The Seventh Scroll

all my fault. I told him-'

"No," he told her firmly. "It is not your fault. You did what you had to

do. If you had not, they would have hurt you even worse than this. They

would have attacked us, even if you had told them nothing."

He picked up his webbing belt and strapped it around his waist. From far

off they heard the crumping detonation of exploding mortar shells.

"I have to go now," he told her.

"I know. Do not worry about me."

"I will always worry about you. These men will carry you down to the

monastery. That is the assembly point.

Wait for me there. I cannot hope to hold Nogo for long.

He is too strong. I will come to you soon."

"I love you," she whispered. "I will wait for you for ever."

"You are my woman," he told her in his deep, soft voice, and then he

ducked through the doorway of the hut and was gone.

hen Nicholas touched the frame of the screen, fragments of the mesh veil

tore free with even that tiny movement and fell to the tiles of the

floor. The golden rosettes trapped in their folds tinkled on the stones.

Now there was an opening in the curtain large enough for them to step

through, They found themselves before the inner doorway. It was -guarded

eat god Osiris on one side by a massive statue of the gr with his hands

crossed over his chest, clutching the crook and the flail. Opposite

stood his wife Isis, with the lunar crown and horns on her head. Their

blank eyes stared out into eternity, and their expressions were serene.

Nicholas and Royan passed between these twelve-foot-high statues and

found themselves at last in the veritable tomb of Mamose.

The roof was vaulted, and the quality of the murals that covered it and

the walls was different - formal and classical. The colours were of a

deeper, more sombre hue, and the patterns more intricate. The chamber

was smaller han they had anticipated; just large enough to accommodate

the huge granite sarcophagus of the divine Pharaoh Mamose.

The sarcophagus stood chest-high. Its side panels were engraved in

has-relief with scenes of Pharaoh and the other gods. The stone lid was

in the shape of a full'length effigy of the supine figure of the king.

They saw at once that it was still in its original position, and that

the clay seals of the priests of Osiris which secured the lid were

intact. The tomb had never been violated. The mummy had lain within it

undisturbed through the millennia.

But this was not what amazed them. There were two extraneous items

within the otherwise classically correct tomb. On the lid of the

sarcophagus lay a magnificent war bow. Almost as long as Nicholas was

tall, the entire length of its stock was bound with coils of shining

electrum wire, that alloy of gold and silver whose formula has been lost

in antiquity.

The other item that should never have been placed in a royal tomb stood

at the foot of the sarcophagus. It was a small human figure, one of the

ushabti dolls. A glance of this effigy, confirmed the superior quality

of the carving and both of them recognized the features instantly. Only

minutes before, they had seen that face painted upon the walls of the

arcade, outside the tomb.

The words of Taita, from the scrolls, seemed to reverberate within the

confines of the tomb, and hang like fireflies in the air above the

sarcophagus:

When I stood for the very last time beside the royal sarcophagus, I sent

all the workmen away.

I would be the very last to leave the tomb, and after me the entrance

would be sealed.

When I was alone I opened the bundle I carried. From it I took the long

bow, Lanata.

Tanus had named it after my mistress, for Lanata had been her baby name.

I had made the bow for him. It was the last gift from the two of us. I

placed it upon the sealed stone lid of his coffin.

There was one other item in my bundle. It was the wooden ushabti figure

that I had carved.

I placed it at the foot of the sarcophagus. While I carved it, I had set

up three copper mirrors so that I could study my own features from every

angle and reproduce them faithfully. The doll was a miniature Taita.

Upon the base I had inscribed the words Royan knelt at the foot of the

coffin and pick up the ushabd figure. Reverently she turned it in her

hands and studied the hieroglyphics carved into the base of the figure.

Nicholas knelt beside her. "Read it to me," he said.

Softly she obeyed. "'My natne is Taita. I am a physician and a poet. I

am an architect and a philosopher. I am your friend. I will answer for

you - "'

so it's all true,'Nicholas whispered, Royan replaced the ushabti exactly

as she had found it and, still on her knees, turned her face to his.

this," she

"I have never known another moment like whispered. "I want it never to

end."

"It will never end, my darling," he answered her. "You and I are only

just beginning."

ek Nimmur watched them coming, skirtin 9 the bottom slope of the hill,

It took the trained eye of a bush-fighter to pick them ut as they moved

through the thick scrub and thorn. As 0 he evaluated them he felt a

twinge of dismay. These were crack troopsi seasoned during long years of

war. He had once fought with them against the Mengistu. tyranny, an he

had probably trained many of those men down there.

Now they were coming against him. Such was the cycle of violence in this

racked continent, where the war and endless struggles were fuelled and

nurtured by the age-old tribal enmities and the greed and corruption of

the newage politicians and their outmoded ideologies.

But this was not the moment for dialectics, he thought bitterly, and

focused his mind on the tactics Of the battlefield beneath him. Yes!

These men were good. He could see it in the way they advanced, like

wraiths through the scrub. For every one of them he picked out, he knew

there were a dozen others that remained unseen.

"Company strength," he thought, and glanced around at his own small

force. Fourteen men amongst the rocks, they could only hope to hit their

adversary hard while they still had the advantage of surprise, and then

pull back before Nogo ranged his mortars in on the hilltop where they

lay.

He looked up at the sky and wondered whether Nogo would call in an air

strike. Thirty'five minutes' flying time viet'built Tupolevs from the

air base for a stick of those So at Addis, and he could almost smell the

sweet stench of wind, and see the rolling cloud of napalm on the humid

flame sweeping to wards them. That was the only thing his men really

feared. But there would be no air strike - not this time, he decided.

Nogo and his paymaster, the German von Schiller, wanted the spoils from

the tomb that Nicholas Quenton-Harper had discovered in the gorge. They

did not want to share any of it with those political fat cats in Addis.

They would not want to draw any government attention to themselves and

this little private campaign of theirs in the Abbay gorge.

He looked back down the slope. The enemy was moving in nicely, swinging

around the hillside to intersect the trail along the Dandera river. Soon

they must send a patrol up here to secure their flank before they could

sweep on. Yes, there they were. Eight, no, ten men detaching from the

main advance, and moving cautiously up the slope beneath him.

"I will let them get in close," he decided. "I would like to get them

all, but that is too much to hope for. I would settle for four or five

of them, and it would be good to leave a few squealers in the scrub." He

grinned cruelly. "Nothing like a man screaming with a belly wound to

take the fire out of his comrades, and make them keep their heads down."

He looked across the rock-strewn slope, and saw that his RPD light

machine gun was perfectly sited to enfilade their advance up the slope.

Salim, his machine gunner, was an artist with that weapon. Perhaps,

after all, he could hope to put down more than five of them.

"We will see," thought Mek, "but I must time it right." He saw that

there was a gap in the ridge of rock just below him.

"They will not want to expose themselves by crossing the open ridge," he

judged. "They will tend to bunch up and sneak through the gap. That will

be the moment."

He looked back at the RPD. Salim was watching him, waiting for his

signal. Mek looked back down the slope.

ly "he thought. "Their line is bunching. "The big one es, on the left is

already out of position. Those two inside him are angling across towards

the gap." Nogo's men's camouflage blended perfectly with the of their

weapons were wrapped with scrub, and the barrels rags and scraps of

camouflage netting so that they threw no sunlight reflections. They were

almost invisible in the bush;

it was only their movements and the skin tones that se now that Mek

caught betrayed them. They were soCIO

of one of their eyeballs but he still the occasional gleam could not

pick out their machine gunner.

He must silence the gun with his first burst. "Ah, Yes," he thought with

relief. "There he is. On the right flank. I nearly missed him."

eavy shoulders The man was short and thick-set, with ily on his hip.

carrying the gun eas and long arms, simian, from it was a Soviet-made

7.62mm RPD. The wink of brass ed over those the cartridges in the

ammunition belts festoor, great shoulders had given him away.

Mek eased himself down and inched around the base He slipped the

rate-of-fire ered him.

of the rock that cov cheek on the selector on his AKM to rapid, and laid

hi wooden butt. it was his personal weapon. A gunsmith in barrel for

him, action and lapped the Addis had trued the stock. All this as well

as glass-bedding the barrel into the rove the accuracy of this

notoriously had been done to imp inaccurate assault rifle- It was still

no sniper's weapon, but ct to place all his with these modifications he

could expe shots within a two-inch circle at a hundred metres.

The man carrying the RPD up the slope was now only fifty metres below

where he lay. Mek glanced to his right to the to make sure that the

three others were moving in gap where Salim could take them out with a

single burst;

sight in the entre of the then he settled the pip of his fore

using his belt buckle as an RPD machine gunner's belly, aiming mark, and

fired a tap of three The AKM rode up viciously and the triple detonation

stung his eardrums, but Mek saw his bullets strike, stitching a row up

the man's torso. One hit low in the belly, the second in the diaphragm

and the third at the base of his throat. He spun around, his arms

flinging out and jerking, and then crashed over backwards, out of sight

in the underbrush.

All around Mek his men were firing. He wondered, how many of them Salim

had taken with that first burst, but there was no longer anything to

see. The enemy were all down in cover. A faint haze of gunsmoke blued

the air as they returned fire, and the scrub trembled and shook to the

recoil and the muzzle blast of their weapons.

Then, in the uproar of fire, in the whine and wail of ricochets off the

rocks, one of them began to scream.

"I am hit. In Allah's name, help me." His cries rang eerily across the

hillside, and the enemy fire slackened perceptibly. Mek clipped a fresh

magazine on to the AKM.

"Sing, little bird. Sing!the muttered grimly.

t required the combined strength of Nicholas, Hansith and eight other

men to lift the lid off the stone sarcophagus. Staggering under its

weight, they laid it carefully against the wall of the tomb. Then Royan

and Nicholas stood on the plinth of the sarcophagus to look down into

the interior.

Fitted neatly into the stone receptacle was an enormous wooden coffin.

Its lid too was in the form of the reclining Pharaoh. He was in the

posture of death with his hands crossed at his breast, clutching the

flail and the crook. The coffin was gilded and encrusted with

semiprecious stones. The expression on the face of the king's effigy was

serene.

They lifted the coffin out of the sarcophagus, and its weight was less

than that of the stone lid, Carefully Nicholas split the golden seals

and the layer of hard dried

01 . Within it they resin that held the lid of the coffin in plac ctly,

and when the found another coffin, fitted perfe as revealed. It was

like a ened that yet another coffin wOP

nest of Russian dolls, one within the other, becoming smaller with each

revelation. coffins, each of them'

In the end there were seven mate and richly decorated than the

progressively more previous one. The seventh coffin was only slightly

larger I than a man, and it was made of gold. The polished metal caught

the light of the lamps like a thousand mirrors and the tomb.

threw bright arrows and darts into every recess coffin they When at

last they opened the golden inner found that it was filled with flowers.

The blooms had dried and faded, so their colour was sepia. Their scent

had long ago evaporated, so that only the musky aroma of great age

wafted up from the coffin. The petals were so dry and apery that they

crumbled at the first touch. Beneath the faded blooms was a layer of

the finest linen; once it must have been snowy white, but now it was

brown with age the flowers. Through the and the stain of the juices from

soft folds they saw once again the gleam of gold.

standing on either side of the coffin, Nicholas and Royan peeled back

the linen mesh. It crackled softly and but as it came tore like tissue

paper und their fingers, away they both involuntarily gasped with

wonder as the as only fraction ask of Pharaoh was revealed. It death-

man, but it was a perfect ally larger than the head of a it. Pharaoh's

features had been pre, image in every deta ty in this extraordinary work

of art.

served for all eterni ed in silent wonder into the obsidian and rock

They star crystal eyes of Pharaoh, and Pharaoh gazed back at them sadly,

almost accusingly it was a long time before either of them could summon

the head thecourag6 and presumption to lift it away from did so, they

found further of the mummy. But when the

evidence that in antiquity the body of the king and that of his general,

Tanus, had been changed. The mummy that lay before them was obviously

too large for the coffin that contained it. It had been partially

unwrapped, and cramped into the interior.

"A royal mummy would have had hundreds of charrns and amulets placed

beneath the wrappings," Royan whispered . "This is the plainly dressed

corpse of a nobleman and not that of the king."

Nicholas gently lifted the inner layer of bandage away from the dead

head and a thick coil- of braided hair was revealed.

"The portraits of Pharaoh Mamose on the walls of the arcade show that

his head hair was dyed with henna," Nicholas murmured. "Look at this."

The braid was the colour of the winter grasses of the African savannah,

gold and silver.

"There can be no doubt now. This is the body of Tanus. The friend of

Taita and the lover of the queen."

"Yes," Royan agreed, her eyes soft with tears. "He is the true father of

Lostris's son, who became in his time the Pharaoh Tamose and the

forefather of a great line of kings.

So this is the man whose blood runs through the history of ancient

Egypt."

"In his way he was as great as any Pharaoh," Nicholas said quietly.

t was Royan who roused herself first. "The river!'

aT

she cried, with a razor edge to her voice. "We cannot let all this go

again, when the river rises."

"Neither can we hope to save all of it. There is too much. A great mass

of treasure. Our time here has almost run out, so we must pick out the

most beautiful and important pieces and pack them into the crates. Lord

alo'the knows if we even have time for that."

So they worked in a frenzy in the short time that was left to them. They

could not even think about saving the eapons, the statues and the

murals, the furniture and the banqueting. utensils and the wardrobes of

costumes. The great golden chariot must stand where it had stood for

four thousand years, They removed the golden death'mask from over

Tanus's head, but they left his mummy in the innermost of the golden

coffins. Then Nicholas sent for Mai Metemma. The old abbot came with

twenty of his monks to receive the lie of the ancient saint that he had

been promised holy re as his reward. Reverentially, chanting deep and

slow, they bore Tanus's coffin away to its new resting place in the

maqdas of the monastery. ect,"

"At least the old hero will be treated with resP Royan said softly. Then

she looked around the tomb. "We cannot leave the site like this, with

the coffins thrown Royan protested. "it looks as about and the lids

discarded, though grave-robbers have been at work here."

"Grave-robbers is exactly what we are." Nicholas smiled at her.

tly, "and we

"No, we are archaeologists," she denied ho must try to act like it." ing

coffins one within So they replaced the six remain the other, laid them

back in the great sarcophagus, and finally replaced the massive stone

lid. Only then did Royan allow them to begin selecting and packing the

treasures they would take with them.

The death'mask was without any doubt the premier item in the entire

tomb. it fitted neatly into one of the the wooden ushabd of Taita laid

alongside it, crates, with until it was firmly secured, Royan packed

with Styrofoarn waterproof wax crayon: "Mask & scribbled on the lid in

Taita Ushabti'.

Their final selection was, perforce, hurried and superof the cedarwood

official. They could not rip open every one chests that were piled high

in the alcoves of the arcade.

The painted and gilded chests themselves were priceless artefacts, and

should be treated with respect. So they allowed themselves to be guided

by the illustrations on the lid of each. They discovered immediately

that these were indeed an accurate inventory and catalogue of the

contents. In the chest which showed Pharaoh decked in the blue war

crown, they found the actual crown laid on gilded leather pillows that

had been moulded to fit it exactly and to protect it.

Even in the short time left to them they became almost surfeited by the

magnificence of the items they uncovered as they selected and opened the

cedarwood chests. Not only the blue crown, but the red and white crown

of the kingdoms united was there, and the splendid Nemes crown, all

three in such a miraculous state of preservation that they might have

been lifted from Pharaoh's brow that morning.

From the very outset it had to be a prerequisite that any artefact must

be small enough to fit into one of the ammunition crates. If it were too

large, no matter what its value or historical significance, then it had

to be rejected and left in the tomb. Fortunately, many of the cedarwood

chests containing the royal jewellery fitted snugly into the metal

crates, so that not only the contents but also the chests themselves

could be saved. However, the larger items, the crowns and the huge

jewelled gold pectoral medallions, had to be repacked.

As the ammunition crates were filled, they carried them down and stacked

them on the landing outside the sealed doorway, ready to be carried out.

Including the.

crates that contained the eight statuettes of the gods from the long

gallery, they had packed and catalogued forty-eight crates when they

heard Sapper's unmistakable accents floating up the staircase.

"Major, where the hell are yOU7 YOU can't bugger about hairy arse out

in here any longer. Come on, man! Get you of here. The river is in full

spate, and the dam is going to burst at any minute."

Sapper came bounding up the staircase, but even he stopped in wonder and

awe as he looked for the first time pon the splendours of the funeral

arcade of Pharaoh Mamose. It took some minutes for him to recover from

the shock and to revert to his old prosaic self again.

"I mean it, major! It's a matter of minutes, not hours.

That ruddy dam is going to go. Apart from that, Mek is fighting in the

hills at the head of the chasm. You can hear the gunfire even at the

bottom of the cliff in Taita's pool.

4 Al You and Royan have to get out and fast, I kid you nod'

"Okay, Sapper. We are on our way. Get back to the chamber at the bottom

of those stairs. You saw those ammunition crates down there?" Sapper

nodded, and Nicholas went on quickly, "Have the men lug those crates out

of here. Get them down to the monastery. I want you to supervise that

part of it. We will follow you down the trail with the rest of them."

"Don't mess around, major. Your life isn't worth a pile of old junk like

this. Get moving now."

"Get on with it, Sapper. But don't let Royan hear you call it a pile of

old junk. You could be in really serious trouble."

Sapper shrugged. "Don't say I didn't warn. you." He turned and started

back down the staircase.

"You know where the boats are stashed, Nicholas shouted after him. "If

you get there before me, get them inflated and the crates lashed down.

We will be right behind you."

The moment Sapper was gone, Nicholas raced back

down the arcade to where Royan was still at work in the treasury.

"That's it!" he shouted at her. "No more time. Let's get out."

"Nicky, we can't leave this-'

"Oud' He grabbed her arm. "We are getting out now.

Unless you want to share Tanus's tomb with him on a permanent basis."

"Can't I just-'

"No, you crazy woman! Now! The dam will go at any moment."

She'broke away from him, snatched up some handfuls of left-over

jewellery from the open chest at her feet, and began stuffing them into

her pockets.

"I can't leave these."

He seized her around the waist and swung her over his shoulder. "I told

you I meant it," he said grimly, and ran with her down the arcade.

"Nicky! Put me down." She kicked with outrage, but he continued running

down into the chamber at the foot of the staircase.

Hansith and his men were carrying the last few packed ammunition crates

up the staircase on the far side of the chamber. They balanced the

crates easily on their heads and went up the steps with alacrity.

Here Nicholas set Royan down on her own feet again, "Will you promise to

behave now? We aren't playing games.

This is deadly serious - I mean deadly, if we get trapped down here."

"I know." She looked contrite. "I just couldn't bear to leave the rest

of it."

"Enough of that. Let's go." Nicholas grabbed her hand and dragged her

after him. After the first few steps she shook her hand free and started

to run in earnest, outstripping him and reaching the top of the

staircase a few paces ahead of him.

