than I did. Every so often he would come up with the most remarkable item, yet he had never been to Cairo or up the Nile. We could only guess at his secret – and what a secret it was.
“Twelve years ago Ali told James and me that he had nothing more to sell, except one last thing: his secret source. It was to be a three-way share, and soon enough we were in much deeper than we realised. The secret happened to be in one of the most inaccessible places you can imagine. Ali’s directions were vague, as could be expected in a desert with no landmarks and drifting dunes. By a stroke of luck Beaufort found the place, but had to leave it untouched when hostilities started with the Sanussi. Three weeks after his return, Ali died.”
Victor paused, but Felix said nothing. “More whisky?” Victor indicated the bottle with a wave of his hand, as he put the scroll back in its protective cover.
“This has a smooth taste of peat; it’s real y good.” Felix put a dash of soda water in each glass.
“It’s good for digestion.”
Felix shrugged. “Right. Now tell me. How did he come to find it?”
Victor looked his seemingly sceptical nephew in the eyes. “Do you know how much treasure is buried out there? No, you don’t. Whole armies have been lost with their plundered loot.”
Victor lowered his voice. “I am talking about the lost caravan of 1805. Many of the camel drivers were young boys, as was the custom at that time. Ali’s father was one of them, and its only survivor. The caravan set off into the Libyan Desert to vanish without trace in a fierce sandstorm. According to Ali, who had been told the story many times, they had marched five days from the Nile when the wind came up, creating havoc. Ali’s father knew what was coming and that he had to find shelter. He also knew he was somewhere south of the Siwa oasis. Lashed by wind and disoriented by swirling clouds of sand, he broke away from the caravan as it was thrown into disarray.
“Using the wind direction as a rough guide, he headed north followed by several camels and drivers, hoping to reach the safety of the oasis. They found a rock escarpment and sheltered beneath its cliff face, while Ali’s father took refuge behind an outlying rock. The sandstorm increased in its fury, obliterating all visibility with blinding sand and suffocating dust. For five days the sandstorm raged and when it ended, he found himself alone. Three days later he reached his village in the oasis.”
“What became of the others?”
“They perished in the sea of sand. My God, you can’t survive a sandstorm in the open desert.”
“Ah, yes. But I mean those who took refuge with him?”
“They were entombed.”
“Entombed?”
“You see Felix, during the storm part of the cliff gave way under the weight of sand above it and sent tonnes of sand crashing down on them, burying them alive. Siwans are notoriously superstitious; the place held bad portent for Ali’s father. Europeans seldom passed that way – of the few who did in the last hundred years, half were never seen again.”
“Weren’t you worried that it was a fictitious invention on his part?”
“It happens of course, though sometimes one can be too cautious, as Reinhardt was. In 1910, he was offered a good lead, but hesitated – unfortunately. A countryman of his, Ludwig Borchardt, was not so sceptical and he found a queen too beautiful to describe. For thirty centuries her name was obliterated from the memory of men – just a faint whisper – and then ten years ago to this day, in a ruin on the bank of the Nile, Ludwig found the portrait-bust of Nefertiti. It’s now in the Berlin museum, smuggled out of Egypt by Ludwig. That Reinhardt was so close, yet missed out, has enraged him no end.
“Archaeologists are protected by their embassies as nations compete for discoveries to embellish their museums. Competition is tough.” Victor downed the last mouthful in his glass and went on without a pause. “They also have government protection because they buy concessions. We don’t have the luxury of such protection: Siwa is free for all. That has its advantage – we couldn’t afford a concession – and its obvious danger. Our movements cannot be kept secret in Egypt. You’ll soon learn that there’s always someone looking over your shoulder.
“Now I’m coming to the most important thing of all, this map. It belonged to Beaufort and he wrote the bearings on it.” Victor held aloft a creased, well-used map, and then put it back in the safe. “Only James and I should have known about it. But recently, several strange incidents have convinced me otherwise – there is someone else. We have a rival. In fact, Beaufort’s parting words to me were ‘never let anyone know you’ve got it’.”
Felix jumped in. “It seems he too suspected that someone knows about it.”
“Doesn’t it? Well, we can talk about this further when Etienne arrives.”
“I have only one last question. Do you think this person knows what you’ve found?”
“He doesn’t have to be choosy.” Victor took a breath, as this needed more explanation. “The ancient Ammonions’ treasures are legendary. The oracle of Zeus-Ammon was showered with precious gifts by kings and notables. There’s the emerald statue in the sanctuary of the oracle and rich treasure on a sacred island in a mysterious lake. I would say it’s enough to stir the imagination of the most indifferent man.”
Victor suddenly opened his clenched fist. “This puzzles me.” A gold ring lay in the palm of his hand. Felix picked it up to examine it; the centrepiece was not a jewel, it was a prancing horse perfect in every detail.
“I’ve never seen anything like it. It was made by a master.”
“A genius goldsmith by any standard,” said Victor, “but it’s not Egyptian – it belongs to another time and another place, I’m sure of that – and yet it’s from the same source.”
“It’s fantastic.”
“It’s more than that – watch.” Victor held the ring firmly, unclipped a cleverly disguised catch, and the gold horse detached to reveal the ram-horned sign of Zeus-Ammon on the top of the ring.
“What does it mean?”
“We’ll go into that when Etienne arrives, but if it means what I think it does, we better get there first.”
“I need no more convincing, just tell me when we leave.”
“Let’s say in two weeks. Reinhardt is probably in Dresden right now. He will call in tomorrow on his way to Vienna. Then Etienne should arrive in a few days; I will contact you when he does.” He put the ring in the safe and closed it, then reached for the whisky.
“Not for me. Tonight, I’m sure to dream about Egypt.” Felix went to get his coat. Victor walked with him to the door; his fingers curled around the door handle and he held it closed as he turned to Felix. “It’s a load off my mind that you’re coming and I have one request to ask of you: don’t mention a word of this to anyone—” he paused as if to add something, but left it at that. He opened the door, and his eyes fixed on Felix with an intense stare. “Not to anyone; there is danger enough.” Then his serious expression transformed to his usual smile. “Felix, I’m glad you came, you’ve lightened my load.” He slapped Felix affectionately on the shoulder as he walked away.
“Trust me,” Felix said with a farewell wave as he reached the stairs. He seemed immune to the cold night air as he made his way to the embankment, sidestepping puddles here and there where the pavement was uneven. “Yes,” he hissed through his teeth as he thought to himself, and chuckled, “I lightened his load and walked away a little heavier.”
It was then that he had a terrible foreboding. He gave an involuntary shudder and turned around quickly, but there was no one there.
. 2 .
SEVERAL DAYS PASSED and Felix had heard nothing from his uncle. His mind was abuzz with thoughts of Egypt and he wanted to buy a book about it. He