The Heretics Treasure

Chapter Forty-One

Dawn was breaking over the Mediterranean as Ben reclined in the business-class armchair, sipped on an espresso and watched the sunrise from above the clouds. They’d been lucky to grab the last-minute seats on the night flight. It would be early morning in Cairo when they landed.

He felt weak with fatigue. His eyes were burning, his head was throbbing with worry and lack of sleep, and his heart palpitated every time he thought of Zara and what was happening to her. But he knew he had to keep moving forwards, stay alert and see this thing through to the end. He couldn’t even begin to contemplate what would happen if he failed.

At his left elbow, Kirby was awake, sitting with earphones on and watching the in-flight movie. Every so often his podgy hand would dip into the packet of potato crisps he was eating for breakfast, and he would jam a pile of them in his mouth and chew loudly.

Ben gazed back out of the window and took another sip of the hot coffee. He could only hope he was doing the right thing. He wondered again where Zara was, and how she was. He remembered their time together in Paris. Then his thoughts drifted off into darkness, and the nightmare image of the three severed heads of Valentine, Wolff and Harrison came flashing back to him. He thought for a long time about what he was going to do to Harry Paxton when this was over. So much had changed, so fast.

Finally his exhaustion caught up with him, and he gave in to sleep. His dreams were unsettled and frightening. He was roused from them by the sound of Kirby’s voice asking him something.

‘What?’ he said sleepily.

‘I said, how long were you a soldier?’

‘You woke me up to ask me that? Long enough.’

‘My dear departed father, the Laird, wanted me to join up. I wasn’t having any of it. I think that’s what Morgan and I had in common.’

‘That you both hated your fathers?’

Kirby grunted.

‘That’s something I don’t understand,’ Ben said. ‘If Morgan didn’t get on with his father, why did he tell him so much about his project?’

‘He had mixed feelings about his dad,’ Kirby said. ‘There was a part of him that resented him for all that macho-wacho military stuff he stood for. But there was another part of him that wanted to prove to his dad that he was really worth something, that he could make something of himself against his expectations. That’s why, the last time he went to visit his dad and his trophy wife on board that silly yacht, he got pissed one night and said more than he should have. He told me after how much he regretted it, but it was almost a compulsion.’

Ben flinched at the mention of Zara, but kept quiet.

‘After that he got really paranoid,’ Kirby went on. ‘He thought his father was after the treasure. That’s when he made me promise that, if anything ever happened to him, I should never breathe a word to anyone, and especially not to his father, that I knew anything about this.’

‘Probably wise.’

Kirby turned to him. ‘So, did you like it?’

‘Did I like what?’

‘Being a soldier.’

Ben sighed. ‘Yeah, I loved every minute of it, Kirby. We all had a terrific time. Now, if you don’t mind, I was sleeping.’

‘Oh.’

Ben fell back to sleep quickly, and the next thing he knew was Kirby shaking his arm and his voice saying, ‘We’re landing.’ He stretched and looked out of the window. The morning sunlight hurt his eyes.

Cairo-again. His second mission for Harry Paxton in a matter of days. Whatever happened, this was going to be his last.

After clearing passport control and customs, Ben led Kirby to the airport’s car hire centre and picked out a black four-wheel-drive Mitsubishi Shogun, did the paperwork and used some of Harry Paxton’s expenses money to pay for it. They were about to get in and drive off when Ben’s phone rang.

‘I was just wondering how we were doing,’ Paxton’s voice said pleasantly. ‘I hope for Zara’s sake you’re making good progress.’

Ben shut the car door and walked a few yards out of earshot. He waved at Kirby to get inside.

‘I was hoping you were going to call, you piece of shit,’ he said to Paxton.

‘Now, now, Benedict. Let’s be civil about this. Where are you?’

‘I’m where you wanted me to be. Where’s Zara?’

‘With me,’ Paxton said. ‘Right close by, where I can keep an eye on her and where you’ll never find her.’