Even under their burdens the porters were making good time. Caught up in

the long hurrying column, Nicholas and Royan wound their way back

through the maze, grateful for the signposts at each corner, and made it

down the central staircase into the ruined long gallery without taking a

wrong turning. Sapper was waiting for them at the ruins of the sealed

doorway, and grunted with he porters.

relief when he saw them amongst I thought I told you to go on ahead and

get the boats ready,'Nicholas shouted at him.

"Couldn't trust you not to be bloody stupid." Sapper looked miserable.

"Wanted to make sure you didn't hang about in there."

"I am touched, Sapper."Nicholas punched his shoulder, and then they ran

down the approach tunnel and clattered over the bridge across the

sink-hole.

"Where is MeV Nicholas panted at Sapper's back as he jogged in front of

him. "Have you seen Tessayr

"Tessay is back. She had a nasty experience. She was in a terrible mess.

Seems she got badly knocked about."

"What has happened to her?" Nicholas was appalled.

"Where is she?"

"It looks like she fell into the hands of von Schiller's gorillas and

they beat the hell out of her. Mek's men are taking her down to the

monastery. She will wait for us at the boats."

"Thank God for that," Nicholas muttered, and then louder, "What about

MeV

"He is trying to hold off Nogo's attack. I have been hearing rifle fire

and grenades and mortar shells all morning. He too is going to fall back

and wait for us at the boats."

They ran the last few yards down the tunnel ankle, deep in slush and

water, and at last crawled over the wall of the coffer dam on to the

rocky ledge around Taita's pool. Nicholas looked up to see Hansith's

porters scrambling up the bamboo scaffolding ladder towards the top of

the cliff, each of them hauling up one of the ammunition crates.

At that moment he caught a sound that he recognized instantly. He cocked

his head to listen and then told Royan grimly, "Gunfire! Mek is fighting

it out, but it's pretty darned close."

"My bag!" Royan started towards her thatched shelter at the foot of the

cliff. "I must get my kit., "You won't need your make-up or your

pyjamas, and I've got your passport." He seized her arm and turned her

back towards the foot of the ladder. "In fact the only thing you need

now is plenty of space between you and Colonel Nogo. Come along, Royan!'

They swarmed up the bamboo scaffolding and when they reached the cliff

top Royan was surprised to discover that, although the earth was wet

underfoot from the recent rain squalls, the sun was high and hot. She

had lost all sense of time in the cold, gloomy passages of the tomb, and

now she held up her face to the sunlight and drank it in gratefully for

a moment while Nicholas checked the porters and made certain that they

were all out of the chasm.

Sapper set off at the head of the column along the trail through the

thorn forest, with the file of porters strung out behind him. Nicholas

and Royan waited until all the men were on the pathway before they

themselves brought up the rear of the column. The sound of the fighting

was frighteningly close now. It seemed to be almost at the brink of the

chasm close behind them, less than half a mile away.

The crackle of automatic fire gave a spring and a lift to the feet of

the porters, and the entire party raced back through the forest to reach

the main trail down to the monastery before they were cut off by Nogo's

advance.

Before they reached the junction of the paths, they ran into a party of

stretcher-bearers carrying a litter. They too were headed down towards

the monastery. Nicholas thought the person they were carrying was one of

the wounded guerrillas of Mek's force. But even when he caught up with

them it took a moment for him to recognize Tessay's swollen and burned

face.

"Tessay!" He stooped over her. "Who did this to you?" She looked up at

him with the huge dark eyes of a wounded child, and told him in halting,

broken words.

"Helm!" Nicholas blurted. "I' love to get my hands on that bastard." At

that moment Royan caught up with them, and she let out a small cry of

horror as she saw Tessay's face. Then immediately she took charge of

her.

tcher'bearers Nicholas spoke quickly to one of the stre from he

recognized.

wh

"Mezra, what is happening out there?"

"Nogo moved a force in from the east of the gorge.

They outflanked us, and we are pulling out, This is not our kind of

fighting."

"I know," Nicholas remarked grimly. "Guerrillas must

"Where is Mek Nimmur?" keep moving. \

"He is retreating down the eastern bank of the chasm." As Mezra replied,

they heard a renewed outburst of firing behind them. "That is him!"

Mezra nodded. "Nogo is pushing him hard."

"What are your orders?"

"To take Lady Sun to the boats and wait for Mek Nimmur there."

"Good! Nicholas told him. "We will go with you."

he jet Ranger was flying low, hugging the contours Of the land, never

cresting the high ground. Helm knew that Mek Nimmur's shufta were armed

with RPGs, rocket-launchers. In the hands of a trained man, these were

deadly weapons against a slow-flying, unarmoured aircraft such as the

jet Ranger.

The pilot's defence was to use the terrain as cover, weaving and

twisting up the valleys so as to deny the racketeers a clear shot.

Although the rain clouds were slumping down the into the Abbay gorge,

the helicopter was escarpmen keeping well below them. However, the

sudden squalls of wind rocked the machine dangerously and splatterings;

of heavy raindrops rattled against the windshield. The pilot sat forward

in the seat, leaning against his shoulder-straps as he concentrated on

this dangerous low flying in these unpleasant conditions. Helm sat in

the right'hand seat, beside the pilot. Von Schiller and Nahoot Guddabi

were together in the rear passenger seat, both of them craning nervously

to peer out of the side windows as the heavily wooded slopes of the

valley streamed past, seemingly close enough to touch.

Every few minutes the radio crackled into life, and they could hear the

terse transmissions of Nogo's men on the ground calling for mortar

support or reporting objectives attained. The pilot translated the radio

gabble for them, twisting round in his seat to tell von Schiller, "There

is a sharp fire-fight going on along the top of the chasm, but the

shufta are on the run. Nogo is handling his force well. They have just

dislodged a strong force from the hillside to the east of us," he

pointed out of the left hand port, "and they are hammering the shufta

with mortars as they run."

"Have they reached the spot in the chasm where Quenton-Harper was

working?"

"It isn't clear. All a bit confused." The pilot listened to the next

burst of Arabic on the radio. "I think that was Nogo himself speaking

just then."

"Call him up!" von Schiller ordered Helm, leaning over the back of his

seat. "Ask him if they have secured the tomb site yet."

Helm reached across and lifted the microphone off its hook below the

instrument panel. "Rose Petal, this is Bismarck. Do you copy?"

There was a pause filled with static, and then Nogo's voice Speaking

English. "Go ahead, Bismarck,'

"Have you secured the primary objective? Over."

"Affirmative, Bismarck. All secured. All opposition suppressed. I am

sending men down the ladder to clear the workings."

Helm swivelled in his seat to look back at von Schiller.

"Nogo has men in the chasm already. We can go in and land., "Tell him

not to let any of his men into the workings before I arrive,' von

Schiller ordered sternly, but his expression was triumphant. "I must be

the first in there.

Make him understand that."

While Helm relayed his orders to Nogo, von Schiller tapped the pilot on

the shoulder. "How long to the objective?"

"About five minutes'flying time, sir."

"Circle the site when you arrive. Don't land until we are sure Nogo has

it under his control."

The pilot lifted the collective and the sound of the rotors altered as

they changed pitch. The helicopter slowed and then hovered in mid-air,

while the pilot pointed down.

"What is it?" von Schiller followed his gesture. "What do you see?"

"The dam," Helm answered. Quenton-Flarper's dam.

He did a load of work down there."

The wide body of trapped water gleamed grey and sullen under the rain

clouds, tainted with the run-off from the highlands. The water diverted

into the side canal boiled white and angrily down into the long valley.

"Deserted!" Helm commented. "All Harper's men have pulled out."

"What is that yellow object on the bank?" von Schiller wanted to know.

"That's the earth-moving machine. You remember? My informer told us

about it."

"Don't waste any more time," von Schiller ordered.

"Nothing more to see here. Let's get on!'

Helm tapped the pilot's shoulder, and gestured downstream.

apper was waiting for them to catch up at the junction of the trail,

where the diverted river was roaring down the valley in a torrent and

had washed out a long section of the original track. The porters, strung

out in a long line down the valley, each with an ammunition crate

balanced on his head, were picking their way along the higher ground

above the water.

Tessay's litter was near the rear of the column, with Royan and Nicholas

trotting on each side of it and steadying it over the rough and uneven

sections of the path.

"Where is Hansith?" Nicholas shouted at SappeT, shading his eyes to

check the men ahead of him, and trying to pick out the big monk's

distinctive form from amongst the others in the caravan.

thought he was with you," Sapper shouted back. "I haven)

t seen him since we left the chasm., Nicholas turned and stared back the

way they had come, along the footpath through the Thorn forest.

"Damn the man," he grunted. "We can't go back to look for him. He will

have to make his own way down to the monastery."

At that moment they heard the faint but familiar flutter of rotors in

the hot, humid air below the lowering cloud masses.

"The Pegasus chopper! Sounds as though von Schiller is heading directly

for Taita's pool. He must have known all along exactly where we were

working," said Nicholas bitterly. "Not wasting any time. Like a vulture

coming in to a fresh carcass."

Royan was also looking up at the sound, trying to pick out the shape of

the aircraft against the dark clouds. Her OEM NOOF AL

, the tendrils of sweat-damp face was flushed from the ru hair dangled

down her cheeks. "If those swine are allowed to enter our tomb it will

be a dreadful desecration of a sacred place," she said angrily.

Nicholas reached-across the litter and took Suddenly determined. "You

are her arm. His expression'was stem an right. Go on down to the

monastery with Tessay. I will follow you later." Before she could

protest or question him, he strode across to Sapper.

"I am putting the two women in your care, Sapper.

Look after them."

"Where are you going, Nicky?" Royan had come up behind him, and

overheard his orders to Sapper. "What are you going to do?"

"One little chore. Won't take me long."

"You aren't going back there?" She was horrified. "You will get yourself

killed or worse. You saw what Helm did to Tessay-'

"Don't fuss yourself, my love," he laughed, and before she realized what

he intended he kissed her full on the lips.

While she was still flustered and confused by this display in front of

so many men, he pushed her gently away.

"Take care of Tessay. I will meet you at the boats." Before she could

protest further, he turned and struck out up the valley at a long-legged

lope which carried him over the rough terrain so swiftly that she had no

further chance to prevent him.

"Nicky!" she screamed after him despairingly, but he pretended not to

hear and kept going, following the diverted river upstream, back towards

the dam.

he jet Ranger followed the convoluted course of the river below the dam.

At moments they could look directly down into the narrow gap between the

high cliffs, into the shaded depths of the chasm, almost dry now, with

only the occasional gleam of the shrunken and still pools.

"There they are!" Helm pointed dead ahead. There was a small cluster of

men on the brink of the chasm.

"Make sure they aren't shufta!" There was fear in von Schiller's voice.

"No!" Helm reassured him loudly. "I recognize Nogo, and that tall one

beside him in the white shamnia is the monk Hansith Sherif, our

informer." He shouted above the engine beat at the pilot, "You can go in

and land. There!

Nogo is waving you in!'

The moment the skids of the helicopter touched the ground, both Nogo and

Hansith ran forward Between them they helped von Schiller down from the

passenger cabin and hustled him clear of the spinning rotors.

"My men have secured the area," Nogo assured him.

"We have driven the shufta down the valley towards the river. This man

is Hansith Sherif, who has been working beside Harper in the tomb. He

knows every inch of the tunnels."

"Does he speak English?" Von Schiller looked up at the tall monk

eagerly.

"A little bit," Hansith answered for himself.

"Good! Good!" Von Schiller beamed at him. "Show me the way. I will

follow You. Come on, Guddabi, it's about time you did some work for the

money I am paying you., Hansith led them quickly to the head of the

scaffolding, where von Schiller paused and looked down nervously into

the gloomy depths of the chasm, The bamboo framework seemed flimsy and

rickety, the drop deep and terrifying. Von Schiller was on the point Of

Protesting when Nahoot Guddabi whimpered behind him.

"He does not expect us to climb down there, does he?" His terror

bolstered von Schiller immediately, and he turned on Nahoot with relish.

"It is the only access to the tomb. Follow the man down. I will be close

behind you., 1VjU,)t "Putul- YY(, When Nahoot still hesitated, Helm put

a calloused hand in the small of his back and shoved him forward.

"Get on with it. You are wasting time."

MD

Reluctantly Nahoot started down the affording after SC the monk, and von

Schiller followed him. The framework of bamboo shook and swayed under

their combined weight and the drop to the rocks below sucked at them,

but at last they reached the ledge beside Taita's pool. There they stood

in a small group, staring about them in awe and wonder. .

"Where is the tunnel?" von Schiller demanded as soon as he had regained

his breath, and Hansith beckoned to him to follow him to the wall of the

small coffer dam.

Here von Schiller paused and looked around at Helm and Nogo. "I want you

to remain on guard here. I will enter the tomb with Guddabi and this

monk. I will send for you when you are needed."

"I would feet happier to be with you, to protect you, Herr von

Schiller-' Helm began, but the old man frowned at him.

"Do as I tell you!" And with Hansith steadying him he climbed stiffly

down the wall of the coffer dam into the mouth of the tunnel. Nahoot

Guddabi followed him closely.

"The lights? Where does the power come from?" von to know.

Schiller wanted

"There is a machine," Hansith explained, and at that moment they heard

the soft burble of the generator ahead one of them spoke again as they

moved down of them. the entrance tunnel after Hansith, until they

reached the bridge over the dark waters of the sinkholes

"This is very rough construction," Nahoot muttered, his uneasiness at

last giving way to professional interest. "It tomb I have does not

remind me of any other Egyptian ever inspected. I think we may have been

misted. It is bably some native Ethiopian workings." pro

"You are making a premature judgement," von Schiller admonished him.

"Wait until we have seen the rest of what this man has to show us."

Von Schiller steadied himself with a hand on Hansith's shoulder as they

crossed the bobbing pontoons of baobab wood, and he scrambled ashore on

the far side with relief.

They started up the rising section of the tunnel and passed the

high-water mark.

As soon as the construction of the walls changed to packed and dressed

stone, Nahoot remarked on it. "Ah! I was disappointed at first. I

thought we had been duped, but now one can see the Egyptian influence."

They reached the landing outside the ruined gallery on which stood the

Honda generator. By -now both von Schiller and Nahoot were sweating with

exertion and trembling with excitement.

4Th is looks more and more promising. It may very well be a royal tomb,"

Nahoot exulted. Von Schiller pointed to the plaster seats stacked

against the -side wall where Nicholas and Royan had abandoned them.

Nahoot fell to his, knees beside them and examined them eagerly, his

voice trembling as he cried out.

The cartouche of Mamose, and the seal of the scribe Taita!" He looked up

at von Schiller with shining eyes, "There can be no doubts now. I have

led you to the tomb as I promised you I would."

For a moment von Schiller stared at him, speechless in the face of such

hare-faced arrogance. Then he snorted with disgust and stooped to peer

through the open doorway into the long gallery.

"This has been destroyed!" he cried in horror. "The tomb has been

annihilated."

"No, no!" Hansith assured him. "Come this way. There is another tunnel

beyond."

As they picked their way through the rubble and wreckage, Hansith told

them in halting, broken English AL

how the roof of the gallery had collapsed, and how he, Hansith, had

found the true entrance under the ruins.

Nahoot stopped every few paces to examine and exclaim over the scraps of

painted plaster that had survived the fall of the roof. "These must have

been magnificent.

Classical work of the highest order-'

"There is more to show you. Much more," Hansith promised them, and von

Schiller snarled at Nahoot.

"Leave these damaged sections now. Time is running out on us. We must

hurry on directly to the burial hamber."

Hansith led them up the hidden staircase into the maze of the bao, and

then through the twists and turns to the lowest level.

"How did Harper and the woman ever find their way through this?" von

Schiller marvelled. "It's a rabbit warren."

"Another concealed staircase!" Nahoot was amazed, and stuttered with

excitement as they descended into the gas trap where the ranks of

amphorae had stood undisturbed for thousands of years, and thn climbed

the last flight of stairs to the beginning of the funeral arcade.

Now both of them were stunned by the splendour of the murals and the

majesty of the great god images that guarded the length of the arcade.

They stood side by side unable to move, frozen with awe as they gazed

about them." $ "I never expected anything like this," von Schiller

whispered. "This exceeds anything that I ever hoped for."

"The rooms on each side are filled with treasures." Hansith pointed down

the arcade. "There are such things as you have never dreamed. Harper was

able to take very little with him - a few small boxes. He has left piles

of goods, stacks of chests."

"Where is the coffin? Where is the body that was in the tomb?" von

Schiller demanded.

"Harper has given the body, in its golden coffin, to the abbot. They

have taken it away to the monastery.

"Nogo will soon fetch it back for us, You need not worry about that,

Herr von Schiller," Nahoot assured him.

s though the spell that held them was shattered by this promise, they

started forward together, slowly at first, and then both of them began

to run. Von Schiller tottered into the nearest store room on his old,

stiff legs, and giggled like a child on Christmas morning as he gazed

upon the piled treasures. "Incredible!'

He dragged down one of the cedarwood chests from the nearest stack, and

ripped off the lid with trembling fingers. When he saw the contents he

was struck speechless.

He knelt over the chest and began to weep softly with emotion too

overwhelming to express in words.

/4, Nicholas was banking on the fact that Nogo's men would be driving

along the Cliff tops to reach Taita's pool, and that he would have a

free run up the course of the diverted stream to the dam site. He took

no precautions against running into them, other than to pause every few

minutes to listen and peer ahead. He knew that he had little time left

to him. He could not expect the rest of the party to wait for him at the

boats and endanger themselves for this whimsy of his.

Twice he heard automatic gunfire in the distance, coming from the

direction of the chasm, down towards the Po. However, the chance he

took paid off, and he reached the dam site without running into a I ny

of Nogo's forces. He did not, however, push his luck too far. Before

approaching the dam openly, he climbed the hillside above it and

surveyed the area. It gave him time to recover from the hard run up the

valley, and to check that Nogo had not left men to guard the dam,

although he considered this unlikely.

He could see that the yellow front-loader tractor was still parked on

the bank high above the wall where Sapper MET &

had left it. He could also see no sign of any human presence, no armed

Ethiopian army guards. He grunted with relief and wiped the sweat out of

his eyes with his shirtsleeve.

Even with his naked eye he could see that the water was lapping the top

of the wall and squirting through the gaps and chinks between the

gabions. Yet from where he stood the wall still seemed to be holding

well, and it would need another foot rise in the level of the backed-up

river to overturn it.

"Well done, Sapper," he thought, grinning. "You did a hell of a job."

Nicholas studied the level of the river and the condition of the waters

that were being held back by the wall.

The flow down from the mountains was much stronger than when he had last

been here. The river bed was brimming from bank to bank, and some of the

trees and bushes at the edge were already partially submerged, bowing

and nodding as the swift current tugged at them. The flood was a sullen

grey colour, fast and hostile, swirling into the pond of the dam before

finding the outlet into the side channel and tearing down it, growling

like a wild animal released from its cage, brimming into spume and white

water as it felt the sharp fall into the valley.

