Paul Christopher - The Templar Cross

"Which way are we headed?" Holliday asked, raising his voice over the steady roar of the engines as they leveled off.

"Northeast, toward Siwa until someone tells me differently," answered Tidyman as he adjusted the flaps. The only illumination inside the aircraft came from the control panel lights, the little radar screen in the center of the dashboard casting a green, sickly glow over their faces.

"It depends on where the choppers came from," said Holliday.

"I saw a logo on the side of the nearest one," offered Rafi. "A red hummingbird."

"That's the insignia of the Canadian Helicopter Corporation," said Tidyman, shaking his head. "They're the biggest private helicopter company in the world. Mostly servicing oil rigs and air- sea rescue, I think. They've got offices everywhere leasing helicopters to all sorts of third-party users. It doesn't mean anything."

"The man running up the outer wall said something just before I shot him. Cazzo merda. Italian for holy crap," said Holliday.

"Our friends from the Vatican looking for a little payback?" Rafi suggested.

"Looking for the gold more likely," scoffed Tidyman. "Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord, but the cash belongs to mother church."

"Or they were looking for something else," murmured Holliday, remembering the tomb.

"Like what?" Tidyman asked curiously.

"Nothing," said Holliday. "It doesn't matter."

"Could those helicopters have come from Italy?" Rafi asked.

"The range is about nine hundred miles, as I recall," said Holliday. "Would that do it?"

"From Sicily it would," said Tidyman.

"What's our best landfall closest to Italy?" Holliday queried.

"Tunisia," said Tidyman.

"Can we make it?"

"Yes. Alhazred kept the plane fully gassed up at all times, in case of unforeseen events."

"I guess he didn't foresee this particular event," said Holliday.

"He was a fool; he should have seen this coming or something like it," grunted Tidyman. "Gold in such quantities is a magnet for bad luck and death." The Egyptian adjusted the controls. Holliday watched as the compass needle swerved around the illuminated dial. They were now going sharply north and slightly to the west. "The old airfield at Matfur is still there, just south of Bizerte on the coast. We can refill there if you wish."

"Sound good to me," said Holliday.

There was a harsh metallic clicking sound from the rear seat. Holliday turned. Rafi had the muzzle of the big Beretta automatic pressed up against the back of Tidyman's skull.

"You're even more of a fool than Alhazred if you think you're frightening me with that," said the Egyptian. "You might as well stick the barrel in your own mouth. Shoot me and who flies the plane?"

"Where's Peggy?" Rafi demanded.

"Alhazred shipped her out a week ago." Tidyman paused. "Now put down the gun."

"Do it," said Holliday.

Rafi ignored them both.

"Shipped her out? What are you talking about?" He pushed the muzzle of the automatic a little harder.

"He has a deal with a man named Antonio Neri." Tidyman paused. "He operates a criminal organization called La Santa," continued the Egyptian.

"Ducos, the Frenchman, mentioned La Santa," said Holliday, remembering. "So did Japrisot the cop. He said that Valador, the crook with the fishing boat, had hooked up with them."

"La Santa trades in pretty girls, among other things. A pretty white girl like Miss Blackstock would be a bonus."

"Where would he take her?" Rafi asked angrily.

"Put the gun down and I'll tell you," said Tidyman.

"Do it," ordered Holliday sharply.

Rafi lowered the weapon.

"Where is she?" Rafi repeated.

"La Santa has its headquarters in Corsica, that's all I know for sure."

"Is she there or not?" Rafi demanded.

"Neri sends girls everywhere. They travel to Albania and from there they're sent all over Eastern Europe. It's the same with the drugs. There's a network."

"What about the trade in artifacts?" Holliday asked.

"They go through Corsica to either Marseille or Rome, depending on the final destination," answered Tidyman. "Beyond that I have no idea."

"That son of a bitch," Rafi said through gritted teeth, "I'll kill him!"

"Alhazred?" Tidyman said. "Not if I find him first."

"What's your beef with him?" Holliday said. "I thought you two were partners."

"I had no choice," explained the Egyptian. "He kidnapped my wife and daughter in Cairo, held them hostage." Tidyman shook his head. "He said I needed an incentive to help him dispose of the gold. When he found out that you were on his trail he threatened to rape and kill Habibah and my Tabia if I didn't bring both of you to him."

"What changed your mind?" Holliday asked.

In the faint light from the control panel Holliday saw tears forming in the corners of the Egyptian's eyes.

"I flew into Bardai, in Chad, yesterday for supplies," said Tidyman, staring dully out through the windscreen at the star-filled night sky, his mind and his heart somewhere else. Far below them the dunes of the desert unrolled like a landscape in an endless dark dream, lit by the rising moon. "I managed to telephone my neighbor in Cairo. I learned that my wife had been killed trying to escape."

"And your daughter?"

"Al'hamdu'li'Allah, thanks be to God, Tabia managed to get away. My friends have hidden her. She is safe. I was on my way to kill Alhazred in his quarters when the helicopters came. I went to you instead. You did not deserve to die for that man's perfidy." The Egyptian cleared his throat but made no move to wipe the tears he was shedding for his wife. "His name is not even Alhazred."

"What is it?" Holliday asked.

"Bobby Ayoub. He was born in Ottawa."

"His parents, the doctors?" Rafi asked from the back of the plane.

"He told you that story?" Tidyman laughed coldly. "His father owned a delicatessen on Elgin Street and his mother was part owner of a bakery. They specialized in pita bread. Both of them died in a traffic accident on New Year's Eve. A drunk driver. Bobby was an only child. He inherited everything, including the insurance. He went to Lebanon with the money and played the big shot; tried to join Hezbollah and the Abu Nidal group but they didn't want him. Tried to go to university there but they wouldn't have him, either."

"We figured him for a phony," Holliday said and nodded.

"The bit about Trajan being Vespasian's son was a neat trick," Rafi said. "Especially since Trajan wasn't even born until about fifty years after Vespasian died." Rafi sneered. "He flubbed a lot of other stuff as well, and he couldn't read hieroglyphics, either. He was no archaeologist."

"He was crazy. Delusions of grandeur. According to him he was destined for great things. A Mahdi for the twenty-first century, sent by God to free his people from the yoke of tyranny, et cetera, et cetera. In reality he was a baker's child and the son of a man who made smoked meat sandwiches."

"Hitler's father was a customs inspector," said Rafi. "Great oaks from little acorns and all that."

"He was a wannabe terrorist who nobody wanted," said Holliday. "So he made up the Brotherhood of Isis."

"Something like that," Tidyman said and nodded, nudging the yoke a little, watching their course on the compass. "Crazy, just like I said." The little pressurized plane was flying at twenty thousand feet now, its optimum altitude for long-distance flight. They were flying so high they couldn't see the flitting batwing moon shadow of their flight across the dunes.

Tidyman lifted his shoulders in a shrug.

"The Tuaregs didn't care; they'd been vandalizing tombs and robbing archaeological sites for years, not to mention raiding the odd caravan. Alhazred, or Ayoub or whatever he calls himself, just made it easier for them to sell their stuff to the smugglers and provided them with better weapons. The lying little bastard brought organized crime to the desert, that's all." Tidyman sighed and lifted his shoulders wearily again. "Terrorism isn't about ideals anymore; Gandhi has been dead too long for that. It's just ego and money these days, and that's Bobby Ayoub in a nutshell."