The Exodus Quest

IV

Claire was hustled through the corridors of the police station to a small interview room with greasy yellow walls and an ugly acrid smell. Farooq made her sit on a hard wooden chair he placed deliberately out in open space, so that she didn't even have a table to hide behind. Then he prowled round and round her, jabbing his cigarette at her, thrusting his face into hers, spraying her with spittle that she didn't dare wipe away. He had a gift for languages, it turned out. He used it to abuse her in Arabic, French and English. He called her a whore, a thief, a slut, a bitch. He demanded she tell him where Peterson and the others were.

Claire hated conflict. She always had. It made her feel unwell, provoked an overwhelming longing to placate. But she remembered what Augustin had told her. 'I want to speak to a lawyer,' she told them.

Farooq threw up his hands. 'You think a lawyer can help you? Don't you realize how much trouble you're in? You're going to gaol, woman. You're going in for years.'

'I want to speak to a lawyer.'

'Tell me where Peterson is.'

'I want to speak to a lawyer.'

'The others. I want their names. I want the name of the hotel you've been staying at.'

'I want to speak to a lawyer.'

'I'm going for a coffee,' spat Farooq. 'You need to get wise fast, you stupid bitch. It's your only chance.' He stormed out, slamming the steel door so hard it made her jump.

Hosni had been leaning against the wall this whole time, arms folded, neither condoning nor intervening. But now he cocked an amused eyebrow at her, pulled up a chair that he set obliquely to hers, instantly reducing the sense of confrontation. 'I hate all this,' he sighed. 'It's not right, bullying nice people. But he's my boss. There's nothing I can do.'

'I want to speak to a lawyer.'

'Listen, you need to understand something. Farooq's been made a fool of today. He's lost face with the guys. He needs a victory, however small. Something to show them, you know. I'm not defending him. I'm just telling you how it is. Give him something, anything, and this can be over for you, just like that.'

She hesitated. Augustin had promised he'd be right behind her, but she'd kept glancing out of the back of the police car, and there'd been no sign of him. She remembered how short a time she'd known him, how little she knew about him, that she had no reason whatever to trust him, other than her instincts and her heart. 'I want to speak to a lawyer.'

'I'm sorry. That's not possible. You must see that. This isn't America. This is Egypt. We do things the Egyptian way. And the Egyptian way is to cooperate. That way everyone benefits. Where are your colleagues?'

'I want to speak to a lawyer.'

'Please don't keep saying that. It's discourteous. You don't strike me as a discourteous person. You're not, are you?'

'No.'

'I didn't think so. You look nice. Out of your depth, sure. But nice. I promise you, if you trust me, I can help you sort this out.'

She glanced around at the steel door, not just locking her in, but locking help out too. 'I… I don't know.'

'Please. I'm on your side, I really am. I want to help you. Just give me some names. That's all I ask. We didn't write them down earlier. Give me some names and I'll get Farooq off your back, I promise.'

'I can't.'

'You have to. Someone has got to pay for what's been going on. You must see that. If we can't find anyone else, it's going to be you.'

Tears of self-pity pricked the corner of her eyes. She wiped them away with the back of her hand, wondering what time it was, whether Griffin and the others would have boarded their plane yet, be safely on their way. 'I can't,' she said again.

'I hate to see women being bullied. I really hate it. It's against our culture. Please just tell me the names of your colleagues. That's all.'

'I can't. I'm sorry.'

'I understand,' he nodded seriously. 'They're your colleagues, your friends. It wouldn't feel right. I appreciate that. I admire it. But look at it this way: they've left you here alone to face the consequences of their actions. They've betrayed you. You owe them nothing. Please. Just one name. That's all. I can convince Farooq you're on our side if you give me just one name.'

'Just one name?' she asked wretchedly. 'That's all you want?'

'Yes,' pressed Hosni gently. 'Just one name.'

V

In the dryness of Naguib's Lada, Knox marshalled his thoughts. So much had been going on, it was difficult to know where to start. He told Naguib about Peterson and the underground site. He showed him the mosaic photo on his mobile's screen, how it matched Gaille's posture in the video. Then he explained how the Greek letters pointed towards Akhenaten and Amarna.

Naguib nodded, as though it meshed with his own thinking. 'We found the body of a young girl out in the desert two days ago,' he said. 'Her skull had been bashed in; she'd been wrapped in tarpaulin. She was a Copt, which is a very sensitive issue round here right now, so my boss told me to drop it. He's not a man to stir things up unnecessarily. But I have a daughter. If there's a killer on the loose…' He shook his head.

'Good for you,' said Knox.

'The investigation didn't go as I'd expected. I'd assumed rape or robbery, something like that. But it turned out she'd drowned. And when we found an Amarna figurine on her, a different scenario began to take shape in my mind. A desperate, poor young girl who's heard of valuable artefacts being flushed out of the wadis by storms like these. She makes her way out to the Royal Wadi, she comes across a figurine, tucks it away in her pouch. Perhaps a rock crashes down on her. Or perhaps she glimpses a gash in the cliff-face and tries to climb up to it, but slips and falls instead. Either way, she lies unconscious face-down in the rainwater until she drowns.'

'Then someone comes across her,' suggested Knox. 'They too see the gash in the cliff. A newly discovered tomb just begging to be plundered. So they wrap the girl in a tarpaulin and take her out into the desert to bury.'

'That's what I began suspecting,' agreed Naguib. 'And so I got to wondering, what if your friend Gaille and her companions spotted something while they were filming in Amarna? What if that's why they disappeared? I spoke to some local ghaffirs earlier. They no longer have access to the Royal Wadi. They were banned by the senior tourist policeman here, a certain Captain Khaled Osman, the day after the last great storm.'

'Jesus!' muttered Knox. 'Have you told anyone?'

'I tried to earlier. My boss wouldn't hear me out. You don't build a career in the Egyptian police by taking on the sister services. Anyway, I had no evidence to offer, only suspicions. But then, just before I saw you, I realized something. You remember that hostage video?'

'You think I'm likely to forget?'

'Did you notice the lighting?'

'How do you mean?'

'Think back. You could see the underside of the hostages' chins, yes? All the shadows were being cast upwards. That's because the light was coming from beneath. Everyone's been working on the assumption that they're being held in some house or apartment in or around Assiut. But private houses and apartments don't have floor-lighting like that. In Egypt, you only find such floor-lighting in one kind of place.'

'Historic sites,' said Knox.

'Exactly,' said Naguib. 'That video wasn't filmed in Assiut. It was filmed in Amarna.'