The Seventh Scroll - Smith Wilbur - Страница 91

• Предыдущая
• 91/177
• Следующая

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

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.

• Предыдущая
• 91/177
• Следующая