Eagle of Darkness

  "Your editor's only just heard," someone called out. "No wonder your paper always prints yesterday's news!"

  The comment caused uproar, but Gresley Wynne quickly brought the gathering back into line. "Gentlemen, we have now dealt with the two prophecies that you have on your press release. The question I have to ask myself is whether I should proceed with the third."

  Sam let his eyes wander round the room. An agitated figure stood in the doorway, waving a piece of paper as though to catch Dr. Wynne's eve. But Dr. Wynne seemed oblivious to his presence.

  Sam nudged Bill Tolley. "Know who that is?"

  Tolley turned and drew in his breath sharply.

  Dr. Wynne seemed to be on a high. "This is what Aten says. The light in the sky between the Lower and Upper kingdoms will bring the nation with false power to its knees. The Man of Power will prescribe a new age of peace upon the lands."

  "We know that, Professor. It's on the handout."

  Gresley Wynne coughed, his face looking flushed with adrenaline. "I have not allowed you to know the whole of that prediction, because it contains additional information that could cause great concern to certain people."

  "Tell us now."

  "Thank you, gentlemen, I intend to."

  Sam noticed how the First Partner let his eyes flick round the room anxiously. "Yes, indeed. I must reveal it to you now. Aten says: The people will fall down in fear before the great light. The people of the Hebrews will dance in triumph and will seek their own ends. Before I can ride twice through the sky, the Hebrews will fill the lands of Upper and Lower Egypt with even greater terror. When the moon is suddenly darkened, the Eagle of Darkness will soar from its nest high in the mountains of----"

  "Stop it!"

  Everyone jumped with fright. The man in the doorway, a hand to his face as though to avoid recognition, had shouted out. Now he was turning to go.

  Gresley Wynne stopped reading immediately. "Gentlemen, I will be back as soon as possible. Please stay here in the Hall of Aten until I return."

  *

  The Lodge, Institute of Egyptologists, England

  SAM LEANED back against the cushions of the long sofa. "You pointed a man out to me, Bill. He stood in the doorway and shouted to Dr. Wynne to stop. You seemed to know him."

  "Grant Spaxley. He's American. Admiral Grant Spaxley he calls himself, but he's no more an admiral than Gresley Wynne is a professor. He was a press spokesman for the White House when I knew him. I imagine he's retired now."

  "You're wrong," said Panya who was standing in the doorway, waiting the kettle to boil. "His name is Mr. Grant. He's the American who arrived last night."

  Bill Tolley had assumed his relaxed position, one leg hanging over the arm of the sofa. "Grant is his first name, darling. I couldn't find him after we broke up, but it was Grant Spaxley all right." Tolley waited until Panya returned. "I heard that one of the Partners was taken ill."

  "That will be Andy Olsen." Panya placed the mugs on the table and started to play her CD of gypsy music from Berlin.

  "Do you know where Andy is now, darling?"

  Panya shrugged. "Some private clinic, I think."

  "And that's another thing that bothers me," said Tolley. "The professor doesn't know where he's been taken."

  "Doctor," said Panya. "Gresley Wynne has a doctorate."

  "Doctorate? I doubt if he's got anything more than a doctor's sick note. Now, if I could find out what Admiral Spaxley is doing at the Institute, I might have another scoop." Bill Tolley was obviously thinking aloud. He went to the window and drew back the curtain slightly. "I wouldn't mind getting back into the Institute to take a look round."

  "Panya's got a key." said Sam. "She could get you in there tonight."

  Panya raised a finger to her lips and stared up at the ceiling.

  "Something wrong?" asked Sam.

  "It's that noise again."

  "Andy Olsen?" asked Sam, as he turned to look where Panya was pointing.

  Panya shook her head. "Andy Olsen's in hospital."

  A small bump and then silence from the ceiling.

  "You all wait here," said Sam, his voice shaking with unexpected anger. "I'm going up through the bathroom hatch. Whoever it is up there, I'm going to kill him."

  Chapter 45

  "YOU BASTARD! You filthy Peeping Tom!" Sam watched the man dragging himself away from the pool of light that streamed up through the hatch. Dressed in a cream gown, he had a striped blue and cream hand towel covering his head. Within seconds Sam was up through the hole, taking a firm grip of the man's collar.

