The Exodus Quest

IV

A second football match had taken the place of the first on the recreation room TV, and now was reaching its climax. Knox's two cell-mates were fans, taking it in turns to stand by the door and squint through the viewing window, wincing and cheering, chatting animatedly with the policemen outside.

Omar was dead. Finally, it was sinking in. He and Knox hadn't been old friends, but they'd grown close quickly, in that way you do. Kindred spirits. Such a gentle, thoughtful and diffident young man; it was hard to credit that he came from a family of Egyptian gangsters, though maybe that was why he'd turned out the way he had, why he'd turned to archaeology. An effort to distance himself from his own roots. Although, thinking about it, maybe it had had something to do with his recent promotion too.

The worst of it was, Farooq was right: Omar's death was his fault. He'd been driving his Jeep for years with a broken seat belt, aware that such an accident was possible, yet he'd done nothing about it. Such things somehow seemed to matter less in Egypt. Until they had consequences, at least.

A great cheer went up. Someone had scored.

He buried his head in his hands as he grieved for his friend, striving to regain his lost memory. He owed it to Omar to remember precisely what had happened, how badly to blame he'd been. But the minutes passed, slow as pouring treacle, and still nothing came.

V

Faisal followed Abdullah along the tomb corridor with a heavy tread, his AK-47 held out in front of him, as though to fend off demons. He was a quiet man by nature; he wanted only to complete his three years' conscription and go home. He believed in hard work, in Allah, in doing right by others, in marrying a good woman and having many, many children. His uncle had assured him that the army would be the making of him. Who on earth could have dreamed it would make him into this? But Khaled had given his orders, and you didn't disobey Khaled. Not more than once.

They reached the lip of the shaft, stopped. 'Who's up there?' called out the girl Gaille. 'What's going on?' Her voice was plaintive, it tugged at his heart, reminded him of how she'd given him chocolate just that same morning, how they'd laughed and joked together. How in hell had it all gone so wrong so quickly?

'I'll shine down the torch,' murmured Abdullah. 'You do it.'

'Why should I do it?'

'Are you going to let us go?' asked the girl. 'Please. We're begging you.'

'What do you think I mean?' scowled Abdullah. 'I'll shine down the torch. You do… you know.'

'How about I shine down the torch and you do it?' retorted Faisal. He peered over the edge, as though that would somehow resolve the issue. Gaille lit a match from a book they must have left down there, the sudden bright flare illuminating her face in the darkness, staring pleadingly up at them.

'I wish we had one of the captain's grenades,' muttered Abdullah. 'So much easier.'

'For us, you mean?'

Down below, the second woman started sobbing piteously. Faisal struggled to block her cries and wails from his head.

'We'll do it together,' said Abdullah finally. 'Then we'll check with the torch. Agreed?'

'I don't like this,' said Faisal.

'You think I do?' scowled Abdullah. 'But it's this or explain to Khaled.'

Faisal breathed deep. He'd slaughtered livestock on his farm ever since he could remember. That was all this was. Livestock ready for slaughter. 'Okay,' he said. He readied his gun; the shrieking started down below.

'On the count of three,' said Abdullah.

'On the count of three,' agreed Faisal.

'One…' said Abdullah. 'Two…'