Eagle of Darkness

  "Nor will they," said Ahmed. "Sniffer dogs are most unlikely find untreated Semtex. That is why Endermann chose it."

  Nayra laughed. "We have thirty kilograms of the explosive. It was stolen from the army in the Czech Republic. If this was a gathering of the world's politicians, instead of the religious leaders, they would perhaps think to examine the building for an underground sewer through which a man can crawl."

  Ahmed nodded. "It will not need thirty kilos to bring down the walls -- if I can set the charges under in the right area. The building with shake from the foundations, as it is foretold. I will keep five kilograms back for the next job."

  "There is more work to do?"

  "Who knows what Endermann will require? It pays to be prudent when working for Endermann."

  "You will do your best to destroy the blasphemers in the mosque. As the man who covets the heat of my body would say, it is insha' Allah."

  "The will of God?" Ahmed mocked. "Who can understand the will of God? It is indeed a mystery. And the man who is helping to bring the explosives, he must not be allowed to talk."

  "He will die immediately the work is completed to your satisfaction. He will not be the first man to suffer that fate. You are driving the vehicle of one of Endermann's ex-helpers."

  Ahmed felt his grip on the wheel tighten. What he needed right now was a drink. "It does not worry me. Does it worry you?"

  "Yes, it worries me," said Nayra quietly. "I have never trusted Endermann. We will stay together and keep each other safe."

  He placed his hand on Nayra's lap. "My desire for your body may not be the will of God, but it is my will. Let it be your will too. Let us join together as one for this work." Again he forced his lingers into the jeans, between her legs. Through the material he could feel the exquisite softness of her flesh.

  The rebuttal was still violent, but it hurt less. With a bottle of zibeeb to share, he could be in with a chance.

  Chapter 22

  Institute of Egyptologists, England

  DENBY RAWLINS knocked hesitantly at the Lodge door, his red eyes almost closed. "I won't keep you, Mrs. Pulaski."

  "There's a problem, Mr. Rawlins?" Panya Pulaski pulled her cardigan tightly round her front and held it there. The man probably possessed x-ray vision.

  Denby Rawlins bowed slightly, a smile on his face. "Will you be at home this evening, Mrs. Pulaski?"

  "I'm having my lunch." Panya felt annoyed as well as defensive.

  "Quite so. Only we were wondering ... that is, Dr. Wynne and I were wondering ... wondering if perhaps you would like to be of some fuller service to the cause."

  "Not now, Mr. Rawlins. Could we talk about it in your office sometime?"

  The man looked taken aback. "Why yes, of course, Mrs. Pulaski. It's just that we seem to have rather neglected you while you've been carrying out your duties so admirably."

  Still she held her cardigan firmly. "It's all part of my work, Mr. Rawlins. Will you excuse me now? My food is getting cold."

  "Before I go, Mrs. Pulaski, I have some literature you might like to see." The middle-aged man held out two booklets with dog-eared orange covers. "One of them explains the traditions of Aten."

  "I'll try and look through them both."

  "The second one will be of particular interest." The Second Partner laughed awkwardly. "It explains the role of women in the temple. I'd be interested in your thoughts on the matter."

  "In your office, Mr. Rawlins. I think these things are better discussed during working hours."

  The man began breathing heavily as though deeply moved, and Panya could smell his obnoxious breath. "Quite so, Mrs. Pulaski. You could read the booklets while you're lying in bed tonight, and we could have a discussion about them in the Hall of Aten tomorrow afternoon. You must feel free to voice any desires that might be in your mind."

  She watched Denby Rawlins shamble off. "That man needs castrating," she said aloud.

  Chapter 23

  Cheltenham, England

  ENDERMANN called Spaxley over to the central table in the hotel dining room. "I want you to look at these satellite images, Admiral. They show a steady build-up of nuclear launch sites in Israel."

  Spaxley picked up a magnifier and examined the clearest high-level reconnaissance photos he'd seen. "Computer enhanced?"

  "Sure they're enhanced. All satellite images are enhanced, but I guess you could say these are a little more enhanced than usual. I want you to flash them at the press boys in London tomorrow. I'm off to Cairo to keep an eye on friend Ahmed. He seems to be having a problem with his drinking."

