callers always wanted, money. In this case it was not simply five
hundred guineas for an overdue tailor's bill, but two and a half million
pounds. "It's probably better if I stay in York, rather than at
Quenton," he told Mrs. Street. "They won't be able to find me at the
flat."
He pushed his debts to the back of his mind, and concentrated on the
task at hand. "Have you got your pencil and notepad ready? All right,
here's what I want you to do."
It took him ten minutes to finish his dictation, and then Mrs. Street
read it back to him. "Okay. Get on with it, will you. We'll be back this
evening. Dr Al Simma will be staying indefinitely. Ask the housekeeper
to prepare the second bedroom for her at the flat."
Next he rang the number in Devon, and while the phone rang he imagined
the converted coast guard's cottage of the cliffs overlooking a, grey,
storm-whipped on top winter sea. Daniel Webb was probably in his
workshop in the back garden, either tinkering with his 1935 Jaguar, the
great love of his life, or tying salmon flies. Fishing was his other
passion, the one that had originally brought them together.
"Hello?" Daniel's voice was guarded and suspicious.
Nicholas could imagine him, his bald head freckled like a plover's egg,
gripping the telephone with a hairy, workscarred fist.
ave a job for you. Are you a starter?"
"Sapper, I
"Where are we headed, Major?" Although it had been three years, he
recognized Nicholas's voice instantly.
"Sunny climes and dancing girls. Same pay as the'last time.
"I' a starter. Where do we meet?"
"At the flat. You remember it from last time.
bring your slide rule." Nicholas knew that Tomorrow. Danny put no store
by these newfangled pocket computers.
"The jag is still in good nick. I'll leave early and be there for lunch
tomorrow."
Nicholas hung up, and then made two more calls: one to his Jersey bank,
and the other to the Cayman Islands.
The funds in both his emergency accounts were running low. His budget
for the expedition that he hadmorked out with Royan on the flight was
two hundred and thirty thousand. Like all budgets, he knew that it was
optimistic.
"Always add fifty percent," he warned himself "Which that the cupboard
will be bare by the time we are mean finished. Let's hope and pray that
you are not pulling our legs, Taita."
He gave the passwords to the respective bank account ants and instructed
them to make transfers into his holding accounts, ready to draw on
immediately.
There were two more calls he had to make before they left for York. The
fate of all their plans hung on them, and the contacts that he had for
both of them were at the best tenuous, and at the worst chimerical.
The first number was engaged. He rang it five times more, and on each
occasion got- the irritating high-pitched busy tone in his ear. He tried
one last time and was answered by a reassuring west country accent.
"Good afternoon. British Embassy. How may I help you?, Nicholas glanced
at his wrist-watch. There was a three-hour time difference. Of course,
it would be afternoon in Addis.
"This is Sir Nicholas Quenton-Harper calling from the UK. Is Mr Geoffrey
Tennant, your military attache, available, please Geoffrey came on the
line almost immediately. "My dear boy. So you made it all the way home.
Lucky you."
"Just thought I would set your mind at rest. Knew you would be losing
sleep."
"How is the charming Dr Al Simma?"
"She sends her love."
"I wish I could believe you." Geoffrey sighed dramatically.
"Big favour, Geoff. Do you know a Colonel Maryam Kidane at the Ministry
of Defence?"
"First-rate chap," Geoffrey affirmed immediately. "Know him well. Played
tennis with him last Saturday, actually.
Demon backhand."
"Please ask him to contact me urgently." He gave Geoffrey the telephone
number of the flat in York. "Tell him it's in connection with a rare
breed of Ethiopian swallow for the museum collection."
(up to your shenanigans again, Nicky. Not enough that you get slung out
of Ethiopia on your ear. Now you are trading in rare birds. Probably
CITES Schedule One.
Endangered species.)
"Will you do it for me, Geoff?"
"Of course. Serve to Lead, old boy. Always the sucker."
"I owe you one."
"More than one. Half a dozen, more like it." He had less success with
his next call. International Enquiries gave him a number in Matta. On
his first attempt he received an encouraging ri riging tone.
me," he pleaded in a whisper, but on
"Pick it up, Jan the sixth ring an answering machine cut in.
"You have reached the head office of Africair Services.
There is nobody available to take your call at the moment.
Please leave your name and number and a short message after the tone. We
will get back to you as soon as possible.
Thank you."Jannie Badenhorst's rich South African accent was
unmistakable.
"Jannie. This is Nicholas Quenton-Harper. Is that broken-down old Herc
of yours still airworthy? This job should be a lark. What's more, the
money is good. Call me at the flat in the UK. No hurry. Yesterday, or
the' day before, will do just fine."
Royan rang the doorbell a minute after he finished the last call, and he
ran down the stairs.
"Your timing is impeccable," he told her as she came in with the end of
her nose pink with cold, shaking the raindrops off the coat he had lent
her. "Did you get the films developed?"
She pulled the yellow packet out of the coat pocket and brandished it
triumphantly.
"You are a master photographer," she told him. "They have turned out
perfectly. I can read every character on the stele with the naked eye.
We are back in Taita's game again."
They spread the glossy photographs across his desktop and gloated over
them.
"You have had duplicates made? A set for each of us.
Excellent," Nicholas approved. "The negatives will go into the safe
deposit box at my bank. We won't take a chance on losing them the second
time around."
Using his large magnifying glass, Royan studied each of the prints in
turn, and she picked out the clearest shot of each of the four sides of
the stele.
"These will be our working copies. I don't think we are really going to
miss the rubbings that we lifted from the stone. These should suffice."
She read aloud a snippet from one of the blocks of hieroglyphics. "'The
cobra uncoils and lifts his jewelled hood. The stars of morning shine
within his eyes. Three times his black and slippery tongue kisses the
air."' She was flushed with excitement. "I wonder what Taita is telling
us with that verse. Oh, Nicky, it's so exciting to be unravelling the
mysteries again!'
"Leave it alone now he ordered sternly. "I know you.
Once you start, we'll be here all night. Let's get the Range Rover
packed up. It's a long, hard haul up to York, and there is an AA warning
of black ice on the motorway. A bit of a change from the weather in the
Abbay gorge."
She straightened up and shuffled the prints into a neat pile. "You are
right. Sometimes I do tend to get carried away." She stood up. "Before