‘Of course we will do everything that we can to assist you,’ Nicholas told him politely. ‘What time are we coming to see you?’
‘I believe we are meeting at eleven in the morning, if that suits you.’
‘A most civilized hour,’ Nicholas agreed.
‘My driver will pick you up at ten-thirty, and take you down to police headquarters,’ Sir Oliver promised.
At the dinner table Royan was seated between Sir Oliver and General Obeid. She was pretty and charming, and both men were attentive. Nicholas realized that he would have to become accustomed to sharing her company with other men; he had had her to himself for much too long.
For his own part, Nicholas found Lady Bradford at the other end of the table rather heavy-going. She was a second wife, thirty years younger than her husband, with a pronounced London accent and an even more pronounced common streak, with a mane of dyed blonde hair and an improbable bust which overflowed her sequined décolletage. An old man’s folly, Nicholas concluded. It appeared that she had made herself an expert on the genealogy of the English aristocracy – in other words she was an arrant snob. She questioned him closely on his antecedents, insisting on going back several generations.
In the end she called to her husband down the table, ‘Sir Nicholas owns Quenton Park. Did you know that, dear?’ And then she turned back to Nicholas. ‘My husband is a very keen shot.’
Sir Oliver looked suitably impressed by his wife’s intelligence. ‘Quenton Park, hey? I read an article in the Shooting Times the other day. You have a drive there called the “High Beeches”. Is that right?’
‘The “High Larches”,’ Nicholas corrected him.
‘Some of the best birds in Britain. That’s what they said,’ Sir Oliver enthused, looking eager and expectant.
‘I don’t know about that,’ Nicholas protested modestly. ‘But we are rather proud of them. You must come and have a shot at them next time you are home - as my guest, of course.’
From that moment Sir Oliver’s attitude towards Nicholas altered dramatically. He became affable and solicitous, even going so far as to send the butler to fetch a bottle of the 1954 Lafite.
‘You have made a good impression,’ Geoffrey murmured wryly. ‘HE doesn’t waste the 1954 on anybody but the chosen few.’
It was after midnight when Nicholas was at last able to escape from his hostess and rescue Royan from Sir Oliver and General Obeid. He led her away, supporting her as she limped along fetchingly at his side, avoiding Geoffrey Tennant’s knowing and speculative gaze until they had negotiated the first landing of the staircase.
‘Well, you were definitely the star of the evening,’ he told her.
‘You had Lady Bradford purring like a cat,’ she counterattacked, and he was delighted to hear the faint tone of possessive jealousy in her voice. He had not been the only one.
At her door she solved any problems by offering him her cheek, and he kissed it chastely.
‘Those bosoms!’ she murmured. ‘Don’t have nightmares about them.’ And she closed the door behind her.
He felt quite jaunty as he went to his own room, but as he opened the door he saw the envelope lying at the threshold. During dinner, one of the servants must have pushed it under the door. Quickly he tore open the flap of the envelope and unfolded the pages that it contained. His expression changed as he scanned through them, and he left the bedroom and went back to tap on Royan’s door.
After a moment she opened it a crack, and peeped out at him. He saw the confusion in her eyes, and he hurried to allay her suspicions.
‘Reply to my fax.’ He showed her the sheaf of papers. ‘Are you decent?’
‘One moment.’ She closed the door, and opened it again only seconds later. ‘Come in,’ she said.
She indicated the decanter on the cabinet. ‘Would you like a nightcap?’
‘I think I need one. We know who runs Pegasus now.’
‘Tell me!’ she ordered, but he took his time pouring a Scotch, and then smiled at her over his shoulder. ‘How about a soda water for you?’
‘Damn you, Nicholas Quenton-Harper.’ She stamped her stockinged foot. ‘Don’t you dare torment me. Who is it?’
‘When I first met you, you were a dutiful little Arab girl. One who realized the superiority of the male species. Listen to you now. I think I have spoiled you.’
‘I think I should warn you that you are flirting with disaster.’ She tried to suppress her smile. ‘Tell me, please, Nicky.’
