The Lost Army of Cambyses Read Online Free PDF Page B

outside and signalled. He came back in,
    followed a moment later by another man, white-
    skinned.
    'Can I help you?' asked Iqbar. 'Are you looking
    for anything in particular?'
    The newcomer was a giant, tall and broad, way
    too big for his cheap linen suit, which strained
    under the pressure of his massive thighs and
    shoulders. He held a half-smoked cigar in one
    hand and a briefcase in the other, the letters CD
    stamped into the battered brown leather. The left
    side of his face, from the temple down almost to
    the mouth, was splashed with a livid purple birth-
    mark. Iqbar felt a shiver of fear.
    40
    'Can I help you?' he repeated.
    The huge man closed the shop door gently, turn-
    ing the key in the lock and nodding at his two
    companions, who moved towards Iqbar, faces
    expressionless. The shopkeeper backed away until
    he came up against the shop counter.
    'What do you want?' he said, beginning to
    cough. 'Please, what do you want?'
    The huge man walked up to Iqbar and stood in
    front of him, their bellies almost touching. He
    gazed at him for a moment, smiling, and then, lift-
    ing his cigar, stubbed it out on the old man's
    eye-patch. Iqbar screamed, flailing his hands in
    front of his face.
    'Please, please!' He coughed. 'I have no money.
    I am poor!'
    'You have something that belongs to us,' said
    the giant. 'An antiquity. It came to you yesterday.
    Where is it?'
    Iqbar was doubled up, arms held over his head.
    'I don't know what you're talking about,' he
    wheezed. 'I have no antiquities. It is illegal to deal
    in them!'
    The giant signalled to his two henchmen and
    they grabbed the old man's elbows, forcing him
    upright. He stood with his head turned to one
    side, cheek jammed against his shoulder, as though
    trying to hide. One of the men's headscarves had
    slid upwards slightly, revealing a thick scar run-
    ning up the centre of his forehead, smooth and
    pale as though a leech was clinging to the skin.
    The sight of it seemed to terrify the old man.
    'Please!' he wailed. 'Please!'
    'Where is it?' repeated his inquisitor.
    41

    'Please, please!'
    The giant muttered something to himself and,
    placing his briefcase on the floor, took out what
    looked like a small grouting trowel. The diamond-
    shaped blade was dull, save around its edges,
    where the metal shone as though it had been
    sharpened.
    'Do you know what this is?' he asked.
    The old man was staring at the blade, mute with
    terror.
    'It is an archaeologist's trowel,' grinned the
    giant. 'We use it to scrape back soil, carefully, like
    this . . .' He demonstrated, passing the trowel
    back and forth in front of the old man's terrified
    face. 'It has other applications as well, though.'
    With a swift movement – surprisingly swift for
    a man of his size – he swept the trowel upwards,
    slashing its edge across Iqbar's cheek. The skin
    flapped open like a mouth and blood streamed
    down over the old man's robe. Iqbar screamed and
    struggled pathetically.
    'Now,' said the giant, 'I ask you again. Where is
    the piece?'
    Behind the baskets the girl prayed for al-Ghul
    the genie to come out of his lamp and help the old
    man.
    It was past midnight when the plane touched
    down.
    'Welcome to Cairo,' said the air hostess as Tara
    stepped out of the cabin into a blast of hot air and
    diesel fumes. 'Enjoy your stay.'
    42
    The flight had passed off uneventfully. She had
    been sat in an aisle seat beside a red-faced couple,
    who spent the first half of the journey warning her
    of the stomach problems she was bound to suffer
    as a result of Egyptian cooking and the second half
    sleeping. She'd drunk a couple of vodkas, watched
    half the in-flight movie, bought a bottle of Scotch
    from the duty-free trolley and then eased her seat
    back and gazed up at the ceiling. She had wanted
    to smoke, as she always did when she flew, but
    had ordered a regular supply of ice cubes instead.
    Her father had worked in Egypt since she was a
    child. He was, according to those who knew