The Exodus Quest

III

Griffin felt the tremors in his hands like soil feels an impending earthquake. He clasped them together in an effort to still them. 'Can we make this quick, please?' he asked. 'Only my flight leaves in-'

'Forget your flight.'

'But I-'

'I said forget about it.' One of them pulled up a chair, sat down, leaned forwards. 'I'm afraid we have some irregularities to deal with before we can let you leave.'

'Irregularities?'

'Yes. Irregularities.'

'What kind of irregularities?'

'The kind we need to deal with.'

Griffin nodded. All his adult life, he'd felt deficient. Living a lie, they called it. The lie that you were adequate. He looked out through the office window onto the departures lounge, his students milling around the gate, conferring heatedly, glancing anxiously his way, delaying their boarding to the last moment. They looked so young, suddenly. They looked like children. All of them had been aware of the clandestine nature of their excavation. But they hadn't cared. They were God-fearing, they were American, they were immune from consequence. But now that their immunity was being stripped from them, they realized just how vulnerable they were. Horror stories about foreign gaols, judicial procedures in which they wouldn't understand a word, their whole futures at the mercy of people they despised as heathens… No wonder they were scared.

He looked back at the security men. Whatever they knew, they evidently knew it only of him, or they'd have stopped everyone flying. His students were his responsibility, his job was to buy them time, whatever the personal cost. And, realizing this, a serene calmness descended upon him. 'I don't know what you mean,' he said.

'Yes, you do.'

'I assure you.'

They shared a glance. 'May we see your passport, please?'

He fished it from his pocket, along with his boarding pass. They took their time inspecting it, flipping slowly through the pages. Griffin looked around again. The lounge was empty, the gate closing. His students were aboard. A warm wave of relief, the chill of loneliness. Apple pie and ice cream.

'You come often to Egypt.' A statement, not a question.

'I'm an archaeologist.'

The two security men glanced at each other. 'You are aware of the penalties for smuggling antiquities out of the country?'

Griffin frowned. He was guilty of a lot of things, but not that. 'What are you talking about?'

'Come on,' coaxed the man. 'We know everything.'

'Everything?' And, just like that, he got the feeling that this was nothing, that they were fishing.

'We can help you,' said one of them. 'It's just a matter of the right paperwork. We'll even take care of it for you. Pay us the amount owing, you won't have to do another thing.'

The relief was so intense that Griffin couldn't help but sag in his chair. A shakedown, that was all. After all that anxiety, just a fucking shakedown. 'And how much would that be, exactly?'

'One hundred dollars,' said one.

'One hundred dollars each,' said the other.

'And then I can catch my flight?'

'Of course.'

He didn't even begrudge them their money. It felt strangely as though they were messengers from some greater power, as if this was some kind of penance. And that meant he still had time to turn things around. Get his students home, make sure Claire was okay, then do something with his life of which he could be proud. He counted out ten twenty-dollar bills, added an extra one. 'For your friend in check-in,' he said. Then he walked out through the door and across to the departure gate, a great weight off his shoulders, a little strut back in his stride.