Next he looked towards the escarpment of the gorge.

It was blotted out by banks of dark, menacing cloud that obscured the

northern horizon. At that moment a squall of wind swept over him, cold

with the threat of rain. He needed no further urging and started down

the slope towards the dam, slipping and sliding in his haste. Before he

reached the bottom, the squall of wind had turned to cold rain. It flung

needles into his face and plastered his shirt to his body.

He reached the tractor and scrambled up into the t. There was a moment

of panic when he driver's sea AL

Wor thought that Sapper might have removed the key from its

hiding-place under the seat. He srabbled for it for a few seconds until

his fingers closed over it, and then let out a sigh of relief.

"Sapper, for a moment there you were very close to death. I would have

broken your neck with my own hands." He thrust the key into the ignition

lock and turned it to the pre-heat position, waiting for the coil light

on the dashboard to turn from red to green.

"Come on!" he muttered impatiently. Those few seconds of delay seemed

like a lifetime. Then the green light flashed and he twisted the key to

start.

The engine fired at the first turn and Nicholas hooted, "Full marks,

Sapper. All is forgiven."

He gave the machine time to warm up to optimum operating temperature,

slitting his eyes against the rain as he waited and looking around at

the hills above him, fearful that the sound of the engine might bring

Nogo's gorillas swarming down on him. However, there was no sign of life

on the rainswept heights.

He eased the tractor into her lowest gear and turned her down the bank.

Below the dam wall the water that was finding its way through the gaps

was less than hub-deep.

The tractor bounced and ground its way through the boulder-strewn

watercourse. Nicholas stopped the machine in the middle of the river bed

while he studied the downstream face of the dam wall for its weakest

section.

Then he' lined up below the centre of the wall, at'the point where

Sapper had shored up the raft of logs with rows of gabions.

"Sorry for all your hard work," he apologized to Sapper, as he

manoeuvred the steel scoop of the tractor to the right height and angle

before attacking the wall. He worried the gabion he had selected out of

its niche in the row, reversing and thrusting at it until he could get

the scoop under it and drag it free. He pulled away and dropped the

heavy wire mesh basket over the waterfall, then drove back and renewed

the attack.

It was slow work. The pressure of the water had wedged in the gabions,

keying them into the wall so it took almost ten minutes to free the

second basket. As he dropped that one over the waterfall, he glanced for

the first time at the fuel gauge on the dashboard of the tractor and his

heart sank. It was registering empty. Sapper must have neglected to

refuel it: either he had exhausted the fuel supply or he had not

expected ever to use the machine again when he abandoned it.

Even as Nicholas thought about it the engine stuttered as it starved. He

reversed it sharply, changing the angle of inclination so that the

remaining fuel in the tank could slosh forward. The engine caught and

cleared, running smoothly and strongly once again. Quickly he changed

gear and ran back at the wall.

"No more time for finesse," he told himself grimly.

"From here on in it's brute force and muscle."

By removing two of the gabions he had exposed a corner of the log raft

behind them. This was the vulnerable and part of the wall. He worked the

hydraulic controls lifted the scoop to its highest travel. Then he

lowered it carefully, an inch at a time; until it hooked over the end of

the thickest log in the jam. He locked the hydraulics and thrust the

tractor into reverse, gradually pouring on full power until the engine

was roaring and blowing out a cloud of thick blue diesel smoke.

Nothing gave. The log was jammed solidly and the wall was held together

by the keying of the gabions into each other and the enormous pressure

of water behind them. Despairingly, Nicholas kept the throttle wide

open.

The lugged tyres spun and skidded on the boulders under them, throwing a

tall shower of spray high into the air and churning out loose rock and

gravel.

"Come on!" Nicholas pleaded with the machine. "Come on! You can do it."

The engine beat faltered again as she starved for fuel.

She spluttered and coughed, and almost stalled.

"Please!" Nicholas begged her aloud. "One more try." Almost as if it had

heard him, the engine fired again, ran unevenly for a few moments, and

then abruptly bellowed at full power again.

That's it, my beauty," Nicholas yelled, as it lurched hammered against

the wall.

an With a sound like a cannon shot the log snapped and the top end of it

flew out of the wall, leaving a long, deep hole through which the river

poured triumphantly, a thing -'solid column of dirty grey water.

"Thar she blows!" Nicholas shouted, jumping down from the driver's seat.

He knew there was not enough time left for him to drive the tractor out

of the river bed. He could move more quickly on his own feet.

The current seized his legs, trying to pull them out from under him. It

was like one of those childhood nightmares when monsters were pursuing

him and, despite his every effort, his legs would only move in slow

motion.

He glanced back over his shoulder, and at that instant he saw the

central section of the dam wall burst, blowing outward in a violent

eruption of furious waters. He struggled on another few paces towards

the bank before the deep and turbulent tide picked him up. He was

helpless in its grip. It swept him away, over the waterfall and down,

down into the hungry maw of the chasm.

these are the royal crook and sceptre of the Pharaoh," cried von

Schiller in a voice that was gusty and faint with emotion as he lifted

them out of the cedarwood chest.

"And this is his false beard and his ceremonial pectoral Wo, emblem."

Nahoot knelt beside him on the floor of the tomb under the great statue

of Osiris. All the ill feelings between them were forgotten in the

wonder of the moment as they examined the fabulous treasures of Egypt.

"This is the greatest archaeological discovery of all time," von

Schiller whispered, his voice tremulous. He pulled his handkerchief from

his pocket and dabbed at the perspiration of excitement that trickled

down his cheeks.

"There is years of work here," Nahoot told him seriously. "This

incredible collection will have to be catalogued and evaluated. It will

be known for ever as the von Schiller hoard. Your name will be

perpetuated for all time.

it is like the Egyptian dream of immortality. You will never be

forgotten. You will live for ever."

A rapturous expression crossed von Schiller's features.

He had not considered' that possibility. Up until this moment he had not

considered sharing this treasure with anybody, except in his particular

way with Utte Kemper, but Nahoot's words had awakened in him the old

impossible dream of eternity. Perhaps he might make arrangements for it

to be made accessible to the public - but only after his own death,

naturally.

Then he thrust the temptation aside. He would not debase this treasure

by making it available to the common rabble. It had been assembled for

the funeral of a pharaoh.

Von Schiller saw himself as the modern equivalent of a pharaoh.

"No!" he told Nahoot violently. "This is mine, all mine.

When I die it will go with me, all of it. I have made the arrangements

already, in my will. My sons know what to do. This will all be with me

in my own grave. My royal grave.

Nahoot stared at him aghast. He had not realized until that moment that

the old man was mad, that his obsessions had driven him over the edge of

sanity. But the Egyptian knew that there was no point in arguing with

him now later he would find a way to save this marvelous treasure from

the oblivion of another tomb. So he bowed his.head in mock acquiescence.

"You are right, Hell von Schiller. That is the only fitting manner to

dispose of it. You deserve that form of burial. However, our main

concern now must be to get all of it to safety. Helm has warned us about

the danger of the river, of the dam bursting. We must call him and Nogo.

Nogo's men must clear out the tomb. We can ferry the treasure in the

helicopter up to the Pegasus camp, where. I can pack it securely for the

journey to Germany."

"Yes. Yes." Von Schiller scrambled to his feet, suddenly terrified at

the prospect of being deprived of this wondrous hoard by the flooded

river. "Send the monk, what is his name, Hansith, send him to call Helm.

He must come at once."

Nahoot jumped up to his feet. "Hansith!" he shouted.

"Where are you?"

The monk had been waiting at the entrance to the burial chamber,

kneeling in prayer before the empty sarcophagus which had contained the

body of the saint. He was torn now between religious conviction and

greed.

When he heard his name called he genuflected deeply, and then rose and

hurried back to join von Schiller and Nahoot.

"You must go back to the Pool where we left the others-' Nahoot started

to relay the orders, but suddenly a strange, distracted expression

crossed Hansith's darkly handsome features and he held up his hand for

silence.

"What is it?" Nahoot demanded angrily. "What is it that you can hear?"

Hansith shook his head. "Be quiet! Listen! Can't you hear it?"

"There is nothing-' Nahoot began, but then broke off suddenly, and wild

terror filled his dark eyes.

There was the softest sound, gentle as the sigh of a summer zephyr,

lulling and low.

"What do you hear?" von Schiller demanded. His hearing had long ago

deteriorated, and the sound was far beyond the range of his old ears.

"Water!" whispered Nahoot."Running water!'

"The river!" shouted Hansith. "The tunnel is floodingr He whirled round

and went bounding down the funeral arcade with long, lithe strides.

"We will be trapped in here!" screamed Nahoot, and raced after him.

"Wait for me," von Schiller yelled, and tried to follow.

But he soon fell behind the two much younger men.

The monk, however, was far ahead of both of them as he took the flight

of stairs up from the gas trap two at a time.

"Hansith! Come back! I order you," Nahoot cried despairingly in his

wake, but he caught only a flash of the monk's white robe as he darted

into the first twist of the labyrinth.

"Guddabi, where are you?" von Schiller's voice quavered and echoed

through the stone corridors. But Nahoot did not reply as he ran on in

the direction which he thought the monk had taken, passing the first

turn in the maze without even glancing at the chalk marks on the wall.

He thought he heard Hansith's racing footsteps ahead of him, but by the

time he had turned the third corner he knew he was lost.

He stopped with his heart racing savagely and the bitter gall of terror

in the back of his throat.

"Hansith! Where are you?"he screamed wildly.

Von Schiller's voice came back to him, ringing weirdly down the

passageways, "Guddabi! Guddabi! Don't leave me here."

"Shut up!" he screamed. "Keep quiet, you old fool!'

Panting heavily, the blood pounding in his ears, he

111, Timor:

tried to listen for the sound of Hansith's feet. But he heard only the

sound of the river. The gentle susurration seemed to emanate from the

very walls around him.

"No! Don't leave me here," he screamed, and began to run without

direction, panic-stricken, through the maze.

/4' ansith took each twist and'turn unerringly, with the terror of

dreadful death driving his 7 feet. But at the head of the central

staircase his ankle twisted under him and he fell heavily. He tumbled

down the steeply inclined shaft, bumping and rolling the full length,

gathering speed as he went until he reached the bottom and lay sprawled

on the agate tiles of the long gallery.

He dragged himself to his feet, bruised and shaken by the fall, and

tried to run on. But his leg gave way under him again, and he fell in a

tangle. His ankle was badly sprained and would not carry his weight.

Nevertheless he dragged himself up a second time and hobbled down the

gallery, supporting himself with one hand on the shattered wall.

When he reached the doorway and crawled through it on to the landing

beside the generator the sound of the water came up the tunnel. It was

much louder now - a low, reverberating growl which almost blotted out

the soft, discreet hum of the generator.

"Sweet loving Christ and the Virgin, save me!" he pleaded as he

staggered and lurched down the tunnel, falling twice more before he

reached the lower level.

On his knees he peered ahead, and in the glare of the electric lights

strung along the roof of the tunnel he could make out the sink-hole

below him. He did not at first recognize it, for it had all changed. The

water level was no longer lower than the paved floor on which he

sprawled. It was brimming, a great swirling maelstrom, and the water

pouring into it was being sucked away through the hidden outlet almost

as fast as it entered from the tunnel mouth on the far side. The pontoon

bridge was tangled and half, submerged, bobbing and canting and rearing

as it fought its retaining cables like an unbroken horse on a tether.

From Taita's pool'a roaring river of water was boring down the far

branch of the tunnel across the sink-hole.

The tunnel was flooding rapidly, the water already reaching halfway up

the walls, but he knew that it was the only escape route from the tomb.

Every moment he delayed, the flood became stronger.

"I have to get out through there." He pushed himself to his feet again.

He reached the first pontoon of the bridge, but it was careering about

so madly that he dared not attempt to remain upright upon it. He dropped

to his hands and knees, crawled out on to the flimsy structure and

managed to drag himself forward from one pontoon to the next, "Please

God and St. Michael help me. Don't let me die like this," he prayed

aloud. He reached the far side of the sink'hole and groped for a

handhold on the roughly hewn walls of the tunnel.

He found a hold with his fingertips and pulled himself into the mouth of

the tunnel, but now the full force of the water pouring down the shaft

struck his lower body. He hung there for a moment, pinned by the raging

waters, unable to move a pace forward. He knew that if his grip failed

he would be swept back into the sink-hole and sucked down into those

terrible black depths.

The electric bulbs strung along the roof of the tunnel ahead of him

still burned brightly, so that he could see almost to the open basin of

Taita's pool where the bamboo -scaffolding would offer escape to the top

of the chasm. It was only two hundred feet ahead of him. He gathered all

his strength and pulled himself forward against the raging waters,

reaching forward from one precarious handhold to

the next. His fingernails tore and the flesh smeared from the tips of

his fingers on the jagged rock, but he forced his way onwards.

At last he could see daylight ahead of him, filtering from Taita's pool.

Only another forty feet to go, and he realized with a surge of relief

and joy that he was going to make it out of the deadly trap of the

shaft. Then he heard a fresh sound, a harsher, more brutal roar as the

full flood of the burst dam poured down the waterfall into Taita's pool.

It found the entrance to the tunnel and came down it in a solid wave,

filling the passageway to the roof, ripping out the wiring of the lights

and plunging Hansith into darkness.

It struck him with such force that it seemed to be not mere water but

the solid rock of an avalanche, and he could not resist it. It tore him

from his insecure perch and plucked him away, tossing him backwards,

spinning him down the length of the shaft that he had gained with so

much effort, and hurling him into the sink-hole beyond.

He was swirled end over end by the crazed waters. In the darkness and

wild confusion he did not know which direction was up and which down,

but it made no difference for he could not swim against its power, Then

the sink'hole seized him full in its grip and sucked him swiftly and

deeply down. The pressure of the water began to crush him. One of his

eardrums burst, and as he opened his mouth to scream at the agony of it

the water spurted down his throat and flooded his lungs. The last thing

he ever felt was when he was flung against the side wall of the

sink-hole, travelling as fast as the falling waters, and the bones of

his right shoulder shattered. He could not scream again through his

sodden lungs, but soon the pain faded into oblivion.

As his corpse was drawn swiftly through the subterranean shaft it became

mangled and "dismembered on the jagged rock sides, and was no longer

recognizable as human.

17"

by the time it was discharged through the butterfly fountain on the far

side' of the mountain. From there the torn fragments were washed down

the diverted Dandera river to join, at last, the wider and more stately

waters of the Blue Nile.

he waters pouring through the gap in the dam i wall picked up the yellow

front-loader and tumbled it over the waterfall into the chasm as though

it were a child's toy. Nicholas had a glimpse of it in the air below

him. Even as he fell himself, he realized that if he had stayed with the

machine he would have been crushed beneath it. The huge machine struck

the surface of the pool in a fountain of white spray and disappeared,

Nicholas followed it down, falling free, even managing J11 to keep his

head uppermost, feet foremost, as he swooped I down the waterfall. The

flood that carried him cushioned his fall, so that instead of being

dashed against the exposed boulders at the bottom, he bounced and

tumbled in the racing torrent. He came to the surface fifty yards

downstream, tossed his wet hair out of his eyes and glanced around him

quickly.

The tractor was gone, swallowed deep into the pool at the foot of the

waterfall, but ahead of him was a small island of rock in the middle of

the river. With a dozen overarm strokes -he swam to it and clung to a

rocky spur.

>From there he looked up at the sheer walls of the chasm an remembered

the last time he had been trapped down here. The ation "ie a felt at

the destruction of the dam and the flooding of Pharaoh's tomb

evaporated.

He knew that he would not be able to climb those slick, water-smoothed

cliffs that offered no handholds and which belled outwards in an

overhang over his head.

Instead he weighed the chances of working his way back upstream to the

foot of the falls. From here it looked as though there was some sort of

funnel or crevice up the east side of the chute which might offer a

ladderway to the top, but it would be a hard and dangerous climb.

The volume of water coming over the falls was not as heavy as he had

expected, considering the vast body of water that was being held back by

the dam. He realized then that the greater part of the wall of gabions

must still be in place and that this torrent was only the result of

water escaping through the narrow gap he had torn in the centre of the

wall. The remainin gabions must still be 9 holding in place under their

own weight. However, he realized that they could not hold much longer

and that the river must soon plough them aside and burst through in full

force. So he abandoned the idea of swimming back to the foot of the

falls.

"Have to get out of its way," he thought desperately, as he imagined

being caught up in the terrible flood which would certainly come down at

any moment. "If I can reach the side somewhere, perhaps find a ledge,

climb above the flood." But he knew it was a forlorn hope. He had swum

the length of the canyon once before without finding a handhold on the

slick walls.

"Swim ahead of it?" he thought. "A slim chance, but the only one I

have." He kicked off his boots, and gathered himself. He was about to

push off from his temporary refuge, when he heard the rest of the dam

wall high above him give way.

There was a rumbling roar, the crackle of logs snapping and breaking,

the grating and grinding of heavy gabions being -thrown around like

empty rubbish cans, and then suddenly and terrifyingly a solid wave of

grey water burst over the top of the falls, carrying with it a wall of

trash and debris.

"Oh mother! Too late. Here comes the big one!'

He shoved off from his rock, turning downstream, and swam with all his

strength, kicking and flailing his arms in a wild crawl stroke. He heard

the roar of the approaching wave and glanced back over his shoulder. It

was overhauling him swiftly, filling the chasm from wall to wall,

fifteen feet high and curling at the top. He had a fleeting mental II

image from his youth, waiting to surf that notorious wave at Cape St.

Vincent, hanging on the line'up and seeing it humping up behind him,

this great wall of water, so mountainous and so overwhelming.

"Ride id' he told himself, judging the moment. "Catch it like a slider."

He clawed through the water, trying to get up speed to ride up the wall.

He felt it seize him and lift him so violently that his guts swooped,

and then he was on the crest of it. He arched his back and tucked his

am-is behind him in the classic body-surfer's position, hanging in the

face of the wave, slightly head down, the front half of his body thrust

clear of the water, steering with his legs. After the first few

terrifying seconds he realized that he was ic abated and riding her high

and had some control; his pan he was overcome by a sense of wild

exhilaration.

"Twenty knots!" He estimated his speed by the giddy i blur of the canyon

walls passing him on either side. He steered away from the nearest wall,

sliding across the face, taking up station in the centre of the wave, He

was caff ied along by the wave and by the thrilling sensation of speed

and danger.

The increased depth of water in the chasm covered the dangerous,

knife-sharp rocks, enabling him to ride clear of them. It smoothed out

the waterfalls and the chutes, so that instead of dropping down them and

plummeting below the surface of the pool beneath he slid down them with

a smooth rush, holding his position in the face of the wave with a few

quick overarm strokes or a kick of the legs.

"Hell! This is fun!" He laughed aloud. "People would pay money to do

this. Beats the hell out of bungee jumping." A

Within the first mile the wave began to lose its shape and impetus as it

spread out. down the canyon. Soon it would no longer have the power to

hold him up in the surfing position, and he glanced around him swiftly.