‘Sit down,’ he ordered, and took the armchair facing her. He unfolded the fax and then looked up at her. ‘Mrs Street has worked fast. In my fax, I suggested that she rang my stockbroker in the city. We are three hours ahead of Greenwich Mean Time, so it seems that she must have caught him before he left his office. Anyway, she has all the information I asked for.’
‘Stop it, Nicky, or I will tear my bodice and scream and cause a scandal. Tell me!’
He rustled the pages, and then read. ‘Pegasus Exploration is registered on the Sydney Stock Exchange in Australia with a share capital of twenty million—’
‘Don’t go through all the details,’ she pleaded. ‘Just name the man.’
‘Sixty-five per cent of the shares in Pegasus are owned by Valhalla Mining Company,’ he continued imperturbably, ‘and the remaining thirty-five per cent are owned by Anaconda Metals of Austria.’
She had given up pleading with him and sat forward in her chair, watching him with a fixed gaze.
‘Both Valhalla and Anaconda are fully-owned subsidiaries of HMI, Hamburg Manufacturing Industries. All the shares in HMI are owned by the von Schiller family trust, the sole trustees of which are Gotthold Ernst von Schiller and his wife, Ingemar.’
‘Von Schiller,’ she repeated softly, still staring at him. ‘Duraid had him on his list of possible sponsors. He must have read the Wilbur Smith book – I know it has been translated into German. He probably contacted Duraid just the way that you did. But he was not put off as easily as you were by Duraid’s denials.’
‘That’s the way I read it also,’ Nicholas nodded. ‘It would have been easy to sniff around the Cairo museum, and find that Duraid and you were working on something big. The rest of it we know only too well.’
‘But how did he move Pegasus into Ethiopia so quickly?’ she demanded.
‘That must have been a stroke of luck on von Schiller’s side – the luck of the devil. Geoffrey tells me that Pegasus obtained a concession to prospect for copper from President Mengistu five years ago, just before he was ousted. Von Schiller was already in place, even before he heard about the scrolls. All it involved was moving the base camp down from the north where they were working and relocating it on the escarpment of the Abbay gorge, to be ready to take advantage of any fresh developments. We will probably find that Jake Helm is one of his heavies, his dirty tricks specialist that he sends to any of his trouble spots around the world. It’s apparent that he has Nogo in his pocket. We waltzed right into their arms.’
Royan looked thoughtful. ‘It all makes sense. As soon as Helm reported our arrival to his master, von Schiller must have ordered him to set up the shufta raid on our camp. Oh, sweet heaven, I hate him. I have never laid eyes on him, but I hate him more than I thought I was capable of hating anything or anybody.’
‘Well, at least we know now who we are dealing with.’
‘Not altogether,’ she demurred. ‘Von Schiller must have had a man in Cairo. Somebody on the inside there.’
‘What is the name of your minister?’ Nicholas wanted to know.
‘No,’ she denied it instantly. ‘Not Atalan Abou Sin. I have known him all my life. He is a tower of integrity.’
‘It’s amazing what effect a bribe of a hundred thousand dollars or so can have on the foundations of even the best-constructed tower,’ Nicholas observed quietly, and she looked stricken.
They were the only two at breakfast. Sir Oliver had left for his office an hour earlier, and Lady Bradford had not
yet risen to greet the clear, cool highland morning.
‘I hardly slept last night, thinking about Atalan. Oh, Nicky, I can’t bear even the suspicion that he might be involved in Duraid’s murder.’
‘Sorry if I gave you a rough night, but we have to consider all the angles,’ he tried to soothe her, and then changed the subject. ‘We have wasted enough time here. Pegasus have got a clear run of the field at the moment. I want to get back home, and start putting together our own expeditionary force for the return.’
‘Would you like me to get on to the airline and make our reservations?’ She stood up immediately. ‘I will go off and find a phone.’
‘Finish your breakfast first.’
‘I have had all I want.’ She made for the door, and he called after her.
‘No wonder you are so skinny. They tell me anorexia nervosa is a rotten way to go.’ And he helped himself to another slice of toast and marmalade.