  Spaxley glanced around the large room. This Cheltenham monument to Regency England made a most suitable meeting place. A large notice in gold writing saying Private Meeting hung on the door to the dining room. Upstairs in Endermann's room Withington had his eavesdropping equipment plugged into the phone line. "When you say computer enhanced, I take it you mean these are computer generated?" he said.

  Endermann dropped another batch of photographs onto the table. "I'm using some old stuff from Iraq, but I've dressed it up a bit. I've had to make sure no news editor recognizes it from anything he's got on file."

  "Sure, Endermann. You don't need to spell it out"

  "The security services will naturally laugh at the latest prophecy when it breaks. It's what they always do with news they're not expecting. I want you to meet some senior journalists, in small groups. I've already set things up. Hint that you're still in touch with While House security. Get it right and those investigative journalists will give it maximum exposure."

  "Investigative journalists?" Spaxley laughed. "They're mostly lazy bastards, in my book. Like to be spoon-fed." He wanted to let his experience show.

  Endermann nodded. He lit a cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke, oblivious of the discreet no smoking signs in this backwater of English civilization. "Listen carefully, Admiral. You've got yourself one hell of a problem. Before he went down sick, Olsen seems to have placed some sort of bug in the Institute's computer system."

  "He told you this?"

  Endermann hit the table angrily with his closed fist. "The lines of communication aren't operating as they should. Olsen's become too much of a loner."

  Spaxley noticed the decorations on the fireplace for the first time. Beneath those many coats of paint would be a masterpiece. Probably an original Adam to match the plasterwork. How typical of the English to be so self-assured of their heritage that they'd leave it in disguise. Little touches like this gave these establishments an aura of refined honesty. "I thought you were ditching Olsen completely." Spaxley pushed the photographs back into the envelope. "Look, Endermann, is Olsen in or out?"

  Endermann sounded tired. "There's something I can't get a handle on. Olsen says Wynne dragged him out of bed in the early hours of this morning for a confrontation. Something about two cylinders."

  "Two? Maybe there are several. Where did Olsen get his cylinder from?"

  "The CIA has always taken an interest in old records. Five hundred tons of paper from Third Reich archives made its way to Virginia after the war. Kramer found something in there about the cylinder and tracked it down to a private collector in Munich, Germany. Exchanged it for some rare SS souvenirs and swore the man to secrecy. He fixed up Olsen to visit the Institute with it a year ago, as a way of making sure he'd be taken on. A sort of Open Sesame."

  "Beware of Greeks bearing gifts," said Spaxley as he took another look at the photographs.

  "Olsen's American, not Greek," said Endermann, "but it got him in. They appointed him Third Partner. Then we started pumping in funds and made sure the Institute got all the computers they needed. It's a wonder Olsen didn't end being promoted to First Partner."

  Spaxley pulled his chair even closer to the gas fire. The logs in the hearth were the only false item in this hotel, and they didn't work too well. "The great Olsen is letting the side down, as they say in England."

  Endermann looked serious, and Spaxley enjoyed
watching the man's uncomfortable behavior. "Olsen's a security risk."

  "Take him out of there, Endermann. Take him out."

  "It's not that simple, Admiral. It's Olsen's bug that's now running loose, and no one in the Institute can crack it. I need those Institute computers available every minute of the day and night. Who knows what minor changes we'll need to make as our plans start to unfold?"

  Spaxley stared at Endermann. "I can't work with a casualty under my feet. You'll definitely pull Olsen out once the computers are fixed?"

  "Don't worry." Endermann looked and sounded confident. "I have a team ready to take Olsen out of there within five minutes. I have some men who could take out the whole building if necessary."

  *

  Institute of Egyptologists, England

  THE ROW of monitors looked blank as Gresley Wynne entered the room. How could the computers all fail at this vital moment? "I thought Olsen was going to help you fix them," he said to Denby Rawlins.

  The Second Partner turned from the up-ended disc drive, a small screwdriver in his hand. "Olsen said something about having a duty to perform."