‘I want to talk to her.’

‘You don’t make the rules.’

‘Proof of life,’ Ben said. ‘The number one principle of kidnap and ransom negotiation, and I didn’t invent it. Let me talk to her. Otherwise it’s a deal-breaker. Instead of going after the treasure, I’ll just dedicate the rest of my life to coming after you.’

There was silence on the line for a few moments. Ben strained to make out the muffled background sound. Voices, footsteps. Then someone was picking up the phone.

‘Ben?’ Zara’s voice. She sounded scared and anxious.

‘Zara-’ Ben started.

But Paxton had snatched the phone back from her. ‘Happy now, Benedict? You have your proof of life. Get on with the job. You have six days left.’

‘Hold on, Harry. Don’t hang up. There’s something more I want from you.’

At 9.28 a.m., Ben and Kirby were waiting at a prearranged spot on Sharia Talaat Harb, central Cairo’s main street, a hubbub of roaring traffic and bustling crowds, cafés and shops. Ben was leaning against a signpost, smoking his last cigarette and watching the street as he waited for Paxton’s contact to come and pick them up.

Kirby coughed and made a big show of wafting the smoke away. ‘Do you have to do that?’

‘Worried about passive smoking?’

‘Of course I am,’ Kirby said. ‘Everyone should be.’

‘Then you’d better get off this street, and out of Cairo. Just standing on this spot, the air pollution is equivalent to smoking thirty cigarettes a day. So I don’t think my extra little contribution is going to accelerate your demise much, Kirby.’

‘And I don’t like this situation,’ Kirby muttered. ‘Who are these people, anyway? Where are they going to take us? I thought Harry Paxton was your enemy.’

‘If you’re having second thoughts about being involved, now’s the time to tell me,’ Ben said. ‘You can still back out. Head back to the airport and go home to Drummond Manor.’

‘You know I can’t go back.’

‘Then sit it out in a nice hotel somewhere, out of harm’s way and out of mine.’

‘Don’t you worry about me,’ Kirby said. ‘I’ll be OK.’

‘Good. Because you said I wasn’t even going to know you were there. And I do. It’s annoying.’

Kirby shut up, and Ben went on smoking and watching the street.

A moment later, at exactly half past nine as arranged, a big SUV darted out of the traffic flow and pulled up alongside the kerb. Its bodywork glistened black, and the windows were tinted opaque. The rear door opened, and Ben saw three men inside, two black-haired, olive-skinned Egyptians and a white-haired Westerner sitting behind them. Nobody was smiling.

‘Get in,’ said the Westerner. His accent sounded German.

The SUV had three rows of seats. Ben and Kirby climbed inside and sat at the back. The German slammed the door shut and the vehicle took off and slipped back into the fast-moving traffic. He turned and handed Ben and Kirby each a black hood. ‘Put these on.’

Kirby looked in horror. ‘What the fuck? I’m not wearing this. It’s what they put on people about to be executed.’

‘Put it on,’ Ben said quietly. ‘And shut up. Or I’ll execute you myself.’

The drive seemed to last a long time, and nobody spoke. Blind behind the hood, Ben tried for a while to keep track of the twists and turns, but after a few minutes he’d lost his bearings and had no idea where they were being taken. He rested back against the seat, feeling tension emanating from Kirby next to him. Then the car swerved right, bumped up a short ramp and rolled to a halt. He heard voices from outside. They echoed, as though the car had driven into a large empty space. There was the noisy clatter of a steel security shutter being pulled down. The doors of the SUV clunked open, and someone ripped off their cloth hoods.

Ben blinked and looked around him.

‘Get out,’ the German guy said, and Ben and Kirby stepped down from the vehicle, closely watched by their escorts.

They were inside an enormous empty building. The walls were bare block, and the floor concrete. Overhead were thick riveted steel girders and neon striplights suspended from chains. At the far end of the building were racks of empty industrial shelving.

