The moment the IV stand had crashed to the floor, Peterson had known his opportunity was gone: the best he could hope for was to get out unseen. He'd hidden behind the door as the policeman had looked in, had slipped out when he'd gone hunting for a nurse, through the swing doors at the end of the corridor, down two floors and out through a fire exit. Then he'd sat in his Toyota, taking a few moments to gather himself, think things through.
He prided himself on his strength of character, Peterson. On his ability to hold his nerve. But he undeniably felt the pressure right now. Knox was sure to blab about the intruder in his room. Even if he didn't remember yesterday's events, he'd have no trouble describing his assailant, and Farooq would make the link in a heartbeat. Straight-out denial wouldn't save Peterson. He needed an alibi. He needed to get back to the dig.
A window on the first floor opened at that moment. He looked up in time to see Knox hauling himself out, tumbling onto the sand pile beneath, then scrambling to his feet and staggering out onto the road.
A huge shiver ran through Peterson. He felt overwhelmed by a sense of privilege. God had wanted him to see this. It followed that He still had work for Peterson to do. He knew in his heart what it was too, and he accepted his mission without hesitation.
He put the Toyota into gear, followed Knox out onto the road, watched him collapse into a taxi. He followed the taxi east across Alexandria until it pulled up outside a tall grey block of flats. Knox climbed unsteadily out, vanished inside. Peterson found a place to park then went to check the names on the buzzers. An Augustin Pascal lived on the sixth floor. A man of that name was Alexandria's most celebrated underwater archaeologist. Surely it was him Knox had gone to see. The lift doors opened. Two women emerged chattering into the lobby. Peterson couldn't afford to be seen. He ducked his head and hurried back to his Toyota to await the opportunity he was certain his Lord would provide.