Floating near by, keeping pace with him in the flotsam of debris from

the dam, was one of the treetrunks that had formed part of the raft with

which Sapper had plugged the gap in the wall.

He steered across to this ponderous piece of timber. It was thirty feet

long and floated low in the flood, its back showing like that of a

whale. Its branches had been roughly hacked away by the axemen, and the

spikes that remained provided secure handholds. Nicholas pulled himself

up on he treetrunk, lying on his belly, facing downstream, to with his

legs still dangling in the water. Swiftly he recovered his breath and

felt his full strength returning.

Although it had smoothed out and lost its wave formation, the flood was

still tearing down the chasm at a tremendous pace. "Still not much under

ten knots," he estimated. "When this lot hits Taita's pool, I pity von

Schiller and any of his uglies who are in the tomb. They are going to

stay in there for the next four thousand years." He threw back his head

and laughed triumphantly.. "It worked! Damn me to hell, if it didn't

work just the way I planned it."

He stopped laughing abruptly as he felt the treetrunk veer across the

river towards one of the canyon walls.

"Oh, oh! More trouble."

He rolled to one side of the treetrunk and kicked out strongly. His

ungainly vessel responded, swinging heavily across the current. It was

sluggish steering, not enough to avoid contact with the rock wall

entirely, but instead of striking full'on it was merely a glancing

collision that pushed him back again into the main flow of the current.

He was gaining confidence and expertise every moment, "I can ride her

all the way down to the monastery!'

The AL

he exclaimed delightedly. "At this rate of knots I might even get to the

boats before Sapper and Royan."

Looking ahead, he recognized this stretch of the chasm that he was

hurtling through. -i@

"This is the bend above Taita's pool. Be there in another minute or two.

I expect the scaffolding has been washed away by now." He pulled

himself as high on the log as he could without upsetting its balance,

and peered ahead, blinking the water out of his eyes. He saw the head of

the falls above Taita's pool racing towards him, and he braced himself

for the drop.

The long, smooth chute of racing water opened ahead of him, and the

moment before he flew down it he had a glimpse into the basin of rock

below it. He saw at once that his expectations had been premature. The

bamboo scaffolding had not been entirely washed away, although it was

badly damaged. The lowest section was gone, but the Upper part hung

drunkenly down the rock cliff, just touching the surface of the racing

waters. It was swaying and swinging loosely as the current snatched at

it, and incredulously he realized that there were at least two men

trapped

on the flimsy structure, clinging desperately to the ladderway of

lurching, clattering poles. Both of them were trying to claw their way

up it to the top of the cliff.

In that fraction of a second Nicholas saw a flash of steel'rimmed

spectacles under a maroon beret, and realized that the man nearest the

top of the cliff was Tuma Nogo.

Then Nogo succeeded in reaching the top of the scaffolding and

disappeared over the top of the cliff. That one glance was all Nicholas

had time for before his log was plunged into the water-chute, gathering

speed until it was tearing downwards at a steeply canted angle. The

point dug in as it hit the surface of the pool at the bottom, and the

log almost pole-vaulted end over end, but Nicholas clung on to his

handholds, and gradually it righted itself.

For a few moments the log was stalled in the vortex below the falls, but

almost at once, the current grabbed it again and it gathered speed,

bearing away down the length of Taita's pool as ponderously as a wooden

man-'-war.

Nicholas had a second of respite in which to look around the basin of

Taita's pool. He saw at once that the entrance tunnel to the tomb was

entirely submerged and, judging by the water level up the cliff wall, it

was already fifty feet or more beneath the surface. He felt a leap of

triumph. The tomb was once more protected from the depredations of any

other grave-robber.

Then he looked up the battered remnants of the bamboo scaffolding skewed

down the cliff, torn half away from the ancient niches in the rock, -and

he saw the other man still clinging to the wreckage. He was twenty feet

above the water level, and seemed frozen there like a cat in the high

branches of a windswept tree.

At that moment Nicholas realized that his log was swinging in the grip

of the river, curling in towards the dangling scaffold. He was about to

try to steer it clear, when the man on the framework high above him

turned his head and looked down at him. Nicholas saw that he was a white

man, his face a pale blob in the gloom of the canyon, and a moment later

he recognized him with a stab of hatred through the chest.

"Helm!the exclaimed."Jake Helm."

He had an image of Tamre, the epileptic boy, crushed beneath the

rockfalls and of Tessay's burned and battered face. His outrage and

hatred surged. Instead of steering the log away from the scaffold, he

reversed his thrust and swung in towards the cliff. There was a

breathless interval when Nicholas thought he might miss, but at the last

moment the leading end of the log swung sharply and the point of it

crashed into the trailing end of the bamboo, hooking-on to it.

The log's weight and momentum were irresistible. The bamboo poles

crackled and snapped like dry kindling, and then the whole rickety

structure tore loose from the wall and came crashing down over the log.

Helm swung out overhead, then released his grip and dropped feet first

into the water close alongside the log. He went deep below the surface.

While he was under, Nicholas pulled himself up to sit astride the log

and grabbed a length of bamboo pole that had broken off the scaffolding

and was floating alongside.his perch.

The log was trapped in a back eddy of the swollen river, and now it

began to spin slowly in the slack water outside the main current.

Nicholas was still riding high on the log. He hefted the bamboo,

swinging it back and forth like a baseball bat, to get the feel of it.

Then he cocked it over his shoulder and waited for Helm to show himself.

A second later the Texan's head broke out, streaming water. His eyes

were screwed closed, and he let out a gasp Of water and air and tried to

suck in a breath. Nicholas aimed the pole at his head and swung with all

his strength, but just at that moment Helm opened his eyes and saw the

blow coming.

He was as quick as a water snake, rolling his head under the swinging

club so that it merely touched the side of his cropped blond head and

then glanced away. Nicholas was thrown off balance by his own swing, and

before he could recover Helm had drawn a quick breath and ducked below

the surface again.

Nicholas poised the club, ready to strike a second time, peering down

into the murky water, muttering angrily at himself for having missed the

first blow while he still had the advantage of surprise. He had no

illusions about what he was in for, now that Helm had been warned.

The seconds drew out with no sign of his adversary reappearing, and

Nicholas looked behind him anxiously, trying to anticipate where he

would come up again. For a long minute nothing happened. He lowered the

club nervously, and changed his grip so as to be ready to stab in any

direction with the sharp broken tip.

Suddenly his left ankle was seized in a crushing grip below the water

and, before he could grab a handhold to resist, Nicholas was jerked from

his seat on the log and went over backwards into the river. As he

plunged beneath the water he felt Helm's fingers clawing at his face. He

grabbed one of the fingers and wrenched it back, feeling it snap in his

grasp as he forced it back towards its own wrist.

But Helm was galvanized by the agony of the dislocated joint, and one of

his long muscular arms whipped around Nicholas's neck like the tentacles

of an octopus.

The two of them came to the surface for a moment, both of them drew one

quick, harsh breath, then Helm forced Nicholas's head backwards and

water flooded into his open mouth. The lock on his neck tightened, and

he felt the tension on his vertebrae. It was a killer grip. If Helm had

only had a solid purchase he could have exerted the last ounce of

pressure which would have snapped his spine. But Nicholas kept rolling

back in the direction of the thrust, giving with it, and preventing Helm

from bringing all his strength to bear. As he went over he saw Helm's

face in front of his, magnified and distorted through the tainted grey

water. He looked monstrous and evil.

As Helm rolled over the top of him Nicholas locked both hands around his

waist to hold him firmly, then brought up his right knee between Helm's

legs, hard into his crotch, and felt the bone of his kneecap make

contact.

The bunch of genitals was full and rubbery; Helm contorted and his lock

on Nicholas's neck eased. Nicholas used the slack to reach down and grab

a handful of Helm's damaged testicles and twist them savagely. He saw

the man's face inches in front of his own twist into a rictus of pain

and Helm pulled away from him, releasing his lock on Nicholas's throat

and reaching down to grab his wrist with both hands.

Again they came to the surface close alongside the floating log, and

Nicholas realized that the current had taken hold of them again and was

carrying them away through the outlet of Taita's pool into the full

stream of the river. Nicholas released his grip on Helm's balls and with

his other hand aimed a punch at his face, but they were too close to

each other and the blow lacked power. It glanced off Helm's cheek, and

Nicholas tried to lock his extended arm around his neck, going for a

headlock himself Helm hunched his head down on his shoulders slipping

under the hold. Then suddenly he reached for-ward fast as a striking

adder and sank his teeth into Nicholas's chin.

The surprise was complete, and the pain was excruciating as his teeth

locked into the flesh. Nicholas shouted and clawed at Helm's face, going

for his eyes, trying to drive his fingernails through the lids. But Helm

squeezed his eyes tight closed and his teeth cut in ever deeper, so that

Nicholas's blood welled up and oozed from the corners of Helm's mouth.

The log was still floating beside them, inches from the back of Helm's

head. Nicholas seized his ears, one in each hand, and twisted him around

in the water. He could see over the top of Helm's head, while Helm's

vision was blocked. There was a nub of raw wood sticking out of the tree

trunk where an axe had hacked away a, ride branch.

The cut was at an angle, leaving a sharp spike. Through tears of agony

Nicholas lined up the spike with the back of Helm's head. He could feel

Helm's teeth almost meeting in the flesh of his face. They had cut

through the lower lip so that blood was starting to fill Nicholas's

mouth. Helm was worrying him like a pit'bull in the arena, wrenching his

head from side to side. Soon he would come away with a bloody mouthful

of Nicholas's flesh.

With all the strength of pain and desperation, Nicholas hurled himself

forward, and, using his upper body and his grip on the sides of Helm's

head, drove him on to the sharp wooden spike. The point found the joint

between the vertebrae of the spine and the base of Helm's skull, going

in like a nail and partially severing the spinal cord.

Helm's jaws sprang open as he went into spasm. Nicholas pulled away from

him with a flap of loose flesh hanging from his chin, and blood

streaming and spurting from the deep ragged wound.

Helm was impaled upon the spike, like a carcass on a butcher's hook. His

limbs twitched and the muscles of his face convulsed, his eyelids

shivered and jumped like those of an epileptic, and his eyeballs rolled

back into his skull so that only the whites showed, flashing grotesquely

in the gloom of the chasm.

Nicholas pulled himself up on to the tog beside the Texan's body, and

hung there panting and bleeding in gouts down his chin on to his chest.

Slowly the log revolved un er the eccentric weight distribution, and

Helm began to slide off the spike. His skin tore with a sound like silk

parting, and the vertebrae of his spine grated on wood.

Then the corpse, at last quiescent, flopped face down into the water and

began to sink.

Nicholas would not let him go so easily. "Let's make sure of you, dear

boy," he grated through his swollen, bleeding mouth. He spat out a

mouthful of blood and saliva as he stretched out and grabbed the back of

Helm's collar, holding him face down in the water under the log. They

icked up speed rapidly down the last stretch of the canyon, but

Nicholas held on doggedly, drowning any last spark of life from Helm's

carcass, until at last it was torn. from his grip by the current and he

watched it sink away into the grey, roiling waters.

"I'll give your love to Tessay," Nicholas called after him as he

disappeared. Then he gave all his concentration to balancing the log and

staying aboard for the ride through the tumbling, racing current. At

last he was spewed out -AL

through the pink rock portals into the bottom reach of the DandeTa

river. As he was swept beneath the rope suspension bridge he slid off

the log and struck out for the western bank, very much aware of the

terrible drop into the Nile that lay half a mile downstream.

Sitting on the bank, he tore a strip from the tail of his shirt. Then he

bound up his wounded chin as best he could, strapping it around the back

of his head. The blood soaked through the thin wet cotton, but he

knotted it tighter and it began to staunch the flow.

He stood up unsteadily and pushed his way through the strip of thick

river in bush which bounded the river, until at last he struck the trail

that led down to the monastery and hobbled down it on his bare feet. He

only stopped once, and that was when he heard the sound of the

helicopter taking off from the top of the cliff above the chasm far

behind him.

He looked back. "Sounds as though Tuma Nogo made it out of there, more's

the pity. I wonder what happened to von Schiller and the Egyptian," he

muttered grimly, fingering his injured face. "At least none of them are

going to get into the tomb, not unless they dam the river again."

Suddenly a thought occurred to him.

"My God, what if von Schiller was already in there when the river hit!"

He began to chuckle, and then shook his head. "Too much to hope for.

justice is never that neat." He shook his head again, but the movement

started his wound aching brutally. He clutched his bandaged jaw with one

hand and started down the trail again, breaking into a trot as he

reached the paved causeway that led down to the monastery.

ahoot Guddabi ran full into von Schiller around a corner of the maze,

and in a peculiar way the old man's presence, even thoug he was of no

conceivable value in this crisis, steadied him and kept at bay the panic

that threatened at any moment to boil over and overwhelm him. Without

Hansith the maze was a weird and lonely place. Any human company was a

blessing. For a moment the two of them clung together like children lost

in the forest.

Von Schiller still carried part of the treasure that they had been

examining when Hansith had panicked and run.

He had Pharaoh's golden crook in one hand and the ceremonial flail in

the other.

"Where is the monk?" he screamed at Guddabi. "Why did you run off and

leave me? We have to find the way out of these tunnels, you idiot. Don't

you realize the danger?"

"How do you expect me to know the way-' Nahoot began furiously, and then

broke off as he noticed the chalk notations on the wall behind von

Schiller's shoulder, and for the first time realized their significance.

"That's it!' he exclaimed with relief. "Harper or the Al Simma woman

have marked it out for us. Come on!" He started down the tunnel,

following the signposting. However, by the time they came out on the

central staircase almost an hour had passed since Hansith had left them.

As they hurried down the staircase into the long gallery the sound of

the river rose to a pervading hiss, like the breathing of a sleeping

dragon, Nahoot broke into a run and von Schiller staggered along behind

him, his aged legs weakening with fear.

"Wait!" he shouted after Nahoot, who ignored his plea and ducked out

through the opening in the plaster-sealed doorway. On the landing the

generator was still running smoothly, and Nahoot did not even glance at

it as he hurried down the inclined shaft in the bright dazzle of the

light bulbs along the roof.

He turned the corner still at a run, and stopped dead 41, as he realized

that the tunnel below him was flooded, right back up to the level of the

ancient high-water mark on the masonry blocks of the walls. There was no

sign of the sinkhole or the pontoon bridge. They were submerged under

fifty feet or more of water.

The Dandera river, guardian of the tomb down all the ages, had resumed

its duty. Dark and implacable, it sealed the entrance to the tomb as it

had done these four thousand years past.

"Allah!" whispered ahoot. "Allah have mercy on us." Von Schiller came

around the corner of the tunnel and stopped beside Nahoot. The two of

them stared in horror at the flooded shaft. Then slowly von Schiller

sagged against the side wall.

"We are trapped," he whispered, and at those words Nahoot whimpered

softly and sank to his knees. He began to pray in a high, nasal

sing-song. The sound infuriated on Schiller.

"That will not help us. Stop it!" He swung the golden flail in his right

hand across Nahoot's bowed back. Nahoot cried out at the pain and

crawled away from von Schiller.

"We must find a way out of here." Von Schiller's voice steadied. He was

accustomed to command, and now he took charge.

"There must be another way out of here," he decided.

(We will search. If there is an opening to the outside then we should

feel a draught of air." His voice became firmer and more confident.

"Yes! That's what we will do. Switch off that fan, and we will try to

detect any movement of air."

Nahoot responded eagerly to his tone and authority, and hurried back to

switch off the electric fan.

"You have your cigarette lighter," von Schiller told him. "We will light

tapers from these." He pointed at the papers and photographs that Royan

had left lying on the trestle table by the doorway. "We will use the

smoke to detect any draught."

For the next two hours they moved through all levels of the tomb,

holding aloft the burning tapers, watching the movement of the smoke. At

no point could they detect even the faintest movement of air in the

tunnels, and in the end they came back to the flooded shaft and stared

despairingly at the pool of still black water that blocked it.

"That is the only way out," von Schiller whispered.

11 wonder if the monk escaped that way," said Nahoot as he slumped down

the wall.

"There is no other way."

They were silent for a while; it -was difficult to judge the passage of

time in the tomb. Now that the river had found its own level there was

no movement of water in the shaft, and the faint and distant sound of

the current running through the sink-hole seemed merely to enhance the

silence. In it they could hear their own breathing.

Nahoot spoke at last. "The fuel in the generator. It must be running

low. I did not see any reserves-'

They thought about what would happen when the small fuel tank ran dry.

They thought about the darkness to come.

Suddenly von Schiller screamed, "You have to go out through the shaft to

fetch help. I order you to do it., Nahoot stared at him in disbelief.

"It's over a hundred yards back through the tunnel to the outside, and

the river is in flood."

Von Schiller sprang to his feet and stood over Nahoot threateningly.

"The monk escaped that way. It's the only way. You must swim through the

tunnel and reach Helm and Nogo. Helm will know what to do. He will make

a plan to get me out of here."

"You are mad." Nahoot backed away from him, but'von Schiller followed

him.

"I order you to do id'

"You crazy old man!" Nahoot tried to scramble to his feet, but von

Schiller swung the heavy golden flail, a sudden unexpected blow in

Nahoot's face that knocked him over backwards, splitting his lips and

breaking off two of his front teeth.

"You are rnad!" he wailed. "You can't do this-' but von Schiller swung

again and again, lacerating his face and Is of the whip cutting

shoulders, the heavy golden tai through the thin cotton of his shirt.

"I will kill you," von Schiller screamed, raining blows on him. "If you

don't obey me I will kill you."

"Stop!, Nahoot whined. "No, please, stop. I will do it, only stop."

He crawled away from von Schiller, dragging himself along the floor of

the tunnel until he sat waist-deep in the water.

AZT',, "Give me time to prepare he pleaded.

"Go now!" Von Schiller menaced him, lifting the whip high. "Very likely

you will find air trapped in the tunnel.

You will find your way through. Go!'

Nahoot scooped a double handful of water and dashed it into his own

face, washing away the blood that poured from one of the deep cuts in

his cheek.

"I have to take off my clothes, my shoes," he whimpered, pleading for

time, but von Schiller would not allow him to leave the water.

Do it where you are standing, he ordered, brandishing the heavy whip. In

his other hand he held the heavy golden crook. Nahoot realized that a

blow from that weapon cou Id crack his skull.

Standing knee-deep "at the water's edge, Nahoot hopped on one foot as he

pulled off his shoes. Then, slowly and reluctantly, he stripped to his

underpants. His shoulders were deeply scored by the lash of the flail,

fresh blood welling up and slithering like scarlet serpents down his

back.

"He knew that he had to placate this crazy old madman.

He would duck under the surface and swim a short way down the tunnel,

hold on to the side wall down there for as long as his breath lasted,

and then swim back again.

