Adam Palmer - The Moses Legacy

In the silence that followed, Daniel realized that Shamir was being helpful and he decided to reciprocate. ‘There was another matter… I mean, it may very well be related.’

‘Yes?’

Daniel explained about his brief return trip to England with Gabrielle and the murder of Harrison Carmichael. Shamir smiled as he spoke, as if he were way ahead of Daniel.

‘And you think that the murderer may have been the same person who locked you in the tomb?’

‘It’s possible.’

Shamir waited a moment before speaking. ‘I can tell you that the man who locked you in is the same man who killed Harrison Carmichael. But that is all I can tell you.’

Daniel leaned forward keenly. ‘Who is he?’

Shamir’s smile disappeared. ‘What part of “that is all I can tell you” didn’t you understand?’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Daniel, realizing that he was lucky that Shamir had told him anything at all. ‘But there’s more to it than that. Technically I’m still a suspect in the murder of Harrison… and because I jumped bail, there’s now a warrant out for my arrest.’

‘I understand. But perhaps it’s better if you leave it to the professionals. We’ll liaise with the British authorities and make them aware of your innocence. But leave us to deal with the man who killed your mentor. We’re a lot better placed to catch him than you are.’

Daniel realized from these words that the man who had killed Harrison – the man who had locked him and Gaby in the tomb – was still out there. But he wanted to know where he stood.

‘So about that problem with the Egyptian authorities… I was thinking, not so much about myself… but Gaby… Professor Gusack… is an Egyptologist. It’s her career… her profession…’

Shamir held up his hand to stop Daniel. ‘Leave it with me. We’ll work something out. In the meantime, you’ll both be given three-month tourist visas to stay here. And you’re welcome to use that time to pursue your research here.’

‘Thank you. Oh, there is something else that you might be able to help me with. I was wondering if you could get me an introduction to the high priest of the Samaritans.’

Shamir thought for a moment. ‘I may be able to go one better than that. I can try and wangle you an invitation to the Samaritan Passover celebrations.’

Daniel was confused. ‘But the seider was three weeks ago.’

‘It’s at a different time to the Jewish seider this year, because of different leap years. The Samaritan seider is on the twenty-eighth.’

That was in nine days’ time. ‘And you can get me an invitation? For me and Gaby?’

‘I have proteksia,’ said Dov with a smile, using the Israeli slang for connections with people on the inside.

Back in his cheap hotel room, Goliath was thinking.

Although Na’if had got away, Goliath did not feel the same sensation of failure that had haunted him these past few weeks. Instead, he felt engulfed in a strange feeling of satisfaction, bordering on elation. He had found out that they had gone to Taba and that Daniel didn’t have his mobile phone any more. That meant that he probably wouldn’t retrieve the message Goliath had left for him.

But why had he gone to Taba? There were surely no antiquities there? It was largely a tourist resort like Sharm el-Sheikh. And the Egyptian authorities were after them. Surely they wouldn’t just decide to hang out in a tourist resort?

But there were cheap hotels there, as well as expensive ones. And it was relatively out of the way. Maybe they were planning on hiding out there till the heat died down. Suddenly Goliath had another idea.

He switched on the television and surfed the channels looking for the news, in the hope of hearing anything about the wanted Englishman and Austrian woman. Eventually his eye caught a scrolling text at the bottom of the screen that read: Shots fired in high-speed boat chase between Egypt and Israel. Realizing that this might be to do with Daniel, he switched on his smartphone and logged on to the Internet in search of more news.

A few keywords later, he had the report in front of him: the incident at the Supreme Council of Antiquities, Taba, the motorboat chase, the shots… Israel.

That made perfect sense. He had been half-expecting something like that when Na’if told him they had gone to Taba. It was close to the Israeli border. Where else would they be going?

But where in Israel? There was no point going there unless he could find that out.

Then he had an idea.

‘So what did he tell you?’ Daniel asked Gabrielle.

‘Nothing. The flow of information was strictly one-way.’

After their debriefing in Herzliya, Daniel and Gabrielle had taken a taxi to Jerusalem. It had been a strange experience getting there. At eleven o’clock, as the taxi was steadily ascending the long and winding road to the city, a siren had sounded. Not a rising and falling siren to warn of an enemy attack, but a flat siren, like the all-clear at the end of an air raid. But in Israel on this day it heralded neither the beginning of an attack nor end of one, but rather the recollection of many battles and their tragic consequences.

When the driver stopped the taxi and stood by the roadside, Daniel followed suit and Gabrielle did likewise. Afterwards, when they got back into the taxi, Daniel explained that it was Remembrance Day and the siren heralded the two-minute silence to honour the war dead, something that Israelis took very seriously.

They had booked into the Leonardo Plaza Hotel, in the centre of town – having to share a room because the hotels were packed for the forthcoming Independence Day celebrations. The hotel stood on the edge of Independence Park and their luxury suite near the top of the tall building had a panoramic view of the whole city. At Daniel’s suggestion, they had decided to forgo lunch at the prestigious Cow on the Roof for the ‘best little diner in Jerusalem’.

‘Far be it from me to endorse any of the age-old stereotypes about women, but I refuse to believe that you didn’t pump him for information.’

Gabrielle smiled wickedly. ‘Oh, I pumped like a milkmaid. But the udders were dry.’

They were in Pinati, a tiny but packed little diner on the corner of a main road and a side street in the centre of Jerusalem. Clashing elbows at the Formica table they shared with three blue-collar workers, they were tucking into stuffed peppers, moussaka and meatballs with rice and beans, accompanied by pickled cucumbers, onions and chilli peppers. This was after a starter consisting of the best humous they had ever tasted.

‘You don’t come to Pinati for the decor or the ambience, let alone the comfort,’ Daniel had explained. ‘You come here for the food.’

And he was right. That’s why they had stood outside in a long queue in a city that appeared to be bustling more than usual, with people scurrying to the souk to buy pita bread, meat, bags of charcoal and disposable barbecues.

‘For tomorrow,’ their taxi driver had explained cryptically.

‘You didn’t get anything out of him?’

‘All I got was what he told you,’ Gabrielle replied defensively. ‘They know who locked us in the tomb but won’t say who,’ Daniel confirmed.

‘Did he tell you that the man who locked us in was the man who killed Uncle Harrison?’ Gabrielle asked.

‘Yes. But he didn’t say who it was.’

‘I guess that means he doesn’t want us interfering.’

‘Maybe he’s right, Gaby. Maybe we should leave it to the pros.’

‘So why is the city so busy today?’ she asked.

‘Like they told us at the hotel: Independence Day. Actually the celebrations start this evening, because in Israel festive occasions start the night before, running from sunset to sunset. But tomorrow there’ll be about a million barbecues. That’s the way they celebrate Independence Day over here. So everyone’s getting ready for that.’