She was back within fifteen minutes. ‘Tomorrow afternoon at three-thirty. Kenya Airways to Nairobi, connecting the same evening with British Airways to Heathrow.’
‘Well done.’ He wiped his mouth on his napkin, and stood up. ‘Our car is waiting to take us down to police headquarters to speak to your new admirer, General Obeid. Let’s go.’
There was a police officer waiting to meet them and usher them into the headquarters building, through the private entrance. He introduced himself as Inspector Galla and treated them with the greatest deference as he led them through to the Commissioner’s suite.
General Obeid rose to his feet as soon as they entered his office, and came around his desk to greet them. He was charming and affable, fussing over Royan as he led them through to his private sitting room. Once they were seated, Inspector Galla poured the inevitable tiny bowls of bitter black coffee.
After a polite interval of small talk the general came directly to the business in hand. ‘As I promised, I won’t detain you longer than is absolutely necessary. Inspector Galla here will be recording your statements. Firstly I would like to deal with the disappearance and death of Major Brusilov. I presume you are aware that he was formerly an officer in the Russian KGB?’
The interview lasted much longer than they had expected. General Obeid was thorough, but unfailingly polite. Finally he had their statements typed out by a police stenographer, and after they had read and signed them, the general walked with them as far as the entrance where their car was waiting. Nicholas recognized this as a mark of special favour.
‘If there is anything I can do for you, anything that you need, please do not hesitate to call upon me. It has been a great pleasure meeting you, Dr Al Simma. You must come back to Ethiopia and visit us again soon.’
‘Despite our little misadventure, I have thoroughly enjoyed your beautiful country,’ she told him sweetly. ‘You may see us again sooner than you expect.’
‘What a charming man,’ she remarked, as they settled into the back seat of Sir Oliver’s Rolls. ‘I really like him.’
‘It would seem to be mutual,’ said Nicholas.
Royan’s words were prophetic. There were identical envelopes addressed to each of them lying at their places on the dining-room table the next morning when they came down to breakfast.
Nicholas opened his as he ordered coffee from the waiter in his ankle-length shamma, and his expression changed as he read the note.
‘Hello!’ he exclaimed. ‘We made an even bigger impression on the boys in blue than we realized. General Obeid wants to see me again.’ He read aloud from the note, ‘“You are ordered to present yourself at police headquarters at or before noon.”’ Nicholas whistled softly. ‘Strong language. No please or thank you.’
‘Mine is identical.’ Royan glanced at the note on an official police letterhead. ‘What on earth do you suppose it means?’
‘We will find out soon enough,’ Nicholas promised her. ‘But it sounds a little ominous. Methinks the love affair is over.’
This morning, when they arrived at police headquarters, there was no reception committee to welcome them. The guard at the private entrance sent them around to the general charge office, where they were involved in a long, confused discussion with the desk officer, who had only a rudimentary knowledge of English. From previous experience in Africa Nicholas knew better than to lose his temper, or even to let his irritation show. Finally the desk officer held a long whispered telephone conversation with some unknown person, at the end of which he waved them airily towards a hard wooden bench against the far wall.
‘You wait. Man come soon.’
For the next forty minutes they shared their seat with a colourful selection of other supplicants, applicants, complainants and petty criminals. One or two of them were bleeding copiously from assault by persons unknown, and yet others were in manacles.
‘It seems our star is on the wane,’ Nicholas remarked as he held a handkerchief to his nose. It was obvious that some of his neighbours had not had a close acquaintance with soap and water for some time. ‘No more VIP treatment.’
At the end of forty minutes Inspector Galla, he who had treated them so deferentially the day before, looked over the partition and beckoned to them in a high-handed fashion.
He ignored Nicholas’s outstretched right hand and led them through to one of the back rooms. There he did not offer them a seat but addressed Nicholas coldly. ‘You are responsible for the loss of a firearm that was in your possession.’
‘That is correct. As I explained to you in my statement yesterday—’
Inspector Galla cut him off. ‘The loss of a firearm due to negligence is a very serious offence,’ he said severely.