  Panya stood on the edge of the bath looking up through the opening, unable to obey Sam's instructions to stay in the living room. "Who is it?"

  "It's that dirty old man who keeps giving you looks." Sam dragged his prisoner along the dusty boards until they came to the hatch. He pushed the man's head through, holding him by the back of the gown. "I've a good mind to tip you down there headfirst. You're a pervert, a filthy pervert!"

  "It's Denby Rawlins." Panya sounded as anxious as she looked. "What are we going to do with him?"

  "I'll strangle him if you like."

  Bill Tolley came into the bathroom to see the cause of the disturbance. The Second Partner's head was still sticking through the hatch, going redder by the second. The striped towel had fallen into the bath.

  "He's a Peeping Tom," Sam called down, in case an explanation was required. "Let's throw him into the bath and drown him."

  Denby Rawlins made no sound.

  "Pass him down feet first," said Tolley.

  "I'll kill him first if you like." Sam felt so provoked that he began to wonder if he really might kill this scumbag from the oddball Institute, and the thought frightened him.

  It took several minutes to lower the Second Partner, with Panya and Bill Tolley helping.

  "You've hurt him," said Panya. "He can't move."

  "Good," said Sam.

  Denby Rawlins began to show signs of life. He stared at Panya. Suddenly he sat up as though jolted by an electric shock, his eyes bright red. "My maiden of the temple. My precious, precious maiden of the temple."

  "You're disgusting," said Sam, suddenly realizing the reason for the strange gown. "Who do you think you are? Some sort of ancient priest?"

  The Second Partner reached out his hands and began to stand. "Give your body to the priest of Aten, my flower. Often I have seen your body, and your flesh is the flesh of a child."

  Panya began to blush as she gripped her sweatshirt tightly around the front. "I told you someone was up there, Sam. He's either mad, or on drugs."

  "Drugs," said Sam in disgust. 'He's been up there giving himself thrills. It wasn't Andy Olsen."

  "But Olsen was on drugs," said Panya.

  "They might all be like it at the Institute for all I know," said Sam as he helped Tolley walk the man into the hallway. "Dr. Wynne seemed to be high on something when he was talking to the press."

  "Let's phone the police." Panya wrinkled up her nose at the smell of the man's breath. "I'll probably lose my job here, but he ought to be locked away for his own good."

  Bill Tolley felt in the man's gown pockets. Everyone had gone silent as he turned to see the faces watching him. "Drugs would make a good enough story, but if Admiral Spaxley is involved, there's more to the Institute than drugs. I'm looking for papers," he explained without any shame. "I'm going to get my next exclusive."

  Panya shook her head. "Sorry, Bill, but you can't search him here. This is my house."

  "That's ridiculous, Panya." Sam still felt livid. It would be irresponsible not to go through the man's pockets. There might be evidence that could involve the whole Institute in the drugs ring. Of course, there might be pictures of Panya in the bath, but he'd keep that thought to himself.

  "Come, fair maiden, you were destined to serve the servants of Aten. Come and be the priest's delight."

  "You're pathetic," said Panya. "I almost feel sorry for you. Look at the state you're in.
"

  Bill Tolley opened a piece of paper he had taken from Denby Rawling's gown pocket. He read it and showed it to Sam. It was a printout of an email.

  Sam turned again to the old man. "If you don't tell me what's going on, I'll put my knee between your legs so hard that even in five years time one dirty little thought will bring you pain. Understand?" He waved his fist in Denby Rawlins' face. "Do you understand?"

  "Careful, Sam." Panya held out a hand.

  Sam wasn't giving up just because Panya didn't like it. "What's Mr. Grant doing at the Institute"?

  Bill Tolley stood up. "He's not Mr. Grant, he's Admiral Grant Spaxley." He leaned forward until his face was close to Denby Rawlins. "Tell us about this email."

  Sam held the Second Partner by his shoulders. "Tell us, or you'll get my knee."

  "I have my medicine up there in the roof. Please get it for me."

  "Drugs you mean." Sam pushed the man backwards onto the sofa. "Tell us how you got this email."

  "Two days ago the computers crashed. I had reason to believe Olsen was to blame."

  "So you searched his possessions?"

  "He was sleeping. I thought there might be a clue in his pockets to the bug he had implanted."

