invitation from either Saddam or Gadaffi, as I recall."
"You look delighted at the prospect of breaking the law," she accused.
"You are smirking all over your face."
"After all, it is only Ethiopian law," he pointed out virtuously. "Not
to be taken too seriously."
"And it will be an Ethiopian prison they toss you into.
That you can take seriously."
"You too," he grinned, "if they catch us."
You can be certain that HE has already registered a formal complaint
with the President's office," Geoffrey told them as he drove them to the
airport the next day. "He is most upset at the whole business, I can
tell you. Deportation orders and all that rot.
Never heard the likes."
"Don't fuss yourself, old boy," Nicholas told him. "As it is, neither of
us intends coming back here again. No harm done."
"It's the principle of the thing. Prominent British subject being
treated like a common criminal. No respect shown." He sighed. "Sometimes
I wish I had been born a hundred years ago. We wouldn't have to put up
with this sort of nonsense. just send a gunboat."
"Quite so, Geoffrey, but please don't let it upset you." Geoffrey
hovered around them like a cat with kittens while they checked in at the
Kenya Airways counter. They had only their hand luggage, two small cheap
nylon holdalls that they had bought that morning at a street market.
Nicholas had rolled his dik'dik skin into a ball and wrapped it in an
embroidered shamma that he had purchased in the same market.
Geoffrey waited with them until their flight was called and waved to
them after they passed through the barrier, aiming this affectionate
display more at Royan than Nicholas.
They had been allocated seats behind the wing, and Royan was beside the
window. The Kenya Airways plane started its engines and began to taxi
slowly past the airport buildings. Nicholas was arguing with a
stewardess who wanted him to stow his precious dik-dik skin in its
purple nylon bag in the overhead locker, while Royan peered out of the
porthole beside her for her last glimpse of Addis during takeoffs
Suddenly Royan stiffened in her seat, and while still gazing out of the
window reached across and seized Nicholas's arm.
"Look!" she hissed with such venom in her tone that he leaned across her
to see what had excited her.
"Pegasus!" she exclaimed, and pointed to the Falco executive jet that
had just taxied in and parked at the far end of the airport buildings.
The small, sleek aircraft was painted grpen and on its tall tail fill
the scarlet horse reared on its hind legs in that stylized pose. While
they watched through the window, the door in the fuselage of the green I
Falcon was lowered, and a small reception committee waiting on the
tarmac pressed forward expectantly to greet the passengers as they
appeared in the doorway of the jet.
The first of these was a small man, neatly dressed in a cream tropical
suit and a white panama straw hat. Despite his size he exuded an air of
confidence and command, that special aura of power. His face was pale,
as though he had come from a northern winter, and it looked incongruous
"in this setting. His jaw was firm and stubborn, his nose I prominent
and his gaze beneath dark beetling eyebrows penetrating.
Nicholas'recognized him immediately. He had seen him often enough on the
auction floors at Sotheby's and Christie's. This man was not the type of
person whom anyone would forget in a hurry.
"Von Schiller!" he exclaimed, as the German surveyed with an imperial
gaze the men who waited on the tarmac below him.
"He looks like a bantam rooster," Royan murmured, "or Thai') a standing
cobra."
Von Schiller raised his panama hat and ran down the steps of the Falcon
with a light, athletic tread, and Nicholas said quietly, "You wouldn't
think that he is almost seventy." moves like a man of forty," Royan
agreed. "He "He must dye his hair and eyebrows - see how dark they are."
"My oath!" Nicholas was startled. "Look who is here to greet him."
There was the glint of sunlight on decorations and regimental insignia.
A tall figure in blue uniform detached itself from the welcoming group
and touched the shiny patent-leather brim of his cap in a respectful
salute, before taking von Schiller's hand and shaking it cordially.
"Your erstwhile admirer, General Obeid. No wonder he could not meet us
yesterday. He was much too busy."
"Look, Nicky," Royan gasped. She was no longer watching the pair at the
foot of the steps, who were still clasping hands as they chatted with
animation. Her whole attention was focused on the top of the steps of
the Falcon jet, where another, younger, man had appeared. He was
bareheaded, and Nicholas had the impression of sallow skin and dense,
dark, wavy hair.
"Never seen him in my life before. Who is he?" Nicholas asked her.
"Nahoot Guddabi. Duraid's assistant from the museum.
The man who now has his job."
As Nahoot started down the steps of the Falcon their own aircraft
trundled on down the -tarmac, then swung out on to the main taxi-way and
blocked any further view of the gathering beside the Pegasus jet. Both
of them fell back in their seats and stared at each other for a long
moment.
Nicholas recovered his voice first.
"A witches' sabbath. A convocation of the ugly ones.
We were lucky to witness it. There are no more secrets now. We know very
clearly who the opposition is."
"Von Schiller is the puppet-master," she agreed, breathless with anger
and horror. "But Nahoot Guddabi is his
,Bell hunting dog. Nahoot must be the one- who hired the killers in
Cairo and turned them loose on us. Oh God, Nicky, you it's should have
heard him at the funeral, going on about how much he admired and
respected Duraid. The filthy, murib derous hypocrite!'
They were both silent until the aircraft had taken off and climbed to
cruise altitude, then Royan said quietly, "Of course, you were right
about Obeid. He is deep in von Schiller's pocket also."
"He may simply have been acting as the representative of the Ethiopian
government, paying respect to a major foreign concession-holder,
somebody who they hope is going to discover fabulous copper deposits in
their poverty stricken country and make them all rich."
She shook her head firmly.
"If it was as simple as that, it would be one of the cabinet ministers
meeting him, not the chief of police, No, Obeid has the stink of
treachery on him, just the same as Nahoot." kIN Seeing her husband's
killers in the flesh had reopened the half-healed wounds of Royan's
grief and mourning.
These bitter emotions were a flame that was burning he up ee, like the
bushfire in the trunk of a hollow forest tr consuming her from within.
Nicholas knew that he, could not quench that flame, that he could only
hope to distract her for a while. He talked to her quietly, turning her
dark thoughts away from death and vengeance to the challenge of Taita's
game and the riddle of the lost tomb.
By the time that they had changed planes at Nairobi and landed at
Heathrow the following morning, the two of them had sketched out a plan
of action for their return to the Nile gorge and the exploration of
Taita'spool in the chasm. But although now Royan appeared on the surface
to be her usual calm and cheerful self once again, Nicholas knew that
the pain of her loss was still there beneath the surface.
They landed at Heathrow so early that they walked through the
immigration gates without running into a queue, and since they had no
bags in the hold they did not have to play the customary game of