‘I remember,’ Paxton said. ‘But there’s no deal, Benedict.’
Ben shook his head. ‘That’s not how it works.’
‘It works any way I say it does,’ Paxton said. ‘I’m in control here, not you.’
‘Where is she?’ Ben said again.
‘Somewhere you won’t find her,’ Paxton said.
Berg grinned.
Ben tried not to look at him. His fists balled at his sides. ‘You really are a piece of shit, aren’t you, Harry?’
‘I told you what I do to people who are disloyal to me,’ Paxton said. ‘I meant what I said.’
Berg grinned more broadly.
Ben’s stomach churned. For a terrible moment the image of the three severed heads danced up in his mind’s eye. Then the picture of the mutilated body of Linda Downey. Except he was seeing Zara’s face on it. The glassy blue eyes, lifeless and unblinking. Blonde hair matted with dried blood. He tried to shake the image out of his mind, but it stayed there right in the foreground.
He suddenly wanted to vomit. They’d killed her. They’d kept her alive long enough to give proof of life, and then slaughtered her.
He closed his eyes and felt himself rocking on his feet. Reached out a hand to steady himself with the rail at his side.
When he opened his eyes, he found himself staring down the muzzles of two pistols. In his right hand Paxton was holding the same 9mm SIG Pro that he’d pointed at Ben in Paris, the leather pouch in his left. Berg was holding a massive Desert Eagle semi-auto with a barrel diameter half an inch across.
‘We’re going to shoot you,’ Paxton said. ‘Then we’re going to feed your body to the sharks. But, before you die, Berg is going to tell you exactly what he did to my dear wife. In detail.’
Chapter Fifty-Eight
That was it, then. Paxton had beaten him. He should have known. Should never have gone looking for the damned treasure.
‘Just shoot me,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to hear.’
‘Of course you don’t,’ Paxton replied with a smile. ‘But you’re going to nonetheless.’ He turned to Berg. ‘Come on. Tell our friend what you told me.’
Berg’s eyes glittered. He opened his mouth to speak.
Then he stopped. His mouth opened wider, and he drew in a sharp breath. A tremor seemed to run through his body, making him sway on his feet. His eyeballs turned inwards as he tried to focus on the strange object that had suddenly appeared low down in the middle of his forehead.
It was the three-bladed steel triangular point of a hunting arrow, protruding four inches from his skull.
Berg dropped like a tree and landed with a crunch on his face. The Desert Eagle slid across the deck. The slim arrow shaft embedded in the back of his head was still quivering from the impact of the shot.
But Ben wasn’t watching Berg any more. He was staring as Zara emerged from the companionway hatch behind where the man had been standing. In a summery white cotton dress that emphasised her tan, her hair catching the sunlight, she looked even more beautiful than before. In her hand was the bow she’d been shooting the first time he’d ever seen her, and a quiver full of arrows hung at her side. Her eyes caught Ben’s.
Ben couldn’t speak, couldn’t tear his gaze off her. His heart was thudding wildly in his throat. Zara was alive. Paxton had been enjoying a sick joke at his expense. He hadn’t just wanted Ben to die-he’d wanted him to die in despair.
Paxton twisted around to stare at her, then gaped down at Berg’s corpse, incredulous. ‘You killed him,’ he stammered.
She didn’t reply. Instead she drew another arrow out of the quiver and fitted it expertly to the bow.
Ben saw the intent flicker through Paxton’s face and the twitch in his muscles before the man even had time to swing his SIG around to aim at her. He dived for Berg’s fallen pistol. Saw a clear line of fire and pulled the trigger. The Desert Eagle recoiled harshly. Paxton cried out as the large-calibre slug slammed into the side of his pistol and sent it spinning out of his grip. The leather pouch dropped to the deck as he staggered, clutching his injured hand. Fear in his eyes as Ben aimed the pistol steady at his head. The colonel suddenly looked much older, frail almost.
‘Kick the pouch over,’ Ben commanded him.
Paxton obeyed. Ben picked it up and stuffed it in his jeans pocket. ‘You’re done, Harry. Interpol can have you now. I’m taking you ashore.’
