“Then shoot me, Rutter.” Dracup turned his back and began to climb the spiral. He had little idea of what he would do if he made it any further. There was only fire at the top to meet him. And a gang of unhappy jihadis. He heard Rutter’s sharp click clack, as he flicked off his safety.
And then someone said, “Drop it now, soldier.”
Dracup let out his breath. Farrell was standing by the fountain, his automatic trained on Rutter’s head. Rutter turned. “What —?”
Farrell stood his ground. “Who’s your commanding officer, Rutter?”
“Major Mortimer. And he ain’t here.”
“Right. And who directed this operation on his behalf?”
Rutter sighed. “Mr freakin’ Potzner. And he’s dead.”
“Right again. And I’m his number two. That means I’m in command.”
Rutter looked at Cruickshank, then back to Farrell. “But you told us to—”
“I know what I told you. I’m countermanding that order.”
Cruickshank chewed gum and shrugged.
Farrell’s voice was hard, insistent. “Put it down, and walk away.”
Rutter lowered his rifle, spat on the ground and strolled nonchalantly towards the fountain.
Dracup released his grip on Natasha’s arm and sat heavily on the step, relief flooding through him. “Nice timing, Farrell,” he said. “We missed you.”
“Looks like you did just fine on your own.” Farrell ruffled Natasha’s hair. Then his face became serious. “You’ve met Jassim?” The agent pointed to the portico.
Dracup suddenly became aware that the portico was crowded with Korumak — quietly standing, observing. A figure detached itself and walked into the open: Jassim.
Dracup felt a hand on his arm. Moran was opening his rucksack. The DCI reached into the bag and to Dracup’s astonishment eased out the Lalibelian sceptre, Omega. “I think you’ll need this.”
Dracup took it from him in wonder. “Where on earth… how did you—”
Moran gave a knowing smile. “From the same source as the map.”
Dracup put the pieces together. “Malcolm… It was him. In Lalibela.”
“Yes. He was employed by Kadesh. But my guess is he wanted a better deal, followed Mukannishum — and you — to Lalibela, bribed or bamboozled the priests and made off with the goods.”
Dracup was stunned. “To blackmail Kadesh for the return of Omega?”
Moran nodded. “Exactly. A risky game, given what we know about Kadesh. But it fits. When you’ve been in this business as long as I have, you learn not to prejudge people. Especially those on the sidelines.”
On the sidelines. Dracup thought of Malcolm’s pudgy face, his white hand on Yvonne’s shoulder. He felt sick. Another thought occurred to him. “You had Omega all the time — you could have let me know — in the chamber.”
“And give Kadesh what he wanted?” Moran’s eyebrows arched.
“It would have spared me a few grey hairs.”
Moran grinned. “I knew you’d come up with something. Go on,” the detective prompted. “He’s waiting.”
Dracup released Natasha’s hand and approached Jassim.
“I’m pleased to see you again,” Dracup said.
Jassim bowed. “Change has come upon us, Professor Dracup. But it is a manageable change. I apologise for the hardship you have endured. It is not the Korumak way.”
“I understand that you played no part in this.” He took the man’s hand in his. “I’m sorry for your loss — after everything.” He groped for words, failed to find anything adequate. “I didn’t… I hadn’t expected—” He gave up.
Jassim’s eyes wrinkled. “Our loss is—” He swept his arm around the expanse, pointing with his staff. “Only this. There are alternatives, where we shall continue, as God has ordained.”
Dracup thought of the chamber, the sarcophagus enveloped in flames. He frowned. “But I—”
“Do not understand? No.” Jassim smiled. “You must come. Quickly. There is little time. Very little time, according to Mr Farrell.”
“Come on ’Tash.” Dracup took his daughter’s hand and followed Jassim to the portico. The Korumak, those who had remained with Jassim, parted to let them through. He felt their warmth, hands on his arm as he passed, a squeeze of the hand for Natasha. Her friends.
A group were standing together, slightly apart from the others, at the far end of the portico. Beside them on the paved surface was an object Dracup immediately associated with something he had seen before in Ethiopia: an Ark — not a Noachian Ark, but a container, like the fabled Ark of the Covenant. Two poles ran along its length to facilitate transport. But the central box was not chest-shaped; it was longer and shallower. Dracup’s heart began to hammer slowly and forcefully.
Surely not?
Jassim was watching him carefully, leaning on his staff. “Kadesh has done you a great injustice. It is only right that you see.” He said something to one of the attending Korumak, a striking young man with flawless brown skin, as tall as Jassim himself. His son or nephew, perhaps? The youngster stepped forward and carefully, reverently moved the covering aside. Four of his friends joined him at each corner of the box. At Jassim’s signal they bent and gently opened the lid.
Dracup stepped back.
I’m not ready for this.
And then he realised, — I’ll never be ready for this.
He took a deep breath. “You moved him. He wasn’t in the ziggurat’s chamber. Was he?”
Jassim’s eyes reflected pinpricks of turquoise light. Dracup saw in their depths a wisdom that spanned the centuries. “You are correct. We transferred him to a safer location.”
The lid had been placed on the floor. Natasha looked up at him. “Can I see? I’ve seen him before.”
Dracup swallowed. “Of course, darling. Of course you can.”
And then he looked into the open sarcophagus.
For a moment all he could see was a shifting translucence, an indistinct outline, as if he were peering into a frozen pond in the depths of winter. Presently, the shape of a man began to form, the features swimming in and out of focus like some cleverly contrived trompe l’oeil.
“You have to wait, Daddy.” Natasha squeezed his hand. “Just keep looking.”
The veil lifted. Dracup caught his breath. There, in the box, lay the body of a man. He was naked, muscular, extraordinarily big. Dracup estimated at least three metres. The face was shockingly young, the eyes closed as if in sleep, the mouth set in an expression of profound peace. His hair was shoulder length, jet black with no trace of grey.
“I like him, Daddy. He looks kind.”
“Kind, yes.” Dracup regarded the handsome features, tracking down from the noble head to the torso. He paused here, and smiled. The stomach was smooth, devoid of umbilical depression. The genitals were large and well proportioned, framed by strong thighs supporting the astonishingly long legs.
I’m looking at the start of it all. The seed of the human race…
Dracup thought of Potzner and his obsessive quest for immortality. He thought of his friend, Charles, lying cold in some indifferent pathology lab. He lifted his hand and placed it on the surface of the material enclosing the body. It had an unexpected warmth to it, a pliancy he had not expected. Under his fingertips it was the shifting colour of a river, blue and green, then grey and flecked with white. A substance unknown to science. Something created, like its contents, ex nihilo.