The Heretic’s Treasure. Scott Mariani

the case and took out a thick envelope. He handed it to Ben.

      ‘What’s this?’

      ‘Your expenses,’ Paxton said.

      Ben looked inside at the fat wad of banknotes.

      ‘Egyptian currency,’ Paxton said. ‘Three hundred thousand Egyptian pounds. That’s about forty thousand Euros, give or take.’

      ‘That’s too much, Harry. Take some back.’

      Paxton shook his head vehemently. ‘Keep it, please. Spend as much as you want and, whatever’s left over, change it back to whatever currency you need for yourself.’

      Ben shrugged. ‘If you insist.’

      ‘I absolutely do.’

      Ben ran his eye along the row of pictures on the sideboard. He skipped over a photo of Zara in a swim-suit sitting by a pool in some exotic place. Next to it was a picture of Morgan. ‘It might be useful for me to have a picture of him,’ he said. ‘Something recent, so I can ask around. It might jog a memory.’

      Paxton picked one up and handed it to him. ‘This was taken the last time I saw him, just before he left for Cairo. One of the rare times he ever came to stay with us on board.’

      Ben looked at the photo. It showed Morgan sitting in the Scimitars dining room, looking a little flushed and uncomfortable, holding a champagne glass. He was wearing a lightweight blazer, white with thin blue pinstripes. Ben could see the edge of a chunky gold watch protruding extravagantly from his cuff. It seemed somehow incongruous on him.

      ‘Expensive-looking item,’ he said. ‘Was that the one he was wearing on his trip? You mentioned it was stolen.’

      Paxton nodded sadly. ‘A Rolex Oyster. He always wore it. It was a present from his mother. She had it engraved. He treasured it.’

      ‘Tempting chunk of gold for a thief.’

      ‘I know. Morgan wasn’t especially streetwise. Academics live in their own little cocoon. I warned him about the watch, advised him to leave it here so that I could put it in the safe. But he didn’t want to know.’ Paxton let out a long, trembling breath. ‘I should have been more insistent. I let him go out there and make himself a target. It was my fault.’

      Ben was wishing he hadn’t mentioned the watch. ‘Don’t beat yourself up, Harry. They might just have been going after his wallet, his computer, his phone, even his shoes. He was a wealthy Western tourist. It happens. People get murdered for a lot less.’ He waved the photo. ‘Can I take this with me?’

      ‘Take it,’ Paxton said. ‘I have a copy.’

      Ben removed the picture from the frame and slipped it into the folder with the other papers. There wasn’t much, but he was already forming his plans. He put the folder in his bag and buckled the straps. ‘I’m ready.’

      Paxton looked pleased. ‘Good. There’ll be a taxi waiting for you at Porto Vecchio to take you to the airport.’

      As Ben was about to leave, Paxton suddenly and unexpectedly embraced him. Ben could feel the tension in the man’s body.

      ‘I love my wife, Ben,’ Paxton said in a low voice.

      Ben recoiled at the words but tried to hide it. ‘I know that, Harry.’

      ‘I’m too old for her. I don’t even know what she sees in me. But I love her more than anything. She’s all I have left in the world.’

      Ben just nodded.

      Paxton patted him on the back, drew away and wiped away a tear. He collected himself quickly. ‘I’ll wait for your call, then.’

      ‘I’ll be in touch, Harry.’

      Ben stepped off the launch at Porto Vecchio and got into the waiting taxi. Forty-five minutes later he was back at the Côte d’Azur International Airport across the border in Nice, grabbing his bag out of the boot and heading across the car park towards the airport terminals.

      He wished he were getting on a plane back to Normandy, not boarding a flight bound for Amsterdam and then on to Cairo. He felt trapped. He thought of Brooke and Jeff, wondered what they were doing at that moment. They felt a long way away. He suddenly realised how much he missed having them around.

      He was halfway across the tarmac when the sound of a car approaching fast made him turn. Zara’s BMW Roadster had pulled in off the street and was speeding towards him. The car screeched to a halt five yards away from where he was standing and the door flew open. Zara jumped out and came running up to him. Her face was tense.

      ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked, bewildered.

      ‘I couldn’t let you go without seeing you again.’

      ‘You followed me all the way from San Remo?’

      ‘I had to say goodbye. I’m sorry I walked out on you last night. It was stupid of me to run away like that.’

      ‘It was better that you didn’t stay.’

      ‘I meant what I said. That I love you. I do. I want us to be together. I’ll find a way, some way that won’t hurt Harry.’

      ‘Don’t talk like that. I can’t listen to this. It’s not right.’

      ‘You know it’s right,’ she said. ‘We both do.’ She held him tight. He stroked her hair as she moved her face up to his. The struggle was killing him. He gave in to the kiss. They embraced for a few seconds, and then he pushed her away reluctantly, his throat tight. ‘I’ve got to go. I’m going to miss this flight. I’ve got business to take care of

      ‘Stay with me. Take the next flight.’

      ‘You know I can’t do that.’

      She reached up and gently caressed his cheek. ‘Take care.’

      ‘You too,’ he said.

      ‘When will I see you again?’

      ‘I don’t know.’ He turned to go, tearing himself away.

      ‘Call me,’ she said as he walked off. ‘Promise you’ll call me.’

      He wanted to turn back and hold her again, be with her, take her somewhere where they could be alone. But he kept walking. Just before he pushed through the doors into the terminal building, he glanced back. She was standing there by her car, a small, forlorn figure in the distance. She waved. He sighed and entered the building.

      Across the car park, two men had been sitting in a car watching the whole thing. The driver had been about to get out to follow their target inside the airport to find out what flight he was getting on.