Zara took a step closer, still holding the bow. She shook her head. ‘No, Ben.’
He looked at her.
‘You’re not taking him anywhere,’ she said.
Before Ben could react, she swung her bow towards Paxton, drew and shot him at point-blank range.
The arrow whipped across the short distance and caught Paxton in the right shoulder. He screamed in shock and agony. His left hand flew up, grasped the arrow shaft. Tried to pull it out, but the muscles around the wound had clamped it tight. Blood spilled down his silk shirt. He dropped to his knees. ‘What are you doing?’ he bellowed at her.
‘Something I’ve been waiting to do a long, long time,’ Zara replied softly. There was a cold look on her face that Ben had never seen before. Her hand moved quickly, expertly down to the quiver on her belt and she fitted another arrow to the bow. Drew and fired again.
The arrow stabbed into Paxton’s left shoulder. Its bloody tip protruded five inches from his shoulder blade.
Ben suddenly understood. She wasn’t hitting at random. As a champion archer engaging a large target at extreme close range, she could have hit any spot she wanted. She was deliberately drawing this out, by pure cruelty.
Paxton screamed again and fell back on the deck, writhing in blood, smearing it across the polished wood.
‘Zara!’ Ben yelled. ‘Are you crazy?’
But she wasn’t listening. She walked coolly around Paxton as he gaped up at her. The same swift, mechanical movement of hand to quiver to string. She fired again. The arrow lanced through Paxton’s thigh and pinned him to the boards. Blood spurted in a fountain from a severed artery. Paxton was past screaming now. His mouth was opening and closing as he went into terminal shock.
‘Stop!’ Ben pointed the Desert Eagle at her, because he didn’t know what else to do. ‘That’s enough!’
There was already a fresh arrow on Zara’s bow. She turned nonchalantly to Ben. ‘OK. You’re right.’
And then she fired one last shot. The arrow took Paxton in the nostril and drove his head back and thunked into the wood. Paxton twitched as blood spewed from his nose and mouth. His muscles went limp, and he sank down against the deck and died.
The pistol in Ben’s hand was shaking as he lowered it. ‘What the fuck did you do that for?’ he asked breathlessly.
Zara took a step towards him, and he realised there was another arrow fitted to her bow. The quiver was empty now. It was her last shot. And it was for him.
‘The pouch,’ she said. ‘Hand it over.’
Ben was speechless for a moment. Nothing made sense to him any more.
And yet, in a horrible way it did. What kind of hostage was free to walk about with a lethal weapon?
‘You and he were in it together,’ he whispered. ‘The whole time.’
Zara sighed. ‘It’s true, Ben. I’m sorry.’
Thoughts were flooding through his mind so fast that it was making him dizzy. ‘But Valentine—’
‘Harry knew she was after him,’ Zara said. ‘We came up with the plan. Or maybe I should say, I came up with it. To let them see us fighting in public. Harry slapping my face in the restaurant, me throwing my drink over him and walking out. All staged, to give the impression we were having problems. But they fell for it.’ She smiled, shrugged. ‘Soon afterwards, Valentine approached me and gave me the whole bit about her girlfriend, Downey, and the poor little Africans that Harry’s guns were killing. The whole spiel. A real tear-jerker. So I played along, pretending to be all shocked and horrified.’
‘When really you didn’t give a shit.’
‘I had to win their trust,’ she said. ‘It was the only way we could make sure we got them all in one place. We had to protect Harry’s interests.’
‘The man you just killed.’
‘That’s right. I hated Harry. He was a cruel bastard and a terrible husband. I hated him, but I’d have stayed with him for his money.’
‘Wouldn’t it have been simpler just to divorce him?’
‘He’d have killed me for trying. And even if he hadn’t, there was a prenuptial agreement. I would have ended up with nothing.’
‘Nothing but your freedom.’
‘You think I hadn’t thought about it? But then you came along, Ben. You changed everything. When I met you, that’s when I started looking for a way to ditch him. I was only sorry that I had to lie to you. I never wanted that to happen.’
Ben said nothing. There was nothing to say. A cold chill had settled in his stomach.
