Текст книги "The Seventh Scroll"

Автор книги: Wilbur Smith

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the night. It's enough for one day. You are killing yourself, Nicky."

"Another hundred, he mumbled.

"No, Nicky. Put me down!'

For answer he pushed off from the rock wall with his shoulder and

staggered on upwards.

"Cound' he ordered.

"Fifty-one, fifty-two," she obeyed. Suddenly the gradient altered so

sharply under his feet that he almost fell.

The path had levelled out, and like a drunkard he reached up for a step

that wasn't there.

He staggered and then caught his balance. He stood teetering on the

brink of the precipice and peered into the dusk ahead of him, at first

unable to credit what he was seeing. There were lights in the gloom, and

he thought that he had begun to hallucinate. Then he heard men's voices,

and he shook his head to clear it and bring himself back to reality.

"Oh, dear God. You have made it. We are at the top$ Nicky. There are the

vehicles. You did it, Nicky. You did it.

He tried to speak, but his throat had closed up and no words came. He

reeled forward towards the lights, and Royan cried out weakly on his

back.

"Help us here. Please help us." First in English and then in Arabic.

"Please help us."

There were startled cries and the sounds of running men. Nicholas sank

down slowly into the fine highland grass and let Royan slide off his

back. Dark figures gathered around them, chattering in Amharic, and

friendly hands seized them and half-carried, half-dragged them towards

the lights. Then a torch was shone into Nicholas's face and a very

English voice said, "Hello, Nicky. Nice surprise. I came down from Addis

to look for your corpse. Heard you were dead. Bit premature, what?"

"Hello, Geoffrey. Good of you to take the trouble."

"I dare say you could use a cup of tea. You look a bit done in," said

Geoffrey Tennant. "Never realized that your beard had ginger and grey

bits in it. Designer stubble.

Fashionable. Suits you actually."

Nicholas realized what a picture he must present, ragged and unshaven,

filthy and haggard with exhaustion.

"You remember Dr Al Simma? She has a bit of a dicky knee. Wonder if you

would mind taking care of her?"

Then his legs gave way under him, and Geoffrey Tennant caught him before

he fell.

"Steady on, old boy." He led him to a canvas-backed camp chair, and

seated him solicitously. Another chair was brought for Royan.

"Letta chai hqPa!" Geoffrey gave the universal call of an Englishman in

Africa, and minutes later thrust mugs of steaming over-sweetened tea

into their hands.

Nicholas saluted Royan with his mug. "Here's to us.

There's none like us!'

They both drank deeply, scalding their tongues, but the caffeine and

sugar hit their bloodstreams like a charge of electricity.

"Now I know I am going to live,'Nicholas sighed.

"Don't want to be pushy, Nicky, but do you mind telling me what the hell

is going on here?" Geoffrey asked.

"Why don't you tell me?" Nicholas countered. He needed time to evaluate

the situation. What did Geoffrey know and who had told him? Geoffrey

obliged immediately.

"First thing we heard was that white hunter chappie of yours, Boris, had

been fished out of the river near the Sudanese border, absolutely

riddled with bullet holes. The crocs and catfish had snacked on his

face, so the border police identified him by the documents in his money

belt."

Nicholas glanced across at Royan and cautioned her with a frown.

"Last time we saw him, he went off on a scouting expedition onhis own,'

Nicholas explained. "He probably ran into the same bunch of shufta who

raided our camp four nights ago."

"Yes, we heard about that too. Colonel Nogo here radioed in a report to

Addis."

Neither of them had recognized Nogo in the crowd of men. It was only

when he stepped forward into the light of the camp lanterns that Royan

stiffened, and such an expression of loathing flashed across her face

that Nicholas reached across surreptitiously and took her hand to

restrain her from any indiscretion. After a moment she relaxed and

composed her features.

"I am very relieved to see you, Sir Quenton-Harper.

You have given us all a very worrying few days," said Nogo.

"I do apologize," said Nicholas smoothly.

Please, sir, I meant no offence. It is just that we had a report from

the Pegasus Exploration Company that you and Dr Al Simma had been caught

up in a blasting accident. I was present when Mr Helm of the exploration

company warned you that they were conducting blasting in the gorge."

"But you-' Royan flared bitterly, and Nicholas squeezed her hand hard to

stop her going on.

It was probably our own carelessness, as you suggest.