"Go!" von Schiller shouted at him. "You are wasting time. Don't think

that I will let you get out of this,, Nah6ot waded deeper into the shaft

until the water covered his chest. He paused there for a few minutes as

he drew a series of deep breaths. Then at last he held his breath and

ducked below the surfAce. Von Schiller stood waiting at the edge of the

pool, staring down into it but unable to see anything beneath the black

and ominous surface. In the lamplight Nahoot's blood stained the

surface.

A minute passed slowly, and then suddenly there was a heavy swirl

beneath the waters, and a human arm rose through the dark surface, hand

and fingers extended as though in supplication. Then slowly it sank out

of sight again.

Von Schiller craned forward, "GuddabW he called

"I -. "What are you playing at?" angrily There was another swirl below

the water, and something flashed like a mirror in the depths.

"Guddabi !'von Schiller's voice rose petulantly.

Almost as if in response to the summons, Nahoot's head broke out through

the surface. His skin was.waxen yellow, drained of all blood, and his

mouth gaped open in a dreadful, silent scream. The water around him

boiled as though a shoal of great fish were feeding below. As von

Schiller stared in incomprehension, a dark tide rose up around Nahoot's

head and stained the surface a rose-petal red. For a moment von Schiller

did not realize that it was Nahoot's blood.

T

Then he saw the long, sinuous shapes darting and twisting beneath the

surface, surrounding Nahoot, feeding upon his flesh. Nahoot lifted his

hand again and extended it towards von Schiller, pleadingly. The arm was

halfdevoured, mutilated by deep half-moon wounds where the flesh had

been bitten away in chunks.

Von Schiller screamed in horror, backing away from the pool. Nahoot's

eyes were huge and dark and accusing.

He stared at von Schiller and a wild cawing sound that was not human

issued from his straining throat.

Even as von Schiller watched, one of the giant tropical ee Is thrust its

head through the surface and its teeth gleamed like broken glass as it

gaped wide, and then locked its jaws on to Nahoot's throat. Nahoot made

no effort to tear the creature away. He was too far gone. He stated at

von Schiller all the while that the eel, twisting and rolling into a

gleaming ball of slimy coils, still hung from his throat.

Slowly Nahoot's head sank below the surface again.

For long minutes the pool was agitated by the movements in its depth and

the occasional gleam of one of the serpentine fish. Then gradually the

surface settled as still and serene as a sheet of black glass.

Von Schiller turned and ran, back up the incline shaft, past the landing

on which the generator still puttered quietly, blindly trying to get as

far away as he could from that dreadful pool. He did not know where he

was going, but followed any passageway that opened in front of him.

At the foot of the central stairway he ran into the corner Of the wall

and stunned himself, falling to the agate tiles and lying there

blubbering as a large purple lump rose on his forehead.

After a while he dragged himself to his feet and lurched up the stairs.

He was confused and disorientated, his mind starting to break up -in

delirium, driven over the edge of

652 it's sanity by horror and fear. He fell again, and crawled along the

tunnel on his hands and knees to the next corner of . Only the was he

able to regain his feet to the maz stagger onwards.

The steep shaft leading down into Taita's gas trap opened under his feet

without him seeing it. He fell down the steps, jarring and bruising his

legs and chest. Then he was on his feet again, reeling across the store

room past the ranks of amphorae, up the far staircase and into the

painted arcade that led to the torrib of Pharaoh Mamose.

He had tottered dowh half the length of it, dishevelled and wild'eyed

and demented, when suddenly the lights dimmed for a moment, fading to a

yellow glow. Then they brightened again as the generator sucked the last

drops of fuel from the bottom of the tank. Von Schiller stopped in the

centre of the arcade and looked up at the lights with despair. He knew

what was coming. For another few minutes the bulbs burned on, bright and

cheerfully, and then again they dimmed and faded.

The darkness settled over him like the heavy velvet folds of a funeral

pall. It was so intense and complete that it seemed to have a physical

weight and texture. He could taste the darkness in his mouth as it

seemed to force its way into his body and suffocate him.

He ran again, wildly and blindly, losing all sense of direction in the

blackness. He crashed headlong into stone and fell again, stunned. He

could feel the warm tickle of blood running down his face, and he could

not breathe. He whimpered and gasped and slowly, lying on his side, he

curled himself into a ball like a foetus in the womb.

He wondered how long it would take him to die, and his soul quailed as

he knew that it might take days and even weeks. He moved slightly,

cuddling in closer to the stone object with which he had collided. In

the darkness he had no way of telling that it was the great sarcophagus

of Mamose that sheltered him. Thus he lay in the darkness of the tomb,

surrounded by the funeral treasures of an emperor, and waited for his

own slow but inexorable death.

he monastery of St. Frumentius was deserted.

The monks had heard the gunfire and the sounds of battle echoing down

the gorge, and had gathered up their treasures and fled.

Nicholas ran down the long, empty cloister, pausing to catch his breath

at the head of the staircase that led down to the level of the Nile and

the Epiphany shrine where he had stored the boats. Panting, he searched

the gloom of the deep basin below him into which the sunlight se! Clom

reached, but the moving clouds of silver spray from the twin waterfalls

screened the depths. He had no way of telling if Sapper and Royan were

down there waiting for him, or if they had run into trouble on the

trail.

He adjusted the tattered and bloodstained bandage around his chin, and

then started down. Then he heard her voice in the silver mist below him,

calling his name, and she came pelting up the slippery, slime-covered

stairs towards him.

"Nicholas! Oh, thank God! I thought you weren't coming." She would have

rushed into his embrace, but then she saw his bandaged and blood-smeared

face, and she stopped and stared at him, appalled.

Sweet Mary!" she whispered. "What happened to you, Nickyr

"A little tiff with Jake Helm. Just a scratch, but I am 4, not much good

at kissing right now," he mumbled, trying to grin around the bandage,

"You will have to wait for later."

He put one arm around her shoulders, almost swinging her off her feet,

as he turned her to face down the stairs again.

"Where are the others?" He hurried her down.

"They are all here," she told him. "Sapper and Mek are pumping the boats

and loading."

"Tessay?"

"She's safe."

They scrambled down the last flight of steps on to the jetty below the

Epiphany shrine. The Nile had risen ten feet since Nicholas had last

stood there. The river was full and angry, muddy and swift. He could

barely make out the cliffs on the far bank through the drifting clouds

of spray.

The five Avon boats were drawn up at the edge. Four of them were already

fully inflated, and the last one was billowing and swelling as the air

was released into it from the compressed air cylinder. Mek and Sapper

were packing the ammunition crates into the ready boats and strapping

them down under green nylon cargo nets.

Sapper looked up at Nicholas and a comical expression of astonishment

spread over his bluff features, "What the blue bleeding blazes happened

to your face?"

"Tell you about it one day," Nicholas promised, and turned to embrace

Mek.

"Thank you, old friend," he said sincerely, "Your men fought well, and

you waited for me." Nicholas glanced at the row of wounded guerrillas

that lay against the foot of the cliff. "How many casualties?"

"Three dead, and these six wounded. It could have been much worse if

Nogo's men had pushed us harder."

"Still, it's too many," said Nicholas.

"Even one is too many," Mek agreed gruffly.

"Where are the rest of your men?"

(on the run for the border. Kept just enough of them with me to handle

the boats." Mek stripped the filthy bandage from Nicholas's chin. Royan

gasped when she saw the injury, but Mek grinned.

"Looks as though you were chewed by a shark."

"That's right, I was,'Nicholas agreed.

WI BE, Mek shrugged. "It needs at least a dozen stitches." He shouted

for one of his men to bring his pack.

Sorry, no anaesthetic," -he warned Nicholas as he forced him to sit on

the transom of one of the boats and poured antiseptic straight from the

bottle.

Nicholas let out a gasp of pain. "Burns, doesn't it?" Mek agreed

complacently. "But just wait until I start sewing."

"This kindness will be written down against your name in the golden

book," Nicholas told him, and with an evil leer Mek broke the seal on a

suture pack.

As Mek worked on the wound, pulling the edges together and tugging the

thread tight, he spoke quietly so that Nicholas alone could hear. "Nogo,

has at least a full company of men guarding the river downstream. My

scouts tell me that he has placed them to cover the trails on both

banks."

"He doesn't know that we have boats to run the river, does he?" Nicholas

asked through gritted teeth.

"I think it is unlikely, but he knows a great deal about our movements.

Perhaps he had an informer amongst your workmen." Mek paused as he

pricked the needle into Nicholas's flesh, and then went on, "And Nogo

still has the helicopter. He will spot us on the river as soon as this

cloud breaks."

The river is our only escape route. Let's pray that the weather stays

socked in, like this."

By the time Mek had tied off the last knot and covered Nicholas's chin

with a Steri-Strip plaster, Sapper had finished inflating and loading

the last boat.

Four of Mek's men carried Tessay's litter to one of the boats. Mek

helped her aboard and settled her on the deck, making sure that she had

one of the safety straps close at hand. Then he left her and hurried to

where his wounded men lay in order to help them into the boats too. Most

of them could walk, but two had to be carried.

After that he came back to Nicholas. "I see you have found your radio,"

he said, as he glanced at the fibreglass case that Nicholas had slung

over his shoulder on its carrying strap.

"Without it we would be in big trouble." Nicholas patted the case

affectionately.

"I will take command of that boat, with Tessay."

"Good!" Nicholas agreed. "Royan will 90 with me in the lead boat."

"You had better let me lead,'Mek said.

"What do you know about river running?" Nicholas asked him. "I am the

only one of us who has ever shot this river before."

"That was twenty years ago," Mek pointed out.

"I am an even better man now than I was then," Nicholas grinned. "Don't

argue, Mek. You come next, and Sapper in the one behind you. Are there

any of your men who know the river to command the other two boats?"

"All my men know the river," Mek told him, and shouted his orders. Each

of them hurried to the Avon he had been allocated. Nicholas gave Royan a

boost over the gunwale of their boat, and then helped his men launch her

down the rocky bank. As soon as the hull floated free they scrambled

aboard and each man grabbed a paddle.

As they bent to their paddles, Nicholas Saw at once that every man of

his crew was indeed a riverman, as Mek had boasted. They pulled strongly

but smoothly, and the light inflatable craft shot out into the main

stream of the Nile.

The Avons were designed to accommodate sixteen, and were lightly loaded.

The ammunition cases that held the grave goods from the tomb were bulky

but weighed little, and there were not more than a dozen people in any

one boat. They all floated high and handled well.

"Bad water ahead," Nicholas told Royan grimly. "All the way to the

Sudanese border." He stood at the steering sweep in the stem, from where

he had a good forward view.

Royan crouched at his feet, clinging to on of the safety straps and

trying to keep out of the way of the oarsmen.

They cut across the current that was scouring the great stone basin

below the falls, and Nicholas lined up for the narrow heads through

which the river was escaping to the West. He looked up at the sky and

saw through the spray that the rain clouds were low and purple. They

seemed to sag down upon the tops of the tall cliffs.

"Luck starting to run our way," he told Royan. "Even with the helicopter

they won't be able to find us in this Weather."

He glanced at his Rolex and the spray was heading the glass. "Couple of

hours until nightfall. We should be able to put a few miles of river

behind us before we are forced to stop for the night."

He looked back over his stem and saw the rest of the little flotilla

bobbing along behind him. The Avons were reflective yellow in colour and

stood out brilliantly even in the mist and murk of the gorge. He lifted

his clenched fist high in the signal to advance, and from the following

boat Mek repeated the gesture and grinned at him through his beard.

The river grabbed them and they shot through its portals into the

narrow, twisted gut of the Nile. The men at the oars stopped paddling,

and let the river take them.

All they could do now was to help Nicholas to steer her through any

desperate moments, and they crouched ready along the gunwales.

The high water in the gorge had covered many of the reefs of rock, but

their presence below the surface was clearly marked by the waters that

humped up in standing waves or foamed white in the narrows between them.

The flood reached up high on either bank, dashing against the cliffs of

the sub-gorge. If an Avon overturned, or even if a crew member were

thrown overboard there would be no place on this river to heave-to and

pick up survivors.

658 95, Nicholas stood high and craned ahead. He had to pick his route

well in advance, and once committed he had to steer her through. It all

depended on his ability to read the river and judge her mods. He was out

of practice, and he had that tight, hard cannonball of fear in the pit

of his belly as he put the long sweep over and steered for the first run

of fast green water. They went swooping down it, Nicholas holding their

bows into it with delicate touches of the sweep, and came out into the

bottom of it with all the other boats following them down in sequence.

"Nothing to it!" Royan laughed up at him.

Don't say itV Nicholas pleaded with her. The bad angel is listening."

And he lined up for the head of the next set of rapids that raced

towards them with terrifying speed.

Nicholas steered through the gap between two outcrops of rock and they

shot the barrel, gaining speed down the chute. It was only when they

were halfway down that he saw the tall standing wave below them over

which the river leaped. He put the sweep across and tried to steer round

it, but the river had them firmly in its grip.

Like a hunter taking a fence they shot up the front of the standing

wave, and then with a sickening lurch plummeted down the far side into

the deep trough. The Avon folded across the middle, the bows almost

touching the stem as she tried to pull through the hole in the river

surface.

The crew were tumbled over each other and Nicholas would have been

catapulted overside if it had not been for his body line and his grip on

the steering sweep. Royan flung herself flat on the deck and hung on to

the safety strap with all her strength as the Avon's buoyancy exerted

itself and the boat bounded high in the air, whipping back elastically

into its original shape, then hovered a moment and almost capsized

before it crashed back, right side up.

One of the crew had been hurled overboard and was floundering alongside,

carried along at the same speed as the flying Avon, so his comrades were

able to lean out and haul him back on board. The cargo of ammunition

crates had tumbled and shifted, but the nets had prevented any of them

from being lost over the side.

"What did you do that for?" Royan yelled at him. "Just when I was

beginning to trust you."

"Just testing'he yelled back. "Wanted to see how tough you really are."

"I admit it, I am a sissy," she assured him. "You really don't need to

do it again."

Looking back, Nicholas saw Mek's boat crash through the trough just as

they had, but the following craft had enough warning to steer clear and

slip through the sides of the run.

He looked ahead again, and his whole existence became the wild waters of

the river. His universe was contained within the tall cliffs of the

sub-gorge as he battled to bring the racing Avon through. He did not

know whether it was spray or rain that stung his cheeks and his wounded

chin, and that flew horizontally into his eyes and half-blinded him. At

times it was a mixture of the two.

An hour later Nicholas misjudged the rapids again, and they went in

sideways and almost capsized. Two of his crew were hurled overboard.

Steering fine and leaning outboard they managed to pull one of them from

the river, but the other man struck a rock before they could reach him.

He went under and did not rise again. None of them spoke or mourned him,

for they were all too busy staying alive themselves.

Once Royan shouted up at Nicholas through the rattling spray and the

thunder of the river all around them, "Helicopter! Can you hear it?"

Half-deafened, he looked up at the lowering grey belly of the clouds

that hung at the level of the cliffs, and faintly made out the whistle

and flutter of the rotors.

"Above the cloud!" he shouted back, wiping the rain and the spray from

his eyes with the back of his hand.

"They will never spot us in this."

The onset of the African night was sped upon them by the low cloud. In

the gathering darkness another hazard leaped upon them with no warning

at all. One instant they were running hard and clear down a smooth

stretch of the river, and the next the waters opened ahead of them and

they were hurled out into space. It seemed that they fell for ever,

although it was a drop of not more than thirty feet, before they hit the

bottom and found themselves floating in a tangle of men and boats in the

pool below the falls. Here the river was stalled for a moment, revolving

upon itself while it gathered its strength for the next mad charge down

the gorge.

One of the Avons had capsized and was floating belly up - even its

highly stable hull had not been able to weather the down the falls,

The crews of the other ro boats gathered themselves and then paddled

across to drag the survivors from the water and to salvage the oars and

other floating equipment. It took the combined efforts of all of them to

right the overturned Avon, and then it was almost completely dark by the

time they had it back on even keel, "Count the crates!" Nicholas

ordered. "How many have we lost?"

He could hardly credit his good fortune when Sapper shouted back,

"Eleven still on board. All present and correct." The cargo nets were

holding well. But all of them, men and women, were exhausted and soaked

through and shivering with the cold., Any attempt to go on in darkness

would be suicidal. Nicholas looked across at Mek in the nearest boat and

shook his head.

"There is a bit of slack water in the angle of the cliff." Mek pointed

towards the tail of the pool. "We might be able to find moorings for the

night."

him-

There was a stunted but tough little tree growing out of the vertical

fissure in the rock, and they used this as a bollard and made a line

fast to it. Then they lashed all the Avons together in a line down the

cliff and settled in for the night. There was no chance of hot food or

drink, and they had to make do with some cold tinned rations eaten off

the blade of a bayonet, and a few chunks of soggy injera bread.

Mek scrambled over from his own boat and huddled down close beside

Nicholas with one arm over his shoulder and his lips close to his ear.

"I have made a roll call. Another man missing when we went over the

falls. We won't find him now."

"I am not doing too well," Nicholas admitted. "Perhaps you should lead

tomorrow."

"Not your fault." Mek squeezed his shoulders. "Nobody could have done

better. It was this last waterfall-' he broke off and they listened to

it thundering away in the darkness.

"How far have we come?" Nicholas asked. "And'how much further to go?"

"It's almost impossible to tell, but I guess we are halfway to the

border. Should reach there some time tomorrow afternoon."

They were silent for a while, and then Mek asked, "What is the date

today? I have lost count of the days."

"So have Nicholas tilted his wrist-watch so that he could read the

luminous dial in the last of the light. "Good God! It's the thirtieth

already," he said.

"Your pick-up aircraft is due at Roseires airstrip the day after

tomorrow."

"The first of April,'Nicholas agreed. "Will we make it?"

"You answer that question for me." Mek grinned in the night without

humour. "What, chances of your fat friend being late?"

jannie is a pro. He is never late," said Nicholas. Again a silence fell,

and then Nicholas asked, "When we reach Roseires, what do you want me to

do with your share of the booty?" Nicholas kicked one of the ammunition

crates.

"Do you want to take it with you?"

"After we see you off on the plane with your fat friend, we are going to

be doing some hot-footed running from Nogo. I don't want to be carrying

any extra luggage. You take my share with you. Sell it for me - I need

the money to keep fighting here."

"You trust me?"

"You are my friend."

"Friends are the easiest to cheat - they never expect it," Nicholas told

him, and Mek punched his shoulder and chuckled.

"Get some sleep. We will have to do some hard paddling tomorrow." Mek

stood up in the Avon as she pitched and rolled gently to the push of the

current. "Sleep well, old friend," he said, and climbed across to the

boat alongside, where Tessay waited for him.

Nicholas braced his back against the soft pneumatic gunwale of the Avon

and took Royan in his arms. She sat between his knees and leaned back

against his chest, shivering in her sodden clothes.

After a while her shivering abated, and she murmured, "You make a very

good hot'water bottle."

