The Heretics Treasure

Chapter Twenty

Ben was drifting in and out of a doze as the unmarked car drove him back. It pulled up outside the grim apartment building. He thanked the driver for the lift, got out and watched the police car’s taillights disappear down the street. It would soon be dawn. He wearily climbed the stairs, let himself into the rented flat, switched on the lights and flopped in an armchair.

He felt suddenly deflated, melancholy. Morgan’s killers had been taken care of, but what good was it going to do anyone? The whole thing had been depressing and ugly, and now he was glad it was over. All he wanted to do was go home.

His eyes were heavy. Sleep beckoned, but he didn’t want to use the bed. Kept imagining Morgan’s body sprawled over it. But there was a sofa in the living room that seemed comfortable enough. He’d slept in a lot of worse places in his time.

He turned off the main lights and put on a small corner lamp that flooded the room with a soft glow and almost made it seem cosy. He settled down on the sofa, letting his muscles relax and exhaustion take over.

But it was no use. He knew he couldn’t sleep until he’d taken a look at the computer. Jumping up, he grabbed his bag and carried it back to the sofa. Sitting on the edge, he pulled out the laptop. It was still rolled up inside the striped blazer.

As he unwrapped it, a small scrap of paper fell out of the blazer’s breast pocket and spiralled down onto the carpet. He laid the computer down next to him on the sofa and bent to pick up the paper. Unfolding it, he saw it was a receipt stub from a Cairo grocery store, showing the purchase of some tinned food and a bottle of beer. Across the pale columns of figures, someone had scribbled a phone number in biro.

Ben read the number three times before his tired eyes registered that it was a UK landline number. The area code was 01334. It wasn’t one he knew. Then there was the main number, and below that was what looked like a three-digit extension number, maybe for an office-345.

It might be important, or it might not. Ben folded the receipt and replaced it in the blazer pocket, making a mental note to tell Harry about it when he saw him. He bundled the blazer back in his bag, slipped the gold Rolex off his wrist and dropped it inside as well. He laid the bag on the floor, settled back on the sofa with cushions propped behind his head and the slim computer resting on his stomach. He flipped open the lid and pressed the power button. Waited as it loaded itself up.

Morgan’s screensaver was a shot of some archaeological dig in the sands. Ben clicked on the ‘My Documents’ icon and a list flashed up. It was a short one. He scrolled down, looking for anything promising. Then he came to it.

THE AKHENATEN PROJECT

Akhenaten. Ben dimly recalled the name from his theology studies. The so-called heretic pharaoh whose turbulent reign, more than a thousand years before Christ, had wrought havoc on Egypt’s economy and morale. Was this the subject of Morgan’s research? So this was what it was all about-some obscure pharaoh? Hardly a big deal. Ben clicked on the document, wondering what he was about to find.

The screen suddenly went blank. A box flashed up, asking him to enter a user name and password. Above it, a curt line of text informed him: Automatic access disabled. This file is stored in a password-protected vault.’

Access denied. He tried again.

Same response. The way was barred.

He gazed at the screen for a second. Shrugged. It wasn’t his problem. Harry might be able to access the document-if Morgan had talked about it, he might know the password or be able to guess it. But there was no way Ben was going to get in, and he didn’t care that much. He yawned.

But then he thought about Harry, far away, sitting surrounded by all that luxury and probably unable to relax for a single moment as he waited for Ben to report back to him. The man’s whole life was on hold.

Then Ben remembered that the apartment had Internet access. What the hell. Now was as good a time as any. He kicked his legs off the sofa, stood up and carried the whirring laptop over to the desk. He found a curled-up wire hanging out of a phone socket, and on the end of it a plastic mini-connector that matched up to a port on the side of the computer. He clicked it into place, and in a few moments he was online. He logged on to his webmail account and typed up a quick message:

Harry-Job completed. Coming back tomorrow, will talk soon. In the meantime, attached is Morgan’s research file. Encrypted document, hope you can access. B

He attached the Akhenaten Project file to the message, hoping it would work. It did, and when he hit ‘send’ the message disappeared into the ether with no problems.

That was it, then. He’d done his best.

He yawned again, more deeply this time, walked back over to the sofa, turned out the side-light and stretched out. A couple of hours’ sleep was all he could expect before heading to the airport. Then back to San Remo to deliver Morgan’s belongings to Harry, and then on to Normandy and Le Val. He relished the idea.

What he didn’t relish so much was seeing Zara again. He didn’t know if he could bear it. Maybe he should arrange for Harry to meet him at a bar in town and hand the things over there. He nodded to himself sleepily. That’s what he’d do.

That was his last thought before he drifted off.

Outside his window, dawn was breaking over Cairo. The city was beginning to grind back into life, the traffic rumble slowly building and the heat returning as the sun began its climb over the desert.

Ben slept. In his dreams he heard the gunfire and the screaming again. Saw the faceless man, the eyes full of hate behind the gun. He saw Zara, smiling at him through a haze.

Then he was waking in a panic and springing to his feet as the door of the apartment burst open and four heavily armed men crashed into the room.