‘I want the treasure, Ben. I’ve wanted it ever since Morgan got drunk that night aboard the Scimitar.’ She snorted. ‘Typical man, trying to show off to a woman he fancied and compete with his father at the same time. It was so easy to get him talking. I just kept pouring the drink down his stupid throat, and made sure he could see down my top. Works every time.’
‘So you were just using everyone. Like you used me. Everything you told me was a lie. There was never anything between us.’
She shook her head. ‘That’s not true. When I told you I loved you, I meant it. I want us to be together.’
‘You love me, but you’d let me believe you were a hostage? You’d knowingly put me through that?’
‘What can I say? I had no choice. I had to find a way.’
‘To get what you wanted.’
‘For us.’ Her eyes brightened with excitement. ‘For you and me.’
‘What if I’d been killed?’
‘Not you. Not so easily. I knew you’d come back.’
‘While you just spent the week relaxing, working on your tan with a cool drink at your elbow.’
She looked hurt. ‘It hasn’t been easy for me. Smiling at that bastard, keeping him happy, pretending everything was all right when I couldn’t wait to see you again. We’ve done it. We’re free now. We’ll be rich. What Harry had was peanuts compared to what we’ll have. Think of all the things we can do. The life we’ll be able to lead together.’
‘So you and I run away into the sunset with the gold. Is that how you see it?’
She laughed. ‘Why not? Why can’t it be that simple? What’s to stop us? I love you. And you love me.’ Her smile wavered. ‘You do love me, don’t you?’
He let out a long sigh. ‘Yes. I love you.’
‘Then let’s be together,’ she said. ‘Like we talked about that night in Paris.’
Ben was silent.
‘Well? Aren’t you going to answer me?’
‘Forget it, Zara. It’s over.’
‘Please, Ben. I need you.’
‘You’re insane,’ he said. ‘I can’t understand what kind of monster you are.’ He pointed down at Paxton’s body. ‘You’re worse than him. I love you, but I hate you.’
Her face seemed to twist. Her teeth bared a little, and the sparkle in her eye went dull. ‘Fine. If that’s the way you want it. I’ve always been alone. I’ll survive.’
As she said it, she hooked three fingers onto the bowstring and the sinews in her forearm tightened as she drew her hand back to anchor against her cheek. The arrow shaft scraped softly back into firing position on its launcher. The thick glass fibre limbs of the bow tensed, cam wheels rotating, cables tightening, loading vast amounts of energy behind the razor-sharp arrowhead that was pointing right at his heart.
‘You’d shoot me?’ he said.
Her knuckles were white on the handle of the bow as she held it at full draw. She nodded. ‘I gave you the chance to share the treasure with me. To share a life with me. You didn’t want it. Your choice. I’m sorry, but you’re not giving me any other way out.’
‘You could turn yourself in. Try and make some amends for what you’ve done.’
She laughed. ‘Get real.’
He raised the heavy pistol and squared the sights right on her, centre of mass. Her laugh froze on her lips. Confusion flashed in her eyes.
‘Now it gets more complicated,’ he said. ‘I’ve got two pounds of pressure on this trigger. You put that arrow in me, and all it takes is a tiny squeeze as my muscles go into a spasm. Just an ounce. And you’ll be dead at the same instant as me. We both hit the floor at the same time. No more treasure for you.’
She didn’t reply. They circled each other.
‘Now you have a choice,’ he said. ‘Put the bow down, face the consequences. Or I’ll shoot.’
‘You wouldn’t.’
He pulled the trigger. The Desert Eagle boomed and recoiled in his hand. The crack of the shot echoed out to sea.
Zara screamed and fell back. The arrow clattered harmlessly down, unfired. The string and cables hung loose from the bow, all the tension gone out of it. The cam wheel that Ben had shot off the end of its top limb bounced and rolled across the boards like a huge coin.
Zara lay on the deck, still clutching the shattered bow and weeping with shock and rage.
Ben let the pistol down at his side. Reached into his pocket and took out the little leather pouch. Drew back his arm and hurled it far out to sea. It sailed up in the air, just a dark dot against the sun, and dropped down and hit the water with a splash.