  "Not for me." Gresley Wynne shrugged. He could feel his tight suit pulling around the padding in the shoulders. Maybe he was putting on weight.

  "Olsen is optimistic."

  "I'm worried about the man. Have you noticed anything strange about his behavior?"

  Denby Rawlins seemed to be concentrating on fitting the cover back onto the drive bay. "I suppose he is ... well, more sullen than usual. It might be the climax to all our work. Years of toil, and then Andy Olsen arrives with his cylinder a year ago. Now everything has fallen into place."

  "Neatly into place." Gresley Wynne picked up some pages from the printer. "But then it would be neat. Truth is truth, and I would expect it to be plain. We'll get our reward."

  The Second Partner paused. His red eyes closed almost to a slit, like a contented cat. "Talking about rewards, I have spoken with the woman."

  "And no doubt gave her some literature." Gresley Wynne moved out of the direct line of his colleague's breath. "Temple servants. It may not be easy. Remember what happened before. I cannot allow you to bring the Institute into disrepute."

  Denby Rawlins smiled, and the hairs in his nostrils quivered. "There is pleasure in anticipation. I have been thinking about her while I have been working."

  "You cannot force these things, Denby -- not without the police getting involved again."

  The Second Partner returned to the problem with the system. "Gresley, do you believe in the Curse of the Pharaohs?"

  "That sort of talk has no place in this building." Gresley Wynne let his voice contain a clear reprimand. "You know there is always a rational explanation to these things. Dust from bats' dung getting into the respiratory system. That is my theory. Why do you ask?"

  Denby Rawlins loaded a disc into the rebuilt drive. "It's something Olsen said. He believes the cylinder is cursed with bad luck."

  "I would not be inclined to take too much notice of the Third Partner."

  Denby tapped a few keys and the screen lit up and immediately went blank again. "This is going to stop us getting the final print-out. Should we call in an outside consultant?"

  Gresley Wynne felt anxious and shook his head. "If a stranger gets into the system they'll be able to go through everything. Some of the work on the prophecy is sensitive, and there are a few of our outdated prophecies still in the files."

  Denby Rawlins loaded another disc. The screen sprang into life and stayed alight.

  "Good!" Gresley Wynne felt excited.

  "It's not good. I type the next bit of code and it's gone. See?"

  Gresley Wynne watched the screen go blank yet again, and tried to remain calm. Denby worked badly under pressure.

  The door to the computer suite opened. "Is there anything I can do to help?" Olsen asked.

  Chapter 24

  Cheltenham, England

  "JUST FORTY-EIGHT hours!" Spaxley felt refreshed from a good night's sleep, and watched while Withington pressed the keypad on the unit connected to the phone socket. "Just give us another forty-eight hours on this line, and you can put the hotel back on the billing system." He laughed. "They ought to appreciate what we've done for them. They've be getting all their calls free."

  Withington appeared relieved. Spaxley didn't have to push his powers of perception to realize that the man from GCHQ was unhappy. As a junior civil servant, Withington should be used to carrying a certain amount of responsibility. Yet here at the hotel he behaved like a guilty child caught raiding the cookie jar.

  "I don't like all this waiting around," complained Stephan, coming over to see what was happening.

  Spaxley glanced up from lighting his second cigar of the morning. This was the first time the ex-KGB Russian had voiced any sort of dissent. His English was almost perfect. He'd make a good man to act as a spokesman for the Institute -- if one was ever needed. He had just a hint of a foreign accent to lend an air of mystery to the prophecies.

  "Stay calm," Spaxley said. "We're still waiting for the Institute to fix their computer bug."

  Stephan nodded. "I can't understand why Endermann hasn't pulled Olsen out. Olsen's just throwing trouble into the works, and not for the first time either." He pulled some papers from the file and walked with Spaxley to the large window, out of Withington's hearing. "Just between the two of us, Admiral, I'm wondering if Olsen has already done too much damage. Look at this communication he sent Endermann yesterday. Does this look like the writing of a sane man?"

  Spaxley dropped the spent match into the bin and took the letter. Emailed from the Institute, it seemed to be a vehicle for the computer expert to flaunt his skills with computer programming. Spaxley quickly became lost with the jargon.

