Adam Palmer - The Moses Legacy

Daniel burst out laughing. If nothing else, Gabrielle’s humour had broken some of the tension.

‘That’s the only thing that’s holding me back,’ said Daniel.

‘What, the prospect of prison?’

‘No, the fact that I still want to solve this mystery – well, actually both of these mysteries.’

‘How do you mean, both?’

‘The disease and your uncle’s missing paper. And I guess also his death and the people trying to kill us. I think you’re right: it probably is all tied in together. Your uncle said his paper was based on a translation of a manuscript in Proto-Sinaitic. We need to find that manuscript. Maybe it’s the one that Mansoor was going to show us.’

Gabrielle thought about this for a moment. ‘So let’s stick to the original plan. When we get to Cairo we try and get a look at that papyrus that he was going to show us: the one from the tomb of Ay.’

‘I wish we could actually phone Mansoor and find out if he’s all right. Maybe he could even help us.’

‘It’s too risky. Even just switching on our phones could give away our position.’

‘Okay, but how are we going to get into the museum archives without Mansoor to help us?’

He saw the twinkle in her eye.

‘You’re forgetting what he said. He has copies in his office at the SCA.’

Daniel waited for the other shoe to drop. After a couple of seconds, he prompted: ‘And what do you think we’re going to do, Gaby? Just walk in there and take a copy of an ancient papyrus from under the noses of the staff?’

‘No, we’ll go in after lunch when most of them are out. You’re forgetting, Daniel – this is Egypt and we’re heading towards summer.’

‘So?’

‘So, the old ways of the Levant die hard. Between one and four in the afternoon, most of them are away taking a siesta. That’ll give us the perfect opportunity.’

‘Oh, don’t tell me these trusting Levantines leave the door unlocked?’

‘Of course not. But a locked door never stopped anyone really determined, especially if they’re properly equipped.’

‘And I suppose you’re also an expert on picking locks?’ he asked with a sarcastic smile.

‘Oh, do me a favour. This isn’t Charlie’s Angels!’

‘Then how are you going to get us past that locked door?’

She reached into one of her pockets, and with a smile and a flourish, pulled out a key.

‘These are very serious charges, Miss Stewart,’ the police captain said, leaning forward to emphasize his point. ‘This is no longer just a case of leaving the scene of an accident. According to Mr Carter you threw a gasoline bomb through the window of his car. And I have to tell you that despite the fire, we found melted glass fragments in the burnt-out wreckage that supports this claim.’

Sarit knew that she had to think quickly. The story she had told them so far was that she had thought the car was trying to force her off the road and that she had sped on to escape, having heard that women drivers on their own are sometimes vulnerable on these roads at night. However, in the light of this new accusation, she realized that it wouldn’t work and she’d have to change her story.

‘All right, I’ll tell you. I didn’t throw a petrol bomb at him – but he tried to throw one at me. We’d had an argument earlier on the road and I drove away ahead of him. Then he caught up with me and I saw him lighting the Molotov cocktail and holding it like he was going to throw it. So I sideswiped his car and he dropped it. Then his car went up in flames.’

‘So why did you drive on? Why did you not report the incident immediately?’

‘Because I was afraid. A woman alone in a foreign country, attacked on a lonely stretch of road in the dead of night. What was I to think?’

‘And you thought our policemen are corrupt woman-haters who would rape you or beat a confession out of you.’

‘I don’t know what I thought! Okay, maybe I had that stereotype in the back of my mind. I don’t know.’

A man from the Irish Embassy was sitting there, but strangely he was sitting opposite her next to the police captain, rather than at her side. He was not talking; just listening. Occasionally he made a note of something, but not very often. She had been told that she could have a lawyer, but so far none had materialized.

‘And this man – the one in the car – did you know him?’

Tread carefully, a little voice inside her head said.

‘I’d been at the Valley of the Kings that day. I think I may have seen him there.’

‘And the jeep he was driving… do you know anything about that?’

Don’t let it show on my face, her mind was screaming.

‘No. It was just an ordinary jeep. I mean, I didn’t really think about it.’

‘Why were you driving back to Cairo, Miss Stewart?’

She swallowed nervously. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said, trying to buy time.

‘You flew into Luxor Airport from Cairo and then you hired a car to visit the Valley of the Kings. Nothing unusual in that. But then instead of driving back to the airport and taking a plane back to Cairo, you set out on a seven- or eight-hour night-time drive on an unfamiliar stretch of road that you yourself admit is dangerous for women.’

‘I didn’t have a return ticket. I’d wanted to keep my plans flexible.’

‘You could have bought a ticket at the airport.’

‘It was late.’

‘They have a five to eleven flight. And another at one-twenty in the morning.’

‘I didn’t know.’

‘Well, you could have tried. Or why not stay overnight in a hotel in Luxor? You said yourself your plans were flexible.’

‘I’m not exactly rich. I was already paying for a hotel in Cairo. I hadn’t checked out. I didn’t want to pay twice.’

She realized after she had said it that this was a mistake. The hotel she was staying at, although far from deluxe, was not cheap and she had now drawn attention to this. It was another contradiction, which the police captain would surely flag as another lie – even if it hadn’t registered yet.

‘Well, why didn’t you take the train?’

‘That’s also seven hours.’

‘But at least it’s safer than the road.’

‘I didn’t think about it. I wasn’t thinking straight.’ And then she suddenly had an idea. ‘Look, could I go to the bathroom? I need to…’ She looked at the man from the embassy. ‘It’s a woman’s thing… the time of the month.’

The embassy man blushed and then leaned over to the police captain and whispered a word in his ear. The police captain nodded, though the look on his face remained neutral.

‘Very well.’

He called for a female officer to escort her to the bathroom. Only when they got there did Sarit say, ‘I haven’t got any tampons or sanitary pads.’

The policewoman didn’t react.

Not wanting to alert the policewoman to the fact that she spoke fluent Arabic, Sarit spoke hesitantly and falteringly, like she had been taking lessons but lacked confidence.

‘ Leisal adeiya ay al-fau’ad asahaya.’

The policewoman reacted to this. ‘ Sa ahduru lekawa ahad.’ I’ll get you one.

And with that she left. Sarit knew that there was no prospect of simply walking out of there. There would be a policeman outside the door. But she had a few minutes to act. There was a window. It was high, but it could open. The problem was how to reach it.

The cubicle on the end was empty. She went in and stood on the toilet. She gripped the ledge of the window and pulled herself up, using all her upper-body strength and the tension of her legs and feet against the sides of the cubicle. With an almighty effort, she found herself perched precariously on top of the cubicle – its door and walls a couple of feet below the ceiling.