Then he walked over to where Paxton had set down the gold statuette. He picked it up, walked to the rail and lobbed it over the side. A last glitter, and it was gone. Maybe in another few centuries, some lucky diver would find it on the sea bed.
‘There goes your treasure,’ he said to Zara. ‘It’s over. Finished. Was it worth it?’ He reached out his hand, took her arm and pulled her gently to her feet.
Her tear-filled eyes searched his. Her hair was wild, jaw tight. ‘Now I have nothing,’ she said bitterly. ‘You’ve ruined me. Left me without a penny.’
‘I think you ruined things for yourself, Zara.’
She hung her head in despair. ‘What are you going to do with me?’
He paused a long time before replying. Watched her face. The kind of feelings he had for her didn’t just go away. They wouldn’t go away for a long time.
‘You know I could never harm you,’ he said.
‘Don’t turn me in,’ she pleaded. ‘I’d die. I couldn’t live in jail.’
‘Who’d believe me?’ he said. ‘It would be your word against mine. You and Harry covered your tracks well. Now he’s dead. You’re free. And I’m gone.’
‘No, Ben. Don’t go.’
He turned his back on her and started walking towards the rail. Beyond it, the motor launch was bobbing gently on the swell.
He put a hand on the rail and was about to swing his leg over the side, when she ran after him and gripped his arm tightly. Her cheeks were streaked with tears. ‘Stay with me,’ she murmured. She came up close to him and stroked his face. The touch of her fingers was tender and warm, and for a moment he almost gave in to it. Emotion rose up in him.
Those kinds of feelings didn’t just go away.
But they would, in time. He swallowed hard, and pulled away from her.
‘Goodbye, Zara.’
‘Ben—’ Her voice cracked into a sob of pain.
He didn’t reply. Zara watched forlornly as he climbed down into the launch and cast off.
Twenty yards from the yacht, he looked back and saw the lonely figure at the rail, staring after him, the breeze blowing in her hair. The sun was beginning to set behind her.
He didn’t look back again.
Epilogue
Le Val
The following night
The rain was lashing down out of a starless sky as Ben got out of the Mini and crossed the puddled yard to the house. The place seemed empty and desolate as he climbed the steps to the front do
or, opened it and went inside. He wearily hung up his jacket, and walked down the dark passage towards the kitchen door.
As he reached out his hand to turn the handle, he stopped and looked down, noticing the strip of light under the door. He walked in.
‘Hello, Ben,’ Brooke said. She was sitting reading in the soft glow of a lamp. She laid the novel face-down on the table and watched him for a moment. ‘You’re home.’
He pulled up a wooden chair and sat down in it with a sigh.
Brooke got up quietly. Fetched a glass from the cupboard and filled it with wine. Without a word, she brought it over to him and set it down in front of him.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I’m home.’
Author’s Note
As a historical figure, the pharaoh Akhenaten may lack the glamour and romance of a Ramses or a Tutankhamun, but no other ancient Egyptian ruler is as bizarre or shrouded in mystery. The strange story of Akhenaten has been retold many times-the famous British crime novelist Agatha Christie wrote a play about him, modern composer Philip Glass has written an opera, and for fans of Death Metal there is even a song by the band Nile called ‘Cast down the Heretic’.
There have been many weird and wonderful theories surrounding this enigmatic king: building on the hypothesis of the famous psychologist Sigmund Freud that Moses might have been a follower of Akhenaten, some historians have proposed that Moses and Akhenaten might actually be one and the same. Going still further into the realms of fantasy, there have even been suggestions that Akhenaten was not of this earth. Certainly, anyone who has seen his likeness will testify to the man’s distinctly odd, alien appearance.
But whoever-or whatever-Akhenaten might have been, his claim to fame was his legendary attempt to replace the state religion of ancient Egypt with one of his own devising, the so-called Aten cult. This is the first monotheistic religion on record, and had Akhenaten succeeded in making it stick, he would have altered the face of his homeland forever. Unfortunately for him, his religious coup was destined to abject failure. Almost immediately after his death, Egypt reverted to the old polytheistic religion and no effort was spared to eradicate all trace of the despised heretic and pretend he never existed.