  Stephan passed him another sheet of paper. "Olsen sent this one last week. I don't like it. Endermann's given him too much responsibility."

  Spaxley gave up trying to understand. "You're a worrier, Stephan. Endermann can fire Olsen any time he wants."

  "He needs him there, to make everything sound convincing." Stephan picked up the emails and replaced them in the file. "If the press smell a rat, they'll drop the story."

  Spaxley raised his eyebrows. "The opposite would happen. Stephan, and you know it."

  "You're right. Admiral, they'll go in deep and crucify us."

  "So we have to hope Olsen comes good." Spaxley glanced at Stephan before turning the gas control on the fire. For once the room was getting too hot. "There's no going back. The lunar eclipse won't wait for us. The baby has to blow on time. It will be like the death of Kennedy and the Twin Towers. People will always remember what they were doing when the news of this nuclear explosion comes through."

  "Endermann's digging a hole for himself by trying to hit that religious service in Cairo first," complained Stephan, still sounding apprehensive. "He should have stuck to his original plan."

  "The ball's rolling, and our job is to run with it," snapped Spaxley. "The timer at Beni Mazar has already been set. Ahmed's the only one who can switch it off."

  "Is it booby-trapped?"

  Spaxley flicked the ash from his cigar into the large glass dish in the center of the table. "I'd imagine so."

  Chapter 25

  INTERNATIONAL NEWS BUREAU

  General Tamid, speaking tonight in Tehran on behalf of the Iranian government, has warned Israel that the first hostile move it makes against any Arab state will be met with instant retribution The British foreign secretary in a statement to parliament earlier this afternoon described the situation in the Middle East as a powder keg waiting to explode. The President of the United States has again called for calm, making it clear that his offer to act as peacemaker still stands.

  Chapter 26

  The Lodge, Institute of Egyptologists, England

  "PANYA, I DON'T like to think of you being in danger." Sam looked at his watch. It was nearly midnight, and he should never have stayed so late the Lod
ge. But before he went, he wanted to put an arm around Panya, but he held back in case his affability gave the wrong impression. He found it strange that he kept thinking about this Egyptian American even when he wasn't with her, yet he couldn't see himself fancying her. Not really. "You ought to move out of here."

  Panya Pulaski seemed thoughtful. "I'd like to have someone looking after me." She paused and went slightly red. "You know what I mean. I hope. Or rather, you don't misunderstand."

  "You mean someone who wouldn't try and take advantage of you."

  She laughed lightly. "You've put it very sensitively, Sam. It's outrageous, but I'm sure either Dr. Wynne or Denby Rawlins is trying to seduce me -- or perhaps it's both of them."

  "Seduce? That's an outdated word."

  Panya pulled a face. "That's the way I am. It's probably my background. Perhaps it's the way I want to be."

  "If it's any consolation, I think Dr. Wynne is trying to seduce me, not you." He realized that today's skirt was definitely shorter, coming only just below Panya's knees, but it was still black. "Anyway, you can relax. Seduction isn't high on my list of things to do at the moment. I'll stay for a few days, if you really want me to."

  "Can you stay tonight?"

  "I'll have to get my things."

  "Don't leave me alone, Sam. Not tonight."

  "I..." Surely this was the first time he'd hesitated about an invitation to stay the night with a woman -- apart from Frau List.

  "You'll have to come and go in the day without anyone seeing you. I'd lose my job if the Institute found out I have a lodger."

  "Seems to me you ought to chuck the job in anyway."

  "I can't, Sam. I told you about this group I work for. They need me here."

  "Your religious group, Sanity Or Faith?"

  "Don't mock me, Sam. It's Unity Through faith, and you know it is."

  "So what's your plan?"

  "Cardinal Fitz wants me to get hold of Olsen's personal file. I've tried several times today, but the cabinet is always locked."

  "So?"

  "Will you help me open the filing cabinet in Dr. Wynne's office?"

  "Is it old?" It seemed likely, judging by the age of the office furniture he'd already seen.

  "An old wooden one."

  He noticed that Panya suddenly sounded helpless. Maybe it was an act. Whatever, she could do with his help. "When?"