  "And this is what you found?" Sam held the email close to the old man's face.

  "You're bullying me. I cannot think properly."

  "Back off a bit, Sam," warned Panya.

  Sam felt an intense hatred for the man who had been spying on ... on who, his girlfriend? "This email is from someone called Endermann. He says that if Admiral Spaxley comes down, he and Olsen mustn't be seen talking together. Explain it."

  Denby Rawlins shook his head. "Please, my medicine is in the roof."

  Bill Tolley took hold of Sam's outstretched arm. "I don't think he knows anything about the Admiral."

  "Then why did you make such a fuss when you found it, Bill?"

  "Because this email means that Spaxley and Olsen are working for the same group."

  "So?"

  "Spaxley was White House. If this is an official operation, the secret services could put us out of action if they know we've got this email. Executive action they call it."

  "That only happens in films." Panya laughed awkwardly. "The secret services aren't really killers."

  Bill Tolley pointed to their captive who was now sitting in a daze, staring vacantly at the fireplace. "Then who killed those people around the mosque in Cairo, and who blew up half the Egyptian desert with a nuclear device?"

  "Hang on," said Sam, "that was the prophecy."

  "Bill's right," said Panya, running her hands through her long dark hair. "Prophecy or not, someone still did it."

  *

  Institute of Egyptologists, England

  "IF LANGLEY realize what we're doing, we're dead." Endermann sounded unexpectedly anxious on the phone.

  "What sort of idiots have you got working on this one?" retorted Spaxley, getting up from the desk in Dr. Wynne's office. He went to the door and checked the hallway. It was empty. "How secure is this line?"

  "Withington's happy about it. He's up here with me now in London. And don't get on your high horse about our people in Cairo."

  "Our people, Endermann? I never sanctioned this scenario. Does Ahmed have trouble knowing the days of the week or something?"

  "I blame the woman who was helping him. Nayra's gone to ground."

  "We can still proceed with the next stage." Spaxley didn't want to underestimate the difficulties in the operation. "I'll get over to Cairo if you like."

  The was just silence from Endermann.

  "Are you still on the line?"

  Endermann spoke softly. "This line may not be as secure as we thought. Withington's picking up some sort of back echo. Thinks there may be a magnetic pick-up on the line. Stay at the Institute, Admiral. I'm coming straight down. I can be with you soon after midnight. Meet me at the main gates to the Institute. We'll talk in my car."

  Chapter 46

  The Lodge, Institute of Egyptologists, England

  THE PORTABLE fax machine in the rear of the large station wagon printed out the last page from the London press cuttings agency, and finished its run with a beep.

  "Arab Countries Face Nuclear Threat from Israel. Good headline. Let's see what the Telegraph correspondent has to say?" Endermann sat in the front of the large Chrysler, reading the pages as they emerged from the machine. "Well, I guess it's all pretty predictable."

  "Egypt Innocent Victim of Nuclear Aggression. That's the New York Times," said Spaxley. "I knew that journalist once. Good reporter. Listen to the Washington Post. Egypt's Secret Nuclear Arsenal. Nice and conflicting."

  "That's what you're here for, Admiral, to spread confusion." Endermann turned his huge frame towards Spaxley and grinned. "How about, Israel to Blame Say Arab States? That's the Daily Express."

  "Nuked!" Spaxley laughed. "A typical English tabloid reaction. They say the Sun is popular in England."

  "Here's what we really need to see. The Iranian response." Endermann held a sheet of paper printed in Arabic. "The front page of al-Jomhuriya, Egypt's newspaper. Just look at the heading. Israel's Violation of Arab Peace. It goes on. The State of Israel and its treacherous Western accomplices were behind yesterday's nuclear blast that devastated a most beautiful part of ancient Egypt, with many thousands of deaths. It has been long known that the sons of Satan enabled Israel to build a nuclear arsenal large enough to annihilate the peace-loving Arab States. That's a close enough translation. Iraq and her allies have assured Egypt that they are already preparing to..." He paused. "It hasn't come over clearly on this copy. "To strike back against Israel in kind, I think it must be."

  Spaxley said, "A strike back in kind can only mean one thing..."

