Will Adams - The Exodus Quest

He reached out blindly, trying not to make any noise. His hand lighted on a statuette of some kind. He took hold of it, but it was made of worm-eaten wood, too light for his purpose. He set it back down, continued his exploration. His fingertips brushed something colder and heavier. His spirits soared as he realized what it was: a mace, the kind that pharaohs had used to smite their enemies. His lips tightened almost into a smile. That was more like it.

Once Nasser had started to talk, he wouldn't stop. He wanted to tell Naguib everything, blaming it all on Khaled.

'The path?' cried Naguib. 'Where's this damned path?'

Nasser pointed it out to him. Naguib hurried off, shining his torch over the edge; his heart leapt into his throat at the fall that awaited any misstep. But he held his nerve and his footing too, made it at last along the precarious slick limestone to the ledge and the mouth and inside, then ran headlong down the passage to the rim of the shaft. Automatic gunfire echoed from below, sounding a great distance away.

A rope was slung around a metal peg in the floor. He grabbed it, lowered himself over the edge. Another burst of gunfire. At least it wasn't over yet; he still had time. A hole in the wall, chest-deep water, wading through it as fast as he could, his gun held out ahead, yelling exhortation to keep himself going even though he half expected at every moment to encounter a blaze of gunfire from ahead; sick with fear, wondering how Yasmine and Husniyah would take the news if anything should happen, yet not letting it slow him either, for he'd given Knox his word, and this was his nature, and he'd rather have his loved ones grieve for him than be ashamed.

Khaled advanced slowly into the treasure chamber, artefacts glowing as his torch ran over them, before dying back down to a reddish smoulder. He couldn't believe his eyes. More gold than he'd ever dreamed of; and he'd dreamed a lot. He'd be the wealthiest man in Egypt with all this, the wealthiest in all the world. Houses, yachts, planes, women, power: everything he'd ever coveted, that he'd always believed his due. But how to make it his? How to get out of here and make it his?

'Guard my back,' he ordered Faisal. 'No one comes through. Understand?'

'But we can still-'

He thrust his face into Faisal's, jammed the muzzle of the AK-47 into his belly. 'That was an order,' he yelled. 'Are you going to obey it?'

'Yes, sir.'

He turned face front again, searching the golden nooks and crannies with his torch. The woman Gaille was lying on the floor. At first he assumed her dead, but there was little sign of blood or trauma. He stooped, checked her throat, found a flutter of pulse. Still alive. Maybe he could use her. He stood up, aimed down at her face. 'Come out,' he shouted, his voice ringing around the chamber. 'I'll shoot her if you don't. I mean it. Come out.'

Nothing happened. Not so dumb. He considered executing his threat, but decided against it. Killing her would only show the others for sure what fate awaited them, encourage them to fight all the harder. He advanced further, jagging his torch sharply this way and that, hoping to catch them by surprise. An intake of breath to his left, he turned towards it, his torch lighting up Lily cowering behind her forearms in the narrow gap between a throne and a painted wooden chest. She gave a soft whimper when she realized he'd seen her, began to shriek and carried on shrieking. He slammed the butt of his AK-47 into her forehead, if only to shut her up. Her temple smacked against the chest, she slumped unconscious at his feet. With two women now captive, the dynamic had changed. He could shoot one simply to show he was in earnest, then threaten the other to force the man to reveal himself. He aimed down at Gaille once more. 'You've got five seconds,' he said. 'Four. Three. Tw-'

A blur in the reflection of one of the golden sarcophagi; the man launching himself from the stacked treasures, swinging a mace in both hands. Khaled ducked, but not quickly enough. It caught his shoulder, leaving his left arm dangling numbly, his torch clattering to the floor. He swung the AK-47 around, catching the man across his cheek, the mace spilling from his grasp. He grabbed for it but Khaled clubbed the AK-47 on the back of his head and he went down hard.

Noise way back down the passage. A man yelling out and splashing through water. He recognized his voice too. That damned policeman Naguib! And he'd be here in a minute, no doubt bringing others with him. Hatred twisted Khaled's heart like a towel being wrung dry. He'd only wanted to make a half-decent life for himself. What had he done to these damned people, that they insisted on ruining it?

The man groaned and turned onto his side. Khaled's left arm was still too numb to use, but he didn't need it to fire the AK-47. He aimed down, was about to pull the trigger when he had a better idea. He turned the gun on Gaille instead, wanting the man to watch these two women die, to know that all his efforts had been in vain. He felt a gloating sensation in his belly as his finger tightened on the trigger. The loudness of the shot in the confined space took him by surprise. The way it echoed, the orange glow of muzzle flash reflected in all this fabulous gold. The AK-47 dropped from his grasp, clattered to the ground. He was surprised to find himself falling then lying on his side, saliva leaking from his mouth, the salty taste of it. The second shot punctured high on his ribcage, kicking him onto his back. He looked up to see Faisal standing above him, Faisal of all people, pointing his own beloved Walther down at his chest, a look of perfect calmness on his face.

He tried to ask the question, but for some reason his mouth wasn't working any more. He had to ask it with his eyes instead.

'She gave me chocolate,' answered Faisal. 'What did you ever give me?' Then he raised the muzzle to Khaled's face and pulled the trigger a third and final time.

It was the worst part of Knox's day, arriving at the hospital without knowing whether Gaille's night had gone well or badly. His heart began to pound as he pushed through the double doors into reception, his mouth drying unpleasantly. But a nurse leaning against the counter saw him and nodded genially. 'She's awake,' he said.

'Awake?'

'Just after you left last night.'

'What?' he protested. 'Why didn't someone call me?'

The nurse gave a 'not-my-business' kind of shrug. Knox had to hide his exasperation. There were times when Egypt drove him crazy. But then relief took over; he was too glad to be indignant. He took the steps three at a time as he hurried up to the second floor, bumped into a doctor coming out of her room.

'How is she?'

'She's fine,' he smiled. 'She's going to be just fine. She's been asking for you.'

He went inside, half expecting to find her sitting up in bed, smiling brightly, bruises healed, bandages removed. It wasn't like that, of course. Her black-ringed eyes slid to the side to see who'd just entered, she managed a smile. He showed her the flowers and fruit he'd bought, made space for them on the windowsill. Then he kissed her forehead and sat down. 'You look terrific,' he told her.

'They told me what you did,' she slurred. 'I can't believe it.'

'Nor should you,' he agreed. 'I paid them a fortune.'

A little laugh; a wince of pain. 'Thanks,' she said.

'It was nothing,' he assured her, covering her hand with his. 'Now close your eyes and get some rest.'

'Tell me first.'

'Tell you what?'

'Everything.'

He nodded, sat back, composed his thoughts. So much had been happening, it was hard to know where to start. 'Lily sends her love,' he said. She'd flown back home with Stafford's body, but there was no need to go into that just yet. 'And we've been on TV a fair bit.' A contender for understatement of the year, that. It had been pandemonium since that night, everyone wanting to take credit for the discovery of Akhenaten's tomb, while simultaneously distancing themselves from the mayhem that had surrounded it. Knox had been happy to let them fight between themselves. All he'd cared about was getting Gaille to the nearest decent hospital. The fear had been eating at him ever since, that he'd got to her too late; a fear so intense it had forced him to acknowledge to himself how much deeper his feelings for her ran than ordinary friendship.