He and Kirby were surrounded by a group of men, the three from the car ride plus another three. Two of them were cradling compact submachine pistols-not just for show, but in a way that showed they thought they might need them. Clearly, Paxton had given his associates an idea of who they were dealing with.

Five yards to Ben’s right was a long industrial steel workbench. It was covered with firearms of all shapes and sizes. Scores of them.

Kirby glanced nervously at the men, then his gaze rested on the arsenal of weaponry. ‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ he whispered furiously.

Ben silenced him with a look, and walked over to the bench. The men stepped aside to let him pass, and the German smiled coldly and gestured as if to show off his wares.

Paxton’s associates were only small fry in the great scheme of the illegal arms trade, but the display was impressive. There was everything from small handguns to submachine guns to full-size assault weapons to RPG launchers. Everything was new, oiled and shiny under the lights. On the far side of the bench, a row of crates were filled with ammunition of various types. The last in the row was stacked with 40mm grenades. On the concrete floor, a large canvas holdall was unzipped and waiting.

‘You like what you see?’ the German said.

Ben didn’t reply. Conscious of the men’s eyes on him, he ran his hand along a cluster of military handguns and picked up an Israeli-made Jericho. 15-round magazine, 9mm calibre. Simple, rugged and practical. He nodded to the men and the gun was placed in the open holdall.

But Ben knew he was going to need more than a pistol this time. His brush with Kamal had already shown him the kind of people competing to find the treasure. He walked slowly along the length of the bench, assessing each weapon in turn. He needed firepower, but he couldn’t walk about Cairo with a full-size military rifle.

Then he saw exactly what he wanted, and picked it up.

‘The FN F2000 assault rifle,’ the German said. ‘Good weapon. 5.56 NATO, high-capacity magazine. Ultra-compact bullpup design, inbuilt scope and on-board fire control system computer with laser rangefinder. Underbarrel 40mm grenade launcher.’

‘I don’t need a guided tour,’ Ben said, and the German shut up. Ben turned the short, stubby weapon over in his hands. It was a wild, space-age design, plasticky, brutal and ugly. But it was perfect for what he needed. He nodded. One of the Egyptians took it from him and placed it in the holdall with the pistol.

‘OK, that’ll do. Can we go now?’ Kirby said.

‘Not yet,’ Ben answered. He picked up a small, snubby.38-calibre revolver from the end of the table and handed it to Kirby. ‘This is called a Ladysmith. It’s yours.’

‘I don’t want a gun,’ Kirby said, wide-eyed. ‘I don’t like it.’

‘You’re getting one. We’re partners, remember. And with that, you won’t blow your own foot off or put a bullet in me. Even a child could work it.’

Some of the arms dealers were sniggering quietly. Ben snatched the little pistol back out of Kirby’s hands, tossed it to the guy with the holdall and it was added to the collection.

‘Fifty rounds for each pistol,’ Ben said to the German. ‘Two hundred for the rifle. And ten of the 40mm grenades.’

‘You are expecting a small war, it seems?’

‘Possibly.’

‘Will there be anything else?’ the German asked mock-politely

‘That should do it,’ Ben said. ‘You know who to send the bill to. Our friend the colonel.’

Five minutes later, Ben and Kirby were hooded and riding back towards the city in the SUV with the holdall between them on the seat. The drive back didn’t seem to take as long, and then their hoods were removed again and they were dropped at the pickup point on Sharia Talaat Harb. The men didn’t even glance at them as they got out. The car took off and disappeared into the traffic.

‘Well, thank you for that experience,’ Kirby muttered. ‘It was perfectly charming. Hoods over our heads. Men with guns. And now we’re going around Cairo with a veritable arsenal. Is all this really necessary?’

Ben hefted the heavy holdall over his shoulder and started heading towards the car. ‘Welcome to my world,’ he muttered, to nobody in particular.