you want to talk to someone in authority, try Dr. Sayed. You can trust him with your life."

"Are you sure?"

"How do you mean?"

She hesitated, then said, "He saw something in my photographs of the lower chamber. I'll swear he did. And then some books went missing from his shelves."

Knox frowned. "And you think he took them to stop you making some kind of connection?"

"Maybe."

"Believe me, Gaille, if that's the case, it wouldn't have been to stop you. It would have been to stop Yusuf. Let's go see him."

She shook her head. "He's not here. He's been called to Cairo. And his house is locked."

"Then it's just as well we've got Rick," grinned Knox. "He's got a talent we can use."