"That's one reason for keeping me around on a permanent basis," he said,

and stroked her wet hair. She did not answer him, but snuggled closer,

and a short while after, wards her breathing slowed as she fell into an

exhausted sleep.

Although he was cold and stiff and his shoulders ached and his palms

were blistered from wrestling with the steering oar, he could not find

sleep as readily as she had.

Now that the prospect of reaching the airstrip at Roseires loomed

closer, he was troubled by problems other than those of simply

navigating the river and battling his way Wot through Nogo's men. Those

were enemies he could recognize and fight; but there was something more

than that which he would soon have to face.

Royan stirred in his arrns and muttered something he could not catch.

She was dreaming and talking in her sleep.

He held her gently and she settled down. again. He had started to drift

off himself when she spoke again, this time quite clearly. "I am sorry,

Nicky. Don't hate me for it.

I couldn't let you-' her words slurred and he could make no sense of the

rest of it.

He was fully awake now, her words aggravating his doubts and misgivings.

During the rest of that night he slept only intermittently, and his rest

was troubled by dreams as distressing as hers must have been to hern the

pre-dawn darkness he shook Royan gently.

She moaned and came awake slowly and reluctantly.

They bolted down a few mouthfuls of the cold rations that remained from

the previous night. Then, as dawn lit the gorge just enough for them to

see the surface of the river and the obstacles ahead, they pushed off

from their moorings and the yellow boats strung out down the current.

The battle against the river began all over again.

The cloud cover was still low and unbroken, and the rain squalls swept

over them at intervals. They kept going all that morning, and slowly the

mood of the river began to ameliorate. The current was not so swift and

treacherous, and the banks not so high and rugged.

It was midafternoon and the clouds were still closed in solidly overhead

as they entered a stretch where the river threaded itself through a

series of bluffs and headlands, and they came upon another set of

rapids. Perhaps Nicholas was more expert in his technique by now, for

they swept through them without mishap, and it seemed to him that each

stretch of white water was progressively less severe than the last.

"I think we are through the worst of it now," he told Royan as she sat

on the deck below him. "The gradient and the fall of the river are

definitely more gentle now. I think it is flattening out as we approach

the plains of the Sudan."

"How much further to Roseires?" she asked.

"I don't know, but the border can't be too far ahead now."

Nicholas and Mek were keeping the flotilla closed up in line astern, so

that orders could be shouted across the gaps between them and all the

boats kept under their command.

Nicholas steered for the deeper water on the outside of the next wide

bend, and as he came through it he saw that the stretch of river ahead

seemed open and altogether free of rapids or shoals. He relaxed and

smiled at Royan.

"How about lunch at the Dorchester grill next Sunday?

Best roast beef trolley in London."

He thought he saw a shadow pass across her eyes before she smiled

brightly and replied, "Sounds good to me., "And afterwards we can go

back home and curl up in front of the telly and watch Match of the Day,

or play our 01" little match."

"You are rude," she laughed, "but it does sound tempting."

He was about to stoop over her, and kiss her for the pleasure of

watching her blush again, when he saw the dance of tiny white fountains

spurting up ftorn the surface of the river ahead of their bows, coming

swiftly towards, them. Then, moments later, he heard the crackle of

automatic fire, the distinctive sound of a Soviet RPD.

He threw himself down over the top of Royan, covering her with his own

body, and heard Mek bellowing from the boat behind them.

'411111%awOv .AL.

"Return fire! Keep their heads down."

His men threw down their paddles and seized their weapons. They blazed

away towards the inner curve of the bank from where the attack was

coming.

The attackers were completely concealed amongst the rocks and scrub, and

there was no definite target to shoot at. However, in an ambush like

this it was essential to lay down as heavy a covering fire as possible,

to keep the attackers' heads down and to upset their aim.

A bullet tore through the nylon skin of the Avon close to Royan's head

and went on to lam into one of the metal offered ammunition crates. The

sides of their craft 0 protection at all from the heavy fusillade that

lashed them.

One of their crew was hit in the head. The bullet cut the top off his

skull like the shell of a soft'boiled egg, and he was flung over the

side. Royan screamed more with horro.

than with fear, while Nicholas snatched up the assault rifle that the

dead man had dropped and emptied the magazine towards the bank, firing

short taps of three and raking the scrub that concealed their attackers.

The Avon still raced downstream on the current, spiralling aimlessly as

she lost direction without the steering oar. It took them less than' a

minute to be carried past the ambush and around the next bend of the

river.

Nicholas dropped the empty rifle and shouted across at Mek, "Are you all

right?"

"One man hit here," Mek yelled back. "Not too bad." Each of the boats

reported their casualties: a total of one dead and three wounded. None

of the wounded was in a serious condition, and although three of the

boats had been holed, the hulls were made up of watertight compartments

and were all still floating high.

Mek steered his Avon alongside Nicholas's and called across. "I was

beginning to think we had given Nogo the slip."

"We got off lightly that time," Nicholas called back.

"We probably took them by surprise. They weren't expecting us to be on

the water."

"Well, no more surprises for him now. You can bet they are on the radio

already. Nogo knows exactly where we are and where we are headed." He

looked up at the cloud. "We can only hope the cloud stays thick and

low."

"How much further to the Sudanese border?"

"Not sure, but it can't be more than another couple of hours."

"Is the crossing guarded?" Nicholas asked.

"No. Nothing there. Just empty bush on both sides."

"Let's hope it stays empty," Nicholas muttered.

Within thirty minutes of the fire-fight, they heard the helicopter

again. It was flying above the clouds, and as they listened it passed

overhead, but out of sight, and headed on downstream. Twenty minutes

later they heard it again, coming back in the opposite direction, and

shortly after that it flew downstream again, still above the cloud.

"What the hell is Nogo playing at?" Mek called across to Nicholas.

"Sounds as though he is patrolling the river, but he can't get under the

cloud."

"My guess is that he is ferrying men downstream to cut us off. Now he

knows we are using boats, he also knows that we can only head in one

direction. Nogo isn't one to worry about international borders. He may

even have realized by now that we are heading for Roseires. It's the

nearest unmanned airstrip along the river. He could be waiting for us

when we try to land., Mek steered his Avon closer and passed a line

across, tying the two boats together so that they could talk in normal

tones.

"I don't like it, Nicholas. We are going to walk right into them again.

What do you suggest?"

Nicholas pondered for a long minute. "Don't you recognize this part of

the river? Don't you know precisely where we are yet?"

Mek shook his head. "I always keep well away from the river when we

cross the border, but I will recognize the old sugar'mill at Roseires

when we get there. It's about three miles upstream from the airstrip."

"DesertedT Nicholas asked.

"Yes. Abandoned ever since the war began twenty years ago."

"With this cloud cover, it will be dark in an hour," Nicholas said. "The

river is slower now and not so dangerous. We can take a chance and keep

on going after dark.

Perhaps Nogo won't expect that. We might be able to give him the slip in

the dark."

"Is that the best you can do?" Mek chuckled. "As a plan it sounds to me

a bit like closing your eyes and hoping for the best."

"Well, if somebody could tell me where the hell we are, and what time

Jannie will arrive tomorrow, I might be able to come up with something a

bit more specific." Nicholas grinned back at him. "Until that happens, I

am flying by the seat of my pants."

All of them were tense with strung-out nerves as they paddled on into

the premature dusk beneath the thick blanket of cloud and rain. Even in

the gathering darkness the crew kept their weapons cocked and locked,

trained on either bank of the river, ready to return fire instantly.

"We must have crossed the border an hour ago," Mek called to Nicholas.

"The old sugar mill can't be far ahead."

"In the dark, how will you find it?"

"There is the remains of an old stone jetty on the bank, from which the

riverboats taking the sugar down to Khartoum used to load."

Night came down upon them abruptly, and Nicholas felt a sense of relief

as the river banks receded into the murk and the darkness hid them from

hostile eyes ashore.

As soon as it was fully dark they lashed the boats -together to prevent

them becoming separated and then let the river carry them on silently,

keeping so close in to the right hand bank that they ran aground more

than once, and some of the men had to slip over the side and push them

out into deeper water.

The stone piers of the jetty at Roseires sprang out at them

unexpectedly, and Nicholas's leading Avon slammed into them before he

could steer clear. However, the crew were ready and they jumped over the

side into chest-deep water and dragged the boat to the bank. Immediately

Mek leaped ashore and, with twenty of his men, spread out into the

overgrown canefields along the bank to secure the area and prevent a

surprise attack by Nogo's men.

There was confusion and more noise than Nicholas felt was safe as the

rest of the flotilla beached, and they began to bring the wounded ashore

and unload the cargo of ammunition cases. Nicholas piggybacked Royan to

the bank and then waded back to fetch Tessay. She was much stronger by

now. The enforced rest during the voyage down river had given her a

chance to recover, and she stood up unaided in the Avon and climbed on

to Nicholas's shoulders to be brought ashore.

Once on dry ground he let her slide down on to her own feet and asked

her quietly, "How are you feeling?"

"I will be all right now, thank you, Nicholas," He supported her for a

moment while she recovered her balance and said quickly, "I did not have

a chance to ask earlier. What about Royan's message that she asked you

to telephone from Debra Maryam? Did you get it through for her?

"Yes, of course," Tessay replied guilelessly. "I told Royan that I had

given her message to Moussad at the Egyptian Embassy. Didn't she tell

you?"

Nicholas winced as though he had taken a low punch, but he smiled and

kept his tone casual. "It must have slipped her mind. Not important,

anyway. But thanks nevertheless, Tessay."

PM-Om At that moment Mek came striding out of the darkness and spoke in

a harsh whisper. "This sounds like a camel market. Nogo will hear us

from five miles away." Quickly 3. he took command and started to

organize the shore party Once the last of the ammunition crates were

unloaded, they dragged the boats into the canefields and unscrewed the

valves that deflated the pontoons. Then they piled cane trash over them.

Still working in the dark they distributed the cargo of ammunition

crates amongst Mck's men. Sapper took a case under each arm. Nicholas

slung the radio over one shoulder and his emergency pack over the other,

and balanced on his head the case that contained Pharaoh's golden

death-mask and the Taita ushabti.

Mek sent his scouts forward to sweep the route out to the airstrip and

make certain that they did not run into an ambush. Then he took the

point and the rest of them strung out in Indian file along the rough,

overgrown track behind him. Before they had covered a mile the clouds

suddenly opened overhead, and the crescent moon and the stars showed

through and gave them enough light to make out the chimneystack of the

ruined mill against the night sky.

But even with this moonlight their progress was slow and broken ses, by

long pau for the stretcher-bearers carrying the wounded had difficulty

keeping up. By the time they reached the airstrip it was after three in

the morning and the moon had set. They stacked the ammunition cases in

the same grove of acacia trees at the end of the runway where they had

cached the pallets of dam-building equipment and the yellow tractor on

the inward journey.

Although they were all exhausted by this time, Mek set out his pickets

around the camp. The two women tended the wounded, working by the light

of a small screened fire as they used up the last of Mek's medical

supplies.

Sapper used the one electric torch whose batteries still held a charge,

and he gave Nicholas a discreet screened light while he set up the radio

and strung the aerial.

Nicholas's relief was intense when he opened the fibreglass case and

found that, despite its dunking in the Nile, the rubber gasket that

seated the lid had kept the radio dry.

When he switched on the power, the pilot light lit up. He tuned in to

the shortwave frequency and picked up the early morning commercial

transmission of Radio Nairobi.

Yvonne Chaka Chaka was singing; he liked her voice and her style. But he

quickly switched off the set so as to conserve the battery, and settled

back against the hole of the acacia tree to try and get a little rest

before daylight broke. However, sleep eluded him - his sense of betrayal

and anger were too strong.

uma Nogo watched the sun push its great fiery head out of the surface of

the Nile ahead of them. They were flying only feet above the water to

keep under the Sudanese military radar trans missions. He knew there was

a radar station at Khartoum that might be able to pick them up, even at

this range.

Relations with the Sudanese were strained, and he could expect a quick

and savage response if they discovered that he had violated their

border.

Nogo was a confused and worried man. Since the d6bdcle in the gorge of

the Dandera river everything had run strongly against him. He had lost

all his allies. Until they were gone he had not realized how heavily he

had come to rely on both Helm and von Schiller. Now he was on his own

and he had already made many mistakes.

But despite all this he was determined to pursue the fugitives, and to

run them down no matter how far he had to intrude into Sudanese

territory. Over the past weeks it had gradually dawned'upon Nogo, mostly

by eavesdropping on the conversations of von Schiller and the jr

Egyptian, that Harper and Mek Nimmur were in possession of treasure of

immense value. His imagination could barely asp the enormity of it, but

he had heard others speak of gr tens of millions of dollars. Even a

million dollars was a sum so vast that his mind had difficulty

assimilating it, but he I i had a vague inkling as to what it might mean

in earthly terms, of the possessions and women and luxuries it could

buy.

Equally slowly it had dawned upon him that, now that Von Schiller and

Helm were gone, this treasure could be his alone; there was no longer

any other person to stand in his way, other than the fleeing shufta led

by Mek Nimmur and the Englishman. And he had overwhelming force on his

side and the helicopter at his command.

if only he could pin the fugitives down, Nogo was certain he could wipe

them out. There must be no survivors, no one to carry tales to Addis.

After Mek and the Englishman and all their followers were dead it would

be a simple matter to spirit his booty out of the country in the

helicopter. There was a man in Nairobi and another in Khartoum whom he

had dealt with before; they had bought contraband ivory and hashish from

him. They would know how to market the booty to best advantage, although

they were both devious men. He had already decided that he would not

trust it all to one person but would spread the risk, so that even if

one of them betrayed and cheated him His mind raced off on another tack,

and he savoured the thought of great riches and what they could buy for

him. He would have fine clothes and motor cars, land and cattle and

women - white women and black and brown, all the women he could use, a

new one for every day of his life. He broke off his greedy daydreams.

First he had to find where the runaways had vanished to.

He had not realized that Harper and Mek Nimmur had inflatable boats

hidden somewhere near the monastery.

Hansith had not informed him of that fact. He and Helm had expected them

to try to escape on foot, and all the plans to head them off before they

could reach the Sudanese border had been based on that assumption. On

Helm's orders, he had even set up a reserve fuel dump near the border

where they expected Mek Nimmur to cross, from which they could refuel

the helicopter. Without those supplies of fuel he would long ago have

been forced to give up the chase.

Nogo had placed his men to cover the trails leading along the river bank

towards the west, and he had not even considered guarding the river

itself. It was quite by chance that one of his patrols had been in a

position to spot the flotilla of yellow boats as they came racing

downstream. However, there had not been enough warning to enable them to

set up an effective ambush, and they had been able to fire on the boats

only briefly before they escaped. They had not inflicted serious damage

on any of the boats - at least, not enough to stop them getting through.

Immediately the company commander had radioed his report of this contact

with Mek Nimmur, Nogo had started ferrying men downstream to the

Sudanese border to cut off the flotilla. Unfortunately, the Jet Ranger

could carry no more than six fully armed men at a time, and transporting

them had been a time-consuming business. He had only succeeded in

bringing sixty of his men into position before night had fallen.

During the night he fretted that the flotilla was slipping past him, and

with the dawn they were in the air again. Fortunately the cloud had

broken up during the night. There was still some high cumulus overhead,

but they were now able to fly low along the river and search for any

sign of Mek Nimmur's flotilla.

They had first flown back along the river on the Ethiopian side of the

border, as far as the point where Mek Nimmur and Harper had been fired

upon. They had picked up no sign of the boats, so Nogo had forced the

pilot to turn back, cross the border and search the Sudanese stretch the

Nile. But Nogo had only been able to persuade his pilot to penetrate

sixty nautical miles along the Nile into the Sudan before the man had

rebelled. Despite the Tokarev pistol that Nogo held to his head, he had

banked the jet Ranger into a 180-degree turn and headed back low along

the river.

By now Nogo knew he had been defeated and ourwitd. He brooded unhappily

in the front seat of the helicopter ter beside the pilot, trying to

fathom out what had happened to his quarry. He saw the tall smokestack

of the abandoned sugar-mill at Roseires poking up into the early morning

sky, and he glowered at it angrily. They had passed the mill only a

short while before on their way downstream.

"Turn in towards the north bank," he ordered the pilot, and the man

hesitated and glanced at him before he obeyed..

They passed directly over the building, flying lower than the chimney.

The factory was roofless and the windows were empty rectangles in the

broken walls. The boilers and machinery had been removed twenty years

previously, and Nogo could look into the empty shell. The pilot hovered

the aircraft while Nogo peered down, but there was no place where anyone

could hide, and Nogo shook his head.

"Nothing! We have lost them. Head back upstream." The pilot lifted the

machine's nose and turned away towards the river, obeying the order with

alacrity. As the aircraft banked steeply, Nogo was looking down directly

into the overgrown canefields verging the river when a flash of bright

yellow caught his eye.

"Waid' he shouted into his mike. "There is something 9 there. Go back!'

The helicopter hovered over the field, and Nogo gestured urgently

downwards. "Down! Put us down."

As soon as the skids touched the earth, the stick of six heavily armed

troopers dived out of the rear cabin and raced out to take up defensive

positions. Nogo clambered out of the front door and ran into the

overgrown bed of tall cane. One look was all he needed. The yellow boats

had been deflated and folded and hastily covered. The earth around them

had been churned up by booted feet.

The tracks led away inland. The men who had made them had been heavily

laden, for they had trodden deeply into the soft, sandy earth.

Nogo ran back to the helicopter and thrust his head in through the open

cabin door. "Is there an airstrip near here?" he shouted at the pilot,

who shook his head.

"There is nothing shown on the chart,, "There must have been one. The

sugar'mill would have had a strip."

"If there was one, it must have been decommissioned years ago.

"We will find it,'Nogo declared. "Mek Nimmur's tracks will lead us to

it." He sobered immediately. "But I will have to bring up more men.

judging by his spoor, Mek Nimmur has at least fifty of his shufta with

him."

He left his men at the sugar-mill and flew back to the border with an

empty rear cabin to pick up the first load of reinforcements.

'ñDig Dolly! Come in, Big Dolly. This is Pharaoh.

Do you read?" Nicholas put out his first call an MD hour before sunrise.

"If I know the way jannie's mind works, and I should, he would plan to

make his approach flight in darkness and arrive here as soon as there is

enough light to pick up the strip and land."

7L 111.7- 7 -7

"If the Fat Man comes," Mek Nimmur qualified.

"He will come," said Nicholas confidently. "Jannie has never let me down

yet." He thumbed the microphone and called again: "Big Dolly! Come in,

Big Dolly."

The static hummed softly, and Nicholas retuned the set carefully. He

called again every fifteen minutes as they huddled around the set in the

dark under the acacia trees.

Suddenly Royan started to her feet and exclaimed excitedly, "There he

is. I can hear Big Dolly's engines.

Listen!'

Nicholas and Mek ran out into the open, and turned their faces upwards,

looking into the north.