  " ... The destruction of Israel," finished Endermann, nodding in satisfaction. "And here's the Gulf Times. Says more or less the same thing. I need Kramer to contact me, but he's gone silent. My cell phone might as well be switched off for all the use he's making of it."

  "You too embarrassed to phone him yourself?" Spaxley raised his eyebrows.

  "Orders, Admiral. Kramer has made it plain that I don't contact him -- ever. He's terrified of someone at Langley listening in."

  "Maybe he's left us both to carry the can."

  "Then you don't know Kramer. He's ultra careful, that's all. Suits me, that's for sure."

  "Any news on casualties?"

  "A few hundred Arabs dead. Nothing too serious. Many thousand is probably an exaggeration. No Americans as far as we know, thank God."

  "And the burnt and irradiated?"

  "We need casualties, Admiral. There's no news without casualties."

  "Is the Unity group backing out?"

  "Are they hell? They've already announced that they're now going to use one of the old churches in Cairo."

  "Wouldn't a synagogue have been better?"

  "Nothing would give me greater pleasure than blowing a synagogue, but the Israelis are hardly likely to get the blame for it. The blast at the church won't be big. With Ahmed missing, there's no time to organize enough Semtex to bring the walls down."

  "You want me to issue a revised prophecy?"

  "Work on it, Admiral. We need our holy war: Muslins killing Christians, and Christians killing Arabs, and the Jews taking the blame."

  "It's all a game of soldiers to you." Spaxley stared out of the darkened Chrysler and pulled a cigar from his top pocket.

  "If you're lighting that thing you can put the window down," snapped Endermann.

  Spaxley shook his head. "It's too damn cold out there." But he grudgingly lowered it half way.

  Endermann remained silent as he looked through the fax pages. Then, "I suppose you realize what's missing from these press cuttings?"

  "Yes, any mention of the prophecy." Spaxley drew on his cigar and turned to the back of the station wagon, looking at the fax machine as though it might burst into life with the missing pages. "Let's wait. It will be in t
he next editions."

  "I hope to God you're right, Admiral. If the press don't pick up the prophecy on this one, we're both in trouble."

  Chapter 47

  The Lodge, Institute of Egyptologists, England

  BILL TOLLEY let the curtain fall back into place. "They're still out there. I'd give anything to have a bug inside that car."

  "I thought the press code didn't allow such things," said Panya.

  "Lady, you're so sweet and innocent."

  "So I've been told." Panya put on a cute smile. "Probably more innocent than sweet."

  Bill Tolley nodded towards the sprawled figure of Denby Rawlins on the sofa. "We shouldn't be talking in front of him."

  Panya bent down and lifted one of the Second Partner's eyelids. "We can't leave him here."

  "Go to the house and tell Dr. Wynne about him, there's a good girl," said Tolley. "That professor ought to know what this man gets up to in his spare time."

  "That's thoughtful of you," said Panya dryly. "I didn't know the press could be so caring."

  Tolley just grinned. "I'll think I'll come with you, darling. While you're talking, I can get my personal recorder. I left it running in the office."

  Panya shook her head. "You can get your recorder in the morning. It will be safe enough overnight. Darling."

  "No offence meant." Tolley obviously got the point, but Sam guessed he was unlikely to change.

  "I've connected it to a magnetic pick-up on the Institute's phone line," continued Tolley. "I want to find out who Admiral Spaxley's been talking to since the press conference finished."

  "We could take the recording to the American Embassy if it's interesting," Panya suggested.

  "Not if the CIA is involved we couldn't." Bill Tolley tried to take hold of Panya's hand. "We know too much."

  Panya avoided Tolley's hand and held Sam's instead. "I think Bill is just a cynical old journalist. Nobody does that sort of thing in real life." And she squeezed Sam's hand hard as though the pressure would make her words be true.

  Sam decided to do something practical. "I'm going out there."

  "Where?" asked Panya.

  "To get close to that car. Maybe I can hear what's going on."

  "Rather you than me," said Tolley.

  *

  The Grounds, Institute of Egyptologists, England

  ENDERMANN reached round to the back of the fax machine, impatiently twisting the emerging copy so that he could read the heading. "This is it, Admiral."

  Several more pages followed from the late editions, the portable fax running continuously. Spaxley took them from Endermann. "Only two of them have mentioned this place on the front page."