‘There was no negligence on my part,’ Nicholas denied.
‘You left the firearm unguarded. You made no attempt to lock it in a steel safe. That is negligence.’
‘With respect, Inspector, there is a notable dearth of steel safes in the Abbay gorge.’
‘Negligence,’ Galla repeated. ‘Criminal negligence. How are we to know that the weapon has not fallen into the hands of elements opposed to the government?’
‘You mean some unknown person may overthrow the government with a 275 Rigby?’ Nicholas smiled.
Inspector Galla ignored the sally, and produced two documents from the drawer of his desk. ‘It is my duty to serve these deportation orders on both you and Dr Al Simma. You have twenty-four hours to leave Ethiopia, and thereafter you will be considered to be prohibited immigrants, both of you.’
‘Dr Al Simma has not lost any weapons,’ Nicholas pointed out mildly. ‘In fact as far as I am aware, she has never been even mildly negligent in her entire life.’ And again his comment was ignored.
‘Please sign here to acknowledge that you have received and understood the orders.’
‘I would like to speak to General Obeid, the Commissioner of Police,’ said Nicholas.
‘General Obeid left this morning for an inspection tour of the northern frontier districts. He will not return to Addis Ababa for some weeks.’
‘By which time we will be safely back in England?’
‘Exactly.’ Inspector Galla smiled for the first time, a thin, wintry smirk. ‘Please sign here, and here.’
‘What happened?’ Royan demanded, as the driver opened the door of the Rolls for her and she settled into the seat beside Nicholas. ‘It was all so sudden and unexpected. One moment everybody loved us, and the next we are being booted down the stairs.’
‘Do you want my guess?’ Nicholas asked, and then went on without waiting for her reply. ‘Nogo is not the only one in Pegasus’s back pocket. Overnight Obeid has been in contact with von Schiller, and received his orders.’
‘Do you realize what this means, Nicky? It means that we will not be able to return to Ethiopia. That puts the tomb of Mamose beyond our grasp.’ She stared at him with large dark eyes full of dismay.
‘When Duraid and I visited Iraq and Libya, neither of us had letters of invitation from either Saddam or Gadaffi, as I
recall.’
‘You look delighted at the prospect of breaking the law,’ she accused. ‘You are smirking all over your face.’
‘After all, it is only Ethiopian law,’ he pointed out virtuously. ‘Not to be taken too seriously.’
‘And it will be an Ethiopian prison they toss you into. That you can take seriously.’
‘You too,’ he grinned, ‘if they catch us.’
‘You can be certain that HE has already registered a formal complaint with the President’s office,’ Geoffrey told them as he drove them to the airport the next day. ‘He is most upset at the whole business, I can tell you. Deportation orders and all that rot. Never heard the likes.’
‘Don’t fuss yourself, old boy,’ Nicholas told him. ‘As it is, neither of us intends coming back here again. No harm done.’
‘It’s the principle of the thing. Prominent British subject being treated like a common criminal. No respect shown.’ He sighed. ‘Sometimes I wish I had been born a hundred years ago. We wouldn’t have to put up with this sort of nonsense. Just send a gunboat.’
‘Quite so, Geoffrey, but please don’t let it upset you.’
Geoffrey hovered around them like a cat with kittens while they checked in at the Kenya Airways counter. They had only their hand luggage, two small cheap nylon holdalls that they had bought that morning at a street market. Nicholas had rolled his dik-dik skin into a ball and wrapped it in an embroidered shamma that he had purchased in the same market.
Geoffrey waited with them until their flight was called and waved to them after they passed through the barrier, aiming this affectionate display more at Royan than Nicholas.
They had been allocated seats behind the wing, and Royan was beside the window. The Kenya Airways plane started its engines and began to taxi slowly past the airport buildings. Nicholas was arguing with a stewardess who wanted him to stow his precious dik-dik skin in its purple nylon bag in the overhead locker, while Royan peered out of the porthole beside her for her last glimpse of Addis during take-off.