Nicholas exclaimed sud

"That's not the Hercules, denly. "That's another machine." He turned and

faced southwards, towards the river. "Anyway, it's coming from the wrong

direction."

"You are right," Mek agreed. "That's a single engine, and it's not a

fixed wing. You can hear the rotors."

"The Pegasus helicopter!" Nicholas exclaimed bitterly.

"They are on to us again."

As they listened, the sound of the rotors faded.

Nicholas looked relieved. "They missed us. They can't have IR spotted

the Avons."

They trooped back under the cover of the acacias, and Nicholas called

again on the radio, but there was no reply from Jannie.

Twenty minutes later they heard the sound of the jet Ranger returning,

and they monitored it anxiously.

"Gone again," said Nicholas after a while, but then twenty minutes later

they heard it yet again.

"Nogo is up to something out there,'Mek said uneasily.

"What do you think it is?" Nicholas was infected by his mood. When Mek

worried, there was usually a damned good reason to worry.

"I don't know," Mek admitted. "Perhaps Nogo has spotted the Avbns and is

bringing up more men before he comes after us." He went out into the

open and listened intently, then came back to where Nicholas crouched

over the radio.

"Keep calling," he said. "I am going out to the perimeter to make

certain my men are ready to hold Nogo off if he comes., The helicopter

moved up and down the Nile at'short intervals during the next three

hours, but the lack of any further developments lulled them, and

Nicholas barely looked up from the radio each time they heard the

distant beat of the rotors. Suddenly the radio crackled, and Nicholas

started violently at the shock.

"Pharaoh! This is Big Dolly. Do you read?"

Nicholas's voice bubbled over with relief as he replied, "This is

Pharaoh. Speak sweet words to me, Big Dolly."

"ETA your position one hour thirty minutes." jannie's accent was

unmistakable.

"You will be very welcome!" Nicholas promised him fervently.

He hung up the microphone and beamed at the two women, "Jannie is on his

way, and he will-'

He broke off and his smile shrivelled to an expression of dismay. From

the direction of the river came the unmistakable rattle of AK-47 rapid

fire, followed a few seconds later by the crump of an exploding grenade.

"Oh, dammit to hell!" he groaned. "I thought it was too good to last.

Nogo has arrived."

He picked up the mike again and spoke into it expressionlessly. "Big

Dolly! The uglies have arrived on the scene. It's going to have to be a

hot extraction."

"Hang on to your crown, Pharaoh!" jannie's voice floated back. "I am on

my way."

During the next half-hour the sounds of the fighting along the river

intensified until the rattle of small-arms fire was almost continuous,

and gradually it crept closer to the far end of the airstrip. It was

clear that Mek's men, spread , out thinly along the river end of the

strip, were falling back before the thrust of Nogo's men. And every

twenty minutes or so there was'the sound of the returning helicopter, as

it ferried another stick of men to increase the pressure on Mek's scanty

defence.

Nicholas and Sapper were the only ablebodied men left in the acacia

grove, for all the others had gone out to defend the perimeter. The two

of them moved the ammunition crates to the edge of the trees, where they

could be loaded in haste once the Hercules landed.

Nicholas sorted out the cargo, reading the contents of each crate from

the notations on the lids in Royan's handwriting. The crate containing

the death -mask and the Taita ushabd would be the first to go aboard,

followed by the three crowns- the blue war crown, the Nemes crown and

the red and white crown of the united kingdoms of upper and lower Egypt.

The value of those three crates probably exceeded that of all the rest

of the treasure combined.

Once the cargo had been taken care of, Nicholas went down the row of

wounded men and spoke to each of them in turn. First, he thanked them

for their help and sacrifice, red to take them out on the Hercules to

and then offed where they could receive proper medical attention. He

mised each of them that, if they accepted the offer, he pro would see to

it . -lat once they had recovered from their wounds they could return to

Ethiopia.

Seven of them - those who were less seriously wounded and were able to

walk - refused to leave Mek Nimmur.

Their loyalty was a touching demonstration of the high regard in which

Mek was held by his men. The others reluctantly agreed to be evacuated,

but only after Tessay had intervened and added her assurances to

Nicholas's.

Then he and Sapper carried them to the point at the edge of the grove

where jannie would halt Big Dolly for the pick'up.

"What about you?" Nicholas asked Tessay. "Are you coming out with us?

You are still in pretty bad shape."

Tessay laughed. "While I can still stand on my two feet, I will never

leave Mek Nimmur."

"I can't understand what you see in that old rogue," Nicholas laughed

with her. "I have -spoken to Mek. He wants me to take his share of the

booty with me. He won't be able to carry any extra luggage at the

moment."

"Yes, I know. Mek and I discussed it. We need the money to continue the

struggle here."

She broke off and ducked involuntarily, as a stunning explosion cracked

in their eardrums and a tall column of dust leaped into the air close to

the edge of the grove.

Shrapnel whistled over their heads and twigs and leaves rained down on

them.

sweet Mary! What was that?" Tessay cried.

"Two-inch mortar,'said Nicholas. He had not moved, nor made any attempt

to take cover. "More bark than bite.

Nogo must have brought it in with his last flight."

"When will the Hercules get here?"

"I'll give jannie a call, and ask him."

As Nicholas sauntered over to the radio set Tessay whispered to Royan,

"Are you English always so cooV

"Don't Ask me - I' mostly Egyptian, and I am terrified." Royan smiled

easily and put her arm around Tessay. "I am going to miss you, Lady

Sun."

"Perhaps we will meet again in happier times." Tessay turned her head

and kissed her impulsively, and Royan hugged her hard.

"I hope so. I hope so with all my heart."

Nicholas spoke into the microphone. "Big Dolly, this is Pharaoh. "What

is your position now?"

"Pharaoh, we are twenty minutes out, and hurrying.

Did you have baked beans for dinner or is that mortar fire I hear in the

background?"

"With your wit you should have gone on the stage,'

Nicholas told him. "The uglies have control of the south end of the

strip. Make your approach from the north. The wind is wester rly at

about five knots. So any way you come in, it will be cross-wirid.

"Roger, Pharaoh. How many passengers and cargo do YOU have for me?"

"Passengers are six cas-evac plus three, Cargo is fifty-two crates,

about a quarter of a ton weight."

"Hardly worth coming all this way for so little, Pharaoh."

"Big Dolly. Be advised, there is another aircraft in the circuit. A jet

Ranger helter. Colour green and red. It 1cop is a hostile, but unarmed."

"Roger, Pharaoh. I will call again on finals."

the two women were Nicholas went back to where waiting with the wounded.

"Not long now," he told them cheerfully. He had to raise his voice to

make himself heard above the din of mortar bursts and rapid small'arms

fire.

"Just enough time for a cup of tea," he said. He pushed a few twigs into

the embers of the previous night's fire, then rummaged in his small

emergency pack for the last of his tea bags while Sapper placed the

smoke-blackened billycan back on the burgeoning flames.

They only had one mug between them. "Girls first," said Nicholas,

passing it to Royan. She took a swallow and scalded her lips.

Good!, she sighed, and then cocked her head. "This time it is definitely

Big Dolly I can hear."

Nicholas listened and then nodded. "I think you are right." He stood up

and went to the radio. "Big Dolly. You are audible."

"Five minutes to landing, Pharaoh."

From where he stood, Nicholas looked down the long strip. Mek's men were

retreating, flitting like smoke through the thorn scrub and firing back

in the direction of the river. Nogo was pushing them hard now.

"Hurry along, Jannie he murmured, and then adjusted his expression as

he turned back to the two women. "Plenty of time to finish your tea.

Don't waste it."

The rumble of Big Dolly's engines was louder than the sound of gunfire

now. Then suddenly she was in sight, coming in so low that she seemed to

brush the tops of the thorn trees. She was enormous, Her wingspan

reached from one side of the narrow overgrown strip to the other. Jannie

touched her down short, and she blew out a long rolling cloud of brown

dust behind her as he put the engines into reverse thrust.

Big Dolly went barrelling past the clump of acacia, and Jannie waved to

them from the high cockpit. The moment he had bled off enough speed, he

stood on his footbrakes and rudder bar. Big Dolly spun around in her own

length and came roaring back down the strip towards them, her loading

ramp beginning to drop open even before she reached them.

Fred was waiting in the open hatchway, and he ran down to'help Sapper

and Nicholas with the wounded men on the litters. It took only a few

minutes to carry them up the ramp, and then they started loading the

ammunition crates. Even Royan gave a hand, staggering up the ramp with

one of the lighter crates clutched to her chest.

A mortar shell exploded a hundred and fifty yards beyond the parked

Hercules, and then half a minute later a second shell fell a hundred

yards short.

"Ranging shots," Nicholas grunted, picking up a crate under each arm and

running up the ramp.

"They have us in their sights now," Fred shouted. "We have to get out of

here. Leave the rest of the cargo. Let's go, GoV

There were only four crates still lying under the NMI-, MOrJL

spreading branches of the acacia, and both Nicholas and Sapper ignored

the order and ran back down the ramp.

and raced back.

They snatched up a crate under each arm "Me ramp was starting to rise

and Big Dolly's engines roared as she began to taxi out. They hurled the

crates over the tailboard of the rising ramp and then jumped up to grab

a handhold and pull themselves aboard. Nicholas was the first up and

reached down to haul Sapper in.

When he looked back, Tessay was a small, lonely figure under the

acacias.

"Give Mek my love and thanks," he bellowed at her.

CY

ou know how to contact us," she screamed back.

"Goodbye, Tessay' Royan's voice was lost in the blast of the great

engines, and the dust blew back in a sheet over Tessay so that she was

forced to cover her face and turn away. The ramp hissed closed on its

hydraulic. rams, and cut out their last glimpse of her.

Nicholas put an arm around Royan's shoulders and hustled her down the

length of the cavernous cargo hold and into one of the jum seats at the

entrance to the cockpit.

"Strap yourself in!" he ordered, and ran up the steps to the cockpit.

"Thought you had decided to stay behind," Jannie greeted him mildly,

without looking up from his controls.

"Hold tight! Here we go."

Nicholas clung on to the back of the pilot's seat as bank of Jannie and

Fred between them pushed forward the throttle levers to full power, and

Big Dolly built up speed until she was careering down the strip.

Looking over Jannie's shoulder" Nicholas saw the vague shapes of men in

camouflage battledre.ss amongst . Some of them the thorn scrub at the

end of the runwa raced tow huge aircraft as it ards were firing at the

them.

"Those popguns aren't going to hurt her much," Jannie . "Big Dolly is a

tough old lady." And - lifted her grunted into the air.

They flashed over the heads of the enemy troops on the ground, and

Jannie set her nose high in the climb attitude.

"Welcome aboard! folks, thank you for flying Africair.

Next stop Malta," Jannie drawled, and then his voice rose sharply, "Oh,

oh! Where did this little piss-cat come from?"

Directly ahead of them the Jet Ranger rose out of the thick scrub on the

banks of the Nile. The angle of the helicopter's climb meant that the

approaching Hercules was hidden from the pilot's view, and he continued

to rise directly into their path.

"Only five hundred feet and a hundred and ten knots on the clock," Fred

shouted a warning at his father from the right'hand seat. "Too low to

turn."

The jet Ranger was so close that Nicholas could clearly see Tuma Nogo in

the front seat, his spectacles reflecting the sunlight like the eyes of

a blind man, and his face freezing into a rictus of terror as he

suddenly saw the great machine bearing down on them. At the last

possible moment the pilot put his aircraft over in a wild dive to try to

ear It nose of the approaching Hercules. It seemed impossible to avoid

the collision, but he managed to bank, the lighter, more manoeuvrable

machine over until it rolled almost on to its back. It slipped under the

belly of the Hercules, and the men in the cockpit of Jannie's plane

barely felt the light kiss of the two fuselages.

However, the helicopter was flung over on to its nose by the impact,

until it was pointing straight down at the earth only four hundred feet

below, While Big Dolly flew on, climbing away steadily on an even keel,

the pilot of the et Ranger struggled to control his crazily plummeting

machine. Two hundred feet above the earth the turbulence thrown out

astern by the massive T56,A-15 turbo-prop engines of the Hercules, each

rated at 4900 horsepower, struck the helicopter with the force of an

avalanche.

Like a dead leaf in an autumn gale she was swept away, spinning end over

end, and when she struck the ground her own engines were still squealing

at full power. On impact the fuselage crumpled like a sheet of aluminium

cooking foil, and Nogo was dead even before the fuel tanks exploded and

a fireball engulfed the jet Ranger.

As soon as Jannie reached safe manoeuvring altitude he brought Big Dolly

around on her northerly heading, and they could look back over the wing

at the Roseires airstrip falling away behind them. The column of black

smoke from the burning helicopter was tar-thick as it drifted away on

the light westerly wind.

"You did say they were the uglies?" Jannie asked. "So rather them than

us, then?"

nce Jannie had settled Big Dolly on her sailing low northerly heading,

and they were over the open deserted Sudanese plains, Nicholas went back

into the main hold.

"Let's get the wounded settled down comfortably , he an unbuckled their

safety belts suggested. Sapper and Roy and went back with him to attend

to the men lying where haste of the their litters had been dumped during

the getaway from Roseires.

After a while Nicholas left them to it and went forward flight deck. He

to the small, well-stocked galley behind the soup and sliced hunks of

fresh bread opened some canned from the loaves he found in the

refrigerator. While the tea water boiled, he found his small emergency

pack, and took from it.the nylon wallet which contained his medicines

and drugs. From one of the vials he shook five white tablets into the

palm of his hand.

In the galley he crushed the tablets to powder, and when he poured tea

into two of the mugs he stiffed the powder in with it. Royan had enough

English blood in her veins never to be able to refuse a mug of hot tea.

After they had served soup and buttered toast to the wounded men, Royan

accepted her mug from Nicholas gratefully. While she and Sapper sipped

their tea, Nicholas went back to the flight deck and leaned over the

back of Jannie's seat.

"What is our flying time to the Egyptian border?" he asked.

"Four hours twenty minutes,'Jannic told him.

"Is there any way that we can avoid flying into Egyptian air

space?"Nicholas wanted to know.

Jannie swivelled around in his seat and stared at him with astonishment.

"I suppose we could make a turn out to the west, through Gadaffi-land.

Of course, it would mean an extra seven hours' flying time, and we would

probably run out of fuel and end up making a forced landing somewhere

out there in the Sahara." He lifted an eyebrow at Nicholas. "Tell me, my

boy, what inspired that stupid question?"

"It was just a rare thought,'Nicholas said.

"Let it be not merely rare, but extinct," Jannie advised.

"I don't want to hear it asked again, ever."

Nicholas slapped his shoulder. "Put it out of your mind." When he went

back into the main hold, Sapper and Royan were sitting on two of the

fold-down bunks that were bolted to the main bulkhead. Royan's empty tea

mug stood on the deck at her feet. Nicholas sat down beside her, and she

reached up and touched the bloodstained dressing that covered his chin.

"You had better let me see to that." Her fingers were deft and cool on

his hot inflamed skin as she cleaned the T

stitches with an alcohol swab and then placed a fresh plaster over them.

Nicholas felt a strong twinge of guilt as he submitted to her

ministrations.

However, it was Sapper who was the first to show the effects of the

doped tea. He lay back gently and closed his eyes, then a soft snore

vibrated his lips. Minutes later Royan sagged drowsily against

Nicholas's shoulder. When she was fast asleep, he let her down gently

and lifted her feet up on to the bunk. He spread a rug over her. She did

not even stir, and he had a moment's doubt about the strength of the

tablets.

Then he kissed her forehead softly. "How could I ever hate you?" he

asked her softly. "Whatever you did."

He went into the lavatory and locked the door. He had plenty of time.

Sapper and Royan wouldn ot wake for hours yet, and Jannie and Fred were

happily ensconced on the flight'deck, listening to Dolly Parton tapes on

the audio system.

When at last he had finished, Nicholas glanced at his wrist-watch and

realized that it had taken him almost two hours, He closed the toilet

seat and washed his hands carefully. Then he took one last careful took

around the tiny cabin and unlocked the door.

Sapper and Royan were still fast asleep on the folddown bunks. He went

forward to the flight-deck, and Fred pulled his earphones down around

his neck and grinned at him.

"Nile water. It's poisonous. You have been locked in the loo for the

last couple of hours. Surprised that there is anything left of you."

Nicholas ignored the jibe and leaned over Jannie's seat back. "Where are

we?"

With a thick forefinger Jannie stabbed the chart that he was balancing

on his protruding belly. "Almost in the clear," he said complacently.

"Egyptian border in one hour twelve minutes."

Nicholas remained standing behind his seat until Jannie grunted and

lifted the microphone. "Time to go into my act."

"Hallo, Abu Simbel Approach!" he said in a Gulf States accent. "This is

Zulu Whiskey Uniform Five Zero Zero."

There was a long silence from the Egyptian controller.

Jannie grunted. "He probably has'a hint in the tower with him. Got to

give him time to get his pants back on."

Abu Simbel Control answered on his fifth call. Jannie launched into his

tried and tested routine, feigning ignorance in fluent colloquial

Arabic.

After five minutes, Abu Simbel cleared him to continue on northwards,

with an instruction to "call again abeam Aswan'.

They flew on serenely for another hour, but Nicholas nerves were

screwing up tighter every minute.

Suddenly, without the least warning, there was a silvery flash ahead of

them as a fighter interceptor, coming from below them, pulled up steeply

across their bows.

Jannie shouted with surprise and an eras another two 9 warplanes

rocketed up from under them, so close that they were buffeted by the

turbulence of their jet trails.

They all recognized the type. They were MiG21 "fishheads' sporting the

Egyptian air force livery, and with air-to-air missiles hanging in

menacing pods under their swept-back wings.

"Unidentified aircraft! Jannie yelled into his mouthpiece. "You are on

collision course. State your call sign!" They all craned their necks and

stared up through -he Perspex canopy over the flight-deck. High above

them they could see the three MiG fighters in formation circling against

the blue of the African sky.

"ZVVU 500. This is Red Leader of the Egyptian people's air force. You

will conform to my orders."

Jannie looked back at Nicholas, his expression forlorn.

low, A

something has gone wrong here. How the hell did they tumble to us?"

"You' better do what the man says, Dad," Fred advised miserably,

'otherwise he is going to blow us all over the sky."

Jarnie shrugged helplessly, and then spoke into his microphone

mournfully. "Red Leader, This is ZVVU 500.

We will cooperate. Please state your intentions."

"Your new heading is 053. Execute immediately!" Jannie brought Big Dolly

around into the east and then glanced at his chart.

"Aswan!" he said dolefully. "The Gyppos are taking us to Aswan. What the

hell, I might as well warn Aswan tower that we have wounded on board."

Nicholas went back to Royans bunk and shook her awake. She was groggy

and unsteady on her feet from the effects of the drug as she staggered

to the lavatory. However, when she emerged again ten minutes later her

hair was combed and she seemed alert and recovered from the mild draught

that she had drunk in her tea. - here was the Nile ahead of them once

more, 6.. and the town of Aswan on both banks, nestling below the first

cataract and the impounded waters of the High Dam. Kitchener's Island

swam like a green fish in the middle of the stream.

