"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
roulette at the luggage carousel - will they arrive or won't they?
carrying the dik-dik skin in the nylon bag under his arm, and with Royan
limping on her cane on his other arm, Nicholas sauntered through the
green channel of HM Customs, as innocent as a cherub from the roof of
the Sistine Chapel.
"You are so brazen," she whispered to him once they were through and
clear. "If you can lie so convincingly to Customs, how can I ever trust
you again?"
Their luck held. There was no queue at the taxi rank, and in a little
over an hour after touch-down the taxi deposited them on the pavement
outside Nicholas's town house in Knightsbridge. It was only eight-thirty
on a Monday morning.
While Royan showered, Nicholas went down to the corner shop under an
umbrella to fetch some groceries Then they shared the task of cooking
breakfast, Royan taking care of the toast while Nicholas whipped up his
speciality, a herb omelette.
"Surely you're going to need expert help when we go back to the Abbay
gorge?" Royan observed, as she let the butter melt into the hot toast.
I already have the right man in mind. I have worked before," he told
her. "Ex-Royal Engineers. Expert with hi in diving and underwater
construction. Retired and living in a little cottage in Devon. I suspect
he is a little short of the ready, and bored out of his considerable
mind. I expect him to jump at any opportunity to alleviate either
condition."
As soon as they had finished breakfast, Nicholas told her, "I will do
the dishes. You take the films of the stele to be developed. There is a
one-hour service at the branch of Boots opposite Harrods."
"That's what I call a fair distribution of labour," she remarked with a
long-suffering air. "You have a dishwasher, and it's raining again
outside."
"All right," he laughed. "To sweeten the pill, I'll lend you my
raincoat. While you are waiting for the films to be developed you can go
shopping to replace the togs you lost in the rockfalls I have some
crucial phone calls to make."
As soon as she had left, Nicholas settled at his desk with a notepad at
one hand and the telephone at the other.
His first call was to Quenton Park, where Mrs. Street tried not to show
how delighted she was to have him home.
"Your desk is about two feet deep with mail awaiting your return. It's
mostly bills."
"Cheerful, aren't we?"
"The lawyers have been pestering me, and Mr Markham from Lloyd's has
been ringing every day."
"Don't tell any of them that I am back, there's a good girl." Nicholas
knew exactly what they wanted from him the same thing that persistent