As the voice of the military controller at the Aswan irfield gave Jannie

his orders, Big Dolly settled with unruffled dignity and lined up for

the straight-in approach to the tarmac runway. The MiG fighters which

had shepherded them in from the desert were no longer visible, but their

presence high above was betrayed by their terse radio transmissions as

they handed over their captive to the ground control.

Big Dolly sailed in over the perimeter fence and touched down, and the

voice of the controller ordered them, "Turn first taxi-way right."

Jannie obeyed, and as he turned off the main runway there was a small

vehicle with a sign on its roof which read, in both English and Arabic,

"FOLLOW ME'.

The vehicle led them to a row of camouflaged concrete hangars in front

of which a ground crew in khaki overalls signalled them with paddles

into a parking stand. As soon as Jannie applied his brakes and brought

Big Dolly to a halt, a file of four armoured half-tracks raced out and

surrounded the huge aircraft, training their turret weapons upon her.

Obedient to the instructions radioed7by control, Jannie shut down his

engines and lowered the tail ramp of the aircraft. No one on the

flight-deck had spoken since they had landed. They stood crowded

together, looking unhappy, peering out of the cockpit windows.

Suddenly a white Cadillac with an escort of armed motorcyclists,

followed by a military ambulance and a three-ton transport truck, drove

through the gate of the perimeter fence and came directly to the foot of

the cargo ramp of the Hercules. The chauffeur jumped out and opened the

door, and his passenger stepped out into the late afternoon sunshine. He

was clearly a person of authority, dignified and composed. He wore a

light tropical suit and white shoes, a panama hat and dark glasses. As

he came up the ramp to where the five of them waited, he was followed by

two male secretaries.

He removed his dark glasses and tucked them into his breast pocket. As

he recognized Royan he smiled and lifted his hat, "Dr Al Simma - Royan!

You did it. Congratulations!" He took her hand and shook it warmly, not

relinquishing his grip as he looked directly at Nicholas.

"You must be Sir Nicholas Quenton Harper. I have been looking forward to

meeting you immensely. Won't you please introduce us, Royan?"

Royan could not meet Nicholas's accusing scrutiny as she said, "May I

present His Excellency, Atalan Abou Sin, Minister of Culture and Tourism

in the Egyptian government."

"You may indeed," said Nicholas coldly. "What an unexpected

pleasure,'Minister."

"I would like to express the thanks of the President and the people of

Egypt for returning to this country these recious relics of our ancient

but glorious history." He made a gesture that encompassed the stack of

ammunition crates.

"Please, think nothing of it," said Nicholas, but he never took his eyes

off Royan. She kept her face turned half-away from him.

"On the contrary, we think the world of what you have done, Sir

Nicholas." Abou Sin's smile was charming and urbane. "We are fully aware

of the expense to which you have been put, and we would not want you to

be out of pocket in this extraordinarily generous gesture of yours. Dr

Al Simma tells me that the expedition to recover these treasures for us

has cost you a quarter of a million sterling." He took an envelope from

his inside pocket, and proffered it to Nicholas.

"This is a banker's draft drawn on the Central Bank of Egypt. It is

irrevocable, and payable anywhere in the world.

It is for the sum of 1250,000.1

"Very generous of you, Your Excellency." Nicholas's voice was heavy with

irony as he slipped the envelope into his top pocket. "I presume this

was Dr Al Simma's suggestion?"

"Of course," beamed Abou Sin. "Royan holds you in the very highest

regard."

"Does she, now?" Nicholas murmured, still staring at her

expressionlessly.

"However, this other small token of our appreciation was the suggestion

of the President himself." The minister snapped his fingers and one of

his secretaries stepped forward with a leather-covered medal case, which

he opened before he isented it to Abou Sin.

re On a bed of red velvet nestled a magnificent decoration, a star

encrusted with seed pearls and tiny pay6 diamonds. In the Centre of the

star was a golden lion rampant.

Abou Sin lifted the star from its case and advanced on Nicholas. "The

Order of the Great Lion of Egypt, First Class, he announced, placing the

scarlet ribbon over his head. The star hung resplendent on Nicholas's

grubby shirt-front, heavily stained with sweat and dust and Nile mud.

Then the minister stood aside and made a gesture to the army colonel who

was standing to attention at the foot of the ramp. Immediately there was

an orderly rush of uniformed men up the ramp. The detachment of soldiers

obviously had their orders. First they picked up the litters on which

the wounded Ethiopians lay.

"I am glad that your pilot had the good Sense to radio ahead that you

had wounded men on board. Rest assured that they will receive the best

care available," Atalan Abou Sin promised as they were carried down to

the waiting ambulance.

Then the soldiers returned and began carrying the ammunition cases down

the ramp. They were loaded neatly into the three-tonner. Within ten

minutes Big Dolly's hold was bare and empty. A tarpaulin cover was roped

down securely over the back of the loaded truck. An escort of heavily

armed motorcyclists fell into formation around it, and then, with sirens

wailing, the little convoy roared away.

"Well, Sir Nicholas." Abou Sin held out his hand Courteously, and

Nicholas took it with an air of resignation.

am sorry to have taken you out of your way like this. I BMW

know that you will be anxious to continue on your journey, so I will not

detain you further. Is there anything I can do for you before you leave?

Do you have sufficient fueV

Nicholas glanced at Jannie, and he shrugged. "We have plenty of juice,

Thank you, sir."

Abou Sin turned back to Nicholas, "We are planning to build a special

annexe to the museum at Luxor to house these artefacts of Pharaoh Mamose

that you have returned to Egypt. In due course you will be receiving a

personal slid invitation from President Mubarak to attend, as an

honoured guest, the opening of that museum. Dr Al Simma, whom I am sure

you know has been appointed the new Director of the Department of

Antiquities, will be in charge of the museum. I am sure she will be

delighted to review the exhibits with you when you come back." He bowed

to Sapper and the two pilots.

"Go with God," he said, and went down the ramp.

Royan began to follow him, but Nicholas called softly after her.

"Royanl' She froze, and then turned her head slowly and reluctantly to

meet his eyes for the first time since they hadlanded.

"I didn't deserve that," he said, and then with a stab of emotion he

realized that she was weeping softly. Her lips quivered and the tears

ran slowly down her cheeks.

"I am sorry, Nicky," she whispered, "but you must have known that I am

not a thief. It belongs to Egypt, not to US."

"So everything that I thought there was between us was a lie?" he

demanded remorselessly.

"No!" she said. "I-' and then she broke off without finishing what she

was going to say. She ran down the ramp into the sunlight to where the

chauffeur was holding the back door of the limousine open for her. She

slipped on to the seat beside Abou Sin without looking back, and the

Cadillac pulled away and drove through the gate.

"Let's get the hell out of here, before these Gyppos change their

minds," said Jannie.

"What a splendid idea,'said Nicholas bitterly.

nce they were airborne again, Aswan Control cleared them for a direct

flight northwards to the Mediterranean coast. The four of them, Jannie

and Fred, Sapper and Nicholas, stayed together on the flight-deck and

watched the long green snake of the Nile crawl along their right

wingtip.

They spoke very little during this long leg of the flight.

Once Jannie said quietly, "So I can kiss my fee goodbye, I suppose?"

"I didn't really come along for the money," said Sapper, "but it would

have been nice to be paid. Baby needs new shoes."

Does anybody want a cup of tea?" Nicholas asked, as though he had not

heard.

"That would be nice," said Jannie. "Not as nice as the sixty grand that

you owe me, but nice anyway."

They flew over the battlefield of El Alamein, and even from. twenty

thousand feet they could pick out the twin monuments to the Allied and

German dead. Then the blue of the sea stretched ahead of them.

Nicholas waited until the Egyptian coast receded behind them and then he

let out a long, soft sigh.

", ye of little faith," he accused them, "\'hen did I ever let you down?

Everybody gets paid in full., They all stared at him long and hard, and

then Jannie voiced their doubts. "How?" he asked.

"Give me a hand, Sapper," Nicholas invited, and started down the

staircase. Jannie could not control his curiosity and handed over the

controls to Fred. He followed the two Englishmen down to the lavatory on

the main deck.

Sapper and Jannie watched from the doorway as Nicholas took the

Leatherman tool from his pocket and lifted the cover of the chemical

toilet. Jannie grinned as Nicholas started to work on the screws,

holding the hidden panel in place. Big Dolly was a smugglers' aircraft,

and these little modifications were evidence of the pains that Jannie

and Fred had taken to adapt her to that role. There were a number of

these hidey-holes cunningly uilt into the engine housings and other

parts of the fuselage.

lj When they had flown back from Libya, the Hannibal bronzes had reposed

in the secret compartment behind this panel. The location of the panel

in the back of the toilet made it highly unlikely that any follower of

Islam would want to investigate such an unclean area.

"So that's what you were doing in here for so long," Jannie laughed as

Nicholas lifted out the panel. His grin faded as Nicholas reached into

the space beyond and carefully drew out an extraordinary object. "My

God, what is that?"

"The blue war crown of ancient Egypt," said Nicholas.

He handed it to Sapper. "Lay it on the bunk, but treat it carefully."

He reached into the compartment again, "And this is the Nemes crown." He

handed it to Jannie.

"And this is the red and white crown of the two kingdoms. And this is

the death-mask of Pharaoh Mamose.

Last but not least, this is the ushabd of the scribe Taita." The relics

lay on the fold-down bunk, and they stood and stared at them reverently.

"I have helped you bring out stone friezes and little bronze statues,'

said Jannie softly. "But notlTing like this before."

"But," Sapper shook his head, "the ammunition crates the Gyppos

offloaded at Aswan? What was in them?"

"Five one'gallon bottles of chemical for the toilet," said Nicholas,

"Plus half a dozen spare oxygen cylinders, just to make up weight."

"You switched them." Sapper beamed at him. "But how the hell did you

know that Royan was going to scupper us?"

"She was right when she said I must have known she was no thief. The

whole lark was out of character for her.

She is," he searched for the correct description, ( much too upright and

honest. Not at all like the present company."

"Thanks for the compliment," said Jannie drily, "but she must have given

you more reason than that to make you suspicious."

"Yes, of course." Nicholas turned to him. "The first real inkling I had

was when we came back from Ethiopia the first time, and she immediately

pushed off to Cairo. I guessed she was up to something. But I was

absolutely certain only when I learned that she had passed a message,

through Tessay, to the Egyptian Embassy in Addis. It was clear then that

she had alerted them to our return flight."

"The perfidious little bitch,'Jannie guffawed.

"Careful there!" said Nicholas stiffly. "She is a decent, honest and

patriotic young woman, warm-hearted and-' "Well, well!" Jannie winked at

Sapper. "Please excuse my slip."

nly two of the great crowns of ancient Egypt were set out on the

polished walnut conference table. Nicholas had placed them on the heads

of two genuine Roman marble busts that he had borrowed from a dealer

with whom he did regular business here in Zurich. He had drawn the

blinds over the tenth story windows, and arranged the lighting to show

the crowns to the best effect. The private conference room that he had

hired for the occasion was in the Bank Leu building on Bahnhofstrasse.

FT

While he waited alone for the arrival of his invited guest, he reviewed

his preparations and could find no fault with them. He went to the

full-length mirror on one wall and tightened the knot of his old

Sandhurst tie. The stitches had been removed from his chin. Mek Nimmur

had done a first-rate . oh, and the scar was neat and clean.

His suit had been made by his tailor in Savile Row, so it was in a muted

chalk stripe and had been worn enough to have acquired just the right

degree of casual bagginess. The only shiny items of his dress were the

hand-made shoes from Lobb of St. James's Street.

The intercom buzzed softly and Nicholas lifted the handset.

"There is a Mr Walsh to see you, Sir Nicholas," said the receptionist at

the desk in the bank lobby downstairs.

"Please ask him to come up."

Nicholas opened the door at the first ring and Walsh glowered at him

from the threshold.

"I hope you are not wasting my time, Harper. I have flown all the way

from Fort Worth." It was only thirty hours since Nicholas had telephoned

him at his ranch in Texas.

Walsh must have jumped into his executive jet almost immediately to have

got here so soon.

"Not Harper. Quenton-Harper,'said Nicholas.

"Okay then, Quenton-Harper. But cut the crap,'Walsh said angrily. "What

have you got for me?"

"I am also delighted to see you again, Mr Walsh." Nicholas stood aside.

"Do come in."

Walsh strode into the room. He was tall and roundshouldered, his jowls

drooping and wrinkled and his nose beaky. With his hands clasped behind

his back.he looked like a buzzard on a fence pole. Forbes magazine

listed his net worth at 1.7 billion dollars.

Two men followed him into the room, and Nicholas recognized both of

them. The antiquarian world was very small and incestuous. One of them

was the professor of

ancient history at Dallas University. Walsh had endowed the chair. The

other was one of the most respected and knowledgeable antiques dealers

in the United States.

Walsh stopped so suddenly that they both ran into him from behind, but

he did not seem to notice.

"Son of a gun!" he said softly, and his eyes lit with the flames of

fanaticism. "Are those fakes?"

"As fake as the Hannibal bronzes and the Hammurabi has-relief you bought

from me," said Nicholas.

Walsh approached the exhibits as though they were the cathedral

communion plate and he the archbishop.

"These must be fresh," he whispered. "Otherwise I would have known about

them."

"Fresh out of the ground," Nicholas confirmed. "You are the first one to

have seen them."

"Mamose!" Walsh read the cartouche on the uraeus of the Nemes crown.

"Then the rumours are true. You have opened a new tomb."

"If you can call nearly four thousand years old new." Walsh and his

advisers gathered around the table, pale and speechless with shock.

"Leave us, Harper,'said Walsh. "I will call you when I am ready to talk

to you again."

"Sir Nicholas," he prompted the American. Nicholas knew that he had the

upper hand now.

"Please leave us, Sir Nicholas," Walsh pleaded.

An hour later Nicholas sauntered back into the conference room. The

three men were seated around the table as though they could not bear to

be parted from the two great crowns. Walsh nodded at his minions and

they stood up and obediently but reluctantly filed from the room.

As soon as the door closed, Walsh asked brusquely, "How much?"

"Fifteen million US dollars,'Nicholas replied.

"That's seven and a half mill each."

"No, that's fifteen mill each. Thirty million the two'.

Walsh reeled in his chair. "Are you crazy, or something?"

"There are those who think so,'Nicholas smiled.

"Split the difference," said Walsh. "Twenty-two and a half."

Nicholas shook his head. "Not negotiable."

"Be reasonable, Harper!' "Reasonability has never been one of my vices.

Sorry Walsh stood up. "I am sorry too. Perhaps next time, Harper."

He clasped his hands behind his back and stalked to the door. As he

opened it, Nicholas called after him.

"Mr Walsh!'

He turned back eagerly. "Yes?"

"Next time you may call me Nicholas, and I shall call you Peter, as old

friends."

"Is that all you have to say?"

"Of course. What else is there?" Nicholas looked puzzled.

"Damn you," said Walsh, and came back to the table.

He dropped into his chair. "Damn you to hell and back!" He sighed and

pursed his lips, and then asked, "Okay.

How do you want it?"

"Two irrevocable bank drafts. Each for fifteen million." Walsh picked up

the intercom, and spoke into it.

"Please ask Monsieur Montfleuri, your chief accountant, to come up here"

he ordered dolefully.

Nicholas sat at his desk in his study at Quenton Park. He stared at the

panelling that covered the wall facing him. Although the panelling had

originally come from one of the Catholic abbeys dissolved by Henry VIII

in 1536 and had been bought by his grandfather almost a hundred years

ago, it was newly installed in this setting.

He reached under the top of his desk and pressed the hidden button of

the electronic control. A section of the panelling slid smoothly and

silently aside to reveal the armoured plate glass of the display cabinet

built into the wall behind it. At the same time the spotlights in the

ceiling lit automatically, and their beams fell on the contents of the

cabinet. The spots had been placed so that there was no reflection from

the glass window to distract the eye, and the beams brought out the full

glory of the double crown and the golden death-mask of Mamose.

He poured whisky into a crystal glass, and while he sipped it he

savoured the thrill of ownership. But after a while he knew there was

something missing. He picked up the Taita ushabd from the desk in front

of him, and spoke to it as though he were addressing the subject

himself.

"You knew the real meaning of loneliness, didn't you?" he asked softly.

"You knew what it was like to love someone you could never have."

He set down the statuette and picked up the telephone. He dialled an

international number and it rang three times before a man answered in

Arabic.

"This is the office of the Director of Antiquities. How may I help you?"

"Is Dr Al Simma available?" he asked in the same language.

"Please hold the line. I am putting you through!

"Dr Al Simma." Her voice sent an electric thrill down his spine.

"Royan," he said, and he could sense her shock in the long silence that

followed.

"You!" she whispered. 11 did not think I would ever hear from you

again."

"I just rang to congratulate you on your appointment."

"You cheated me," she said. "You switched the contents of three of the

crates."

"As a wise man once said, friends are the easiest to cheat they don't

expect it. You, of all people, should know the truth of that, Royan."

"You have sold them, of course. I have heard a rumour that Peter Walsh

paid twenty million." 4- "Thirty million," Nicholas corrected her. "But

only for the blue and the Nemes. Even as I speak to you, the red and

white crown and the death-mask repose before me."

"So now you can pay off your Lloyd's insurance losses.

You must be very relieved."

"You won't believe this, but the Lloyd's syndicate on which I am a Name

has come up with much better results than were forecast. I wasn't really

broke after all."

"As my mother would say, "Bully for you."' "Half of it has already gone

to Mek Nimmur and Tessay."

"At least that is a good cause." Her tone tingled with hostility. "Is

that all you called to tell me?"

"No. There's something else that might amuse you.

Your favourite author, Wilbur Smith, has agreed to write the story of

our discovery of the tomb. He is calling the book The Seventh ScroU. It

should be published early next year. I will send you a signed copy."

"I hope he gets his facts straight this time," she said drily.

They were both silent for a while, before Royan broke it "I have a

mountain of work in front of me. If there is nothing else on your mind-'

"As a matter of fact there is."

"Yes?"

"I would like you to marry me."

He heard her draw breath sharply, and then after a long pause she asked

softly, "Why would you want anything so unlikely?"

"Because I have come to realize how much I love you." She was silent

again, and then she said in a small voice, "All right."

"What do you mean, "All right'T

"I mean, all right, I will marry you."

"Why would you agree to anything so unlikely?" he asked.

"Because I have come to realize, despite everything, how much I love you

back."

"There is an Air Egypt flight from Heathrow at 5.30 this afternoon. If I

drive like fury, I may just make it. But it gets me into Cairo rather

late."

"I will be waiting at the airport, no matter how late."

"I am on my way!" Nicholas hung up, and went to the door, but suddenly

he turned back and picked up the the Taita ushabti from the desk.