Nevertheless, Dr Al Simma has been injured and we are I both badly

shaken up by the accident. More important than that, however, is the

fact that a number of other people, camp'staff and monks from the

monastery have  been killed in the shufta raid and in the blasting

accident.

As soon as we get back to Addis I will make a full statement to the

authorities."

"I do hope that you don't think any blame attaches Nogo started, but

Nicholas cut him short.

"Of course not. Not your fault at all. You warned us about the danger of

shufta in the gorge. You were not present, so what could you have done

to prevent any of this? I would say that you have done your duty in the

most exemplary fashion."

Nogo looked relieved. "You are most gracious to say so, Sir

Quenton-Harper."

Nicholas studied him for a moment longer. He seemed the most amiable of

young men behind the metal-rimmed spectacles, so concerned and eager to

please. For a moment Nicholas almost believed that he had been mistaken,

and that it had been somebody else that he had seen in the jet Ranger,

hovering over the avalanche site like a vulture searching for their dead

bodies.

Nicholas forced himself to smile in his most friendly manner. "I would

be most grateful if you could do me a favour, Colonel."

"Of course,'Nogo agreed readily. "Anything at all."

"I left a bag and one of my hunting trophies in the cavern under the

Dandera waterfall. The bag contains our passports and travellers'

cheques. Very grateful if you could send one of your men down to bring

it up for me."

While giving Nogo directions on how to find his possessions, he derived

a perverse enjoyment from sending his would-be assassin on such a

trivial errand. Then he turned back to his friend so that Nogo would not

pick up the vindictive glint in his eyes. "How did you get here,

Geoffrey?"

"Light plane to Debra Maryam. There is an emergency landing field there.

Colonel Nogo met us, and brought us -the rest of the way by army jeep,"

Geoffrey explained. "The pilot and the aircraft are waiting for us at

Debra Maryam."

Geoffrey broke off and spoke to the camp staff in execrable Amharic,

before turning back to Nicholas. "I have just arranged a hot bath for

you and Dr Al Simma.

After that, a meal and a good night's sleep should work wonders.

Tomorrow we can fly back to Addis. No reason why we shouldn't be there

by tomorrow evening at the latest."

He patted Royan's shoulder, disguising his carnal interest in her behind

a benign avuncular smile. "I must say I am rather pleased not to have to

go traipsing down into the Abbay gorge looking for the pair of you. I

hear that it's a pretty beastly part of the world."

explained to chase the goats off the emergency airfield at Debra Maryam.

In the meantime Nicholas was stuffing the roll of dik-dik skin under the

rear passenger seat. One of Nogo's sergeants  you mind, Dr Al Simma, if

I sit in front?

Terribly rude of me, but I am inclined to suffer from malde air. Ha ha!"

Geoffrey Royan as they waited for three small boys to had made a night

descent of the escarpment, and had delivered both his bag and the skin

while they were breakfasting that morning.

Nogo gave them a smart salute as they taxied out in a cloud of dust.

Nicholas waved and smiled at him through the side window, murmuring,

"Screw you, Nogo, screw you very much indeed."

When at last the pilot lifted the little Cessna 260 off the rough grass

strip, the horizon over the Abbay gorge resembled a field of cosmic

mushrooms, vast thunderheads reaching up into the stratosphere. The air

beneath them i was turbulent as a storm sea and they were thrown about

mercilessly in the rear seats. Up in front Geoffrey seemed to be faring

no better. He was very quiet and took no interest in their conversation.

There had been no opportunity for them to talk privately the previous

evening, what with either Geoffrey or Nogo hovering within earshot at

all times. Now with their heads close together, the engine beat covering

their voices and Geoffrey occupied with his own queasy thoughts, they

were able to concoct their story.

Geoffrey had made it clear that the British Ambassador in Addis was less

than delighted with the inconvenience they had caused him. Apparently

there had been a string of faxes from Whitehall since they had been

reported missing. Added to that, the Ethiopian Commissioner of Police

was anxious to question them. They had to make sure that they did not

implicate Mek Nimmur in the killing of Boris Brusilov, and at the same

time they must not alert or alarm Pegasus in any way. They realized that

the reaction from that quarter would be swift and probably lethal if

they gave the least suspicion that they knew who the other players were

in Taita's game.

Most of all they must avoid antagonizing the Ethiopian authorities, or

give them any cause to cancel their visas and declare them to be

undesirable immigrants. They agreed to feign ignorance and play the role

of innocents caught up in affairs which they had not precipitated and

which they did not understand.

By the time that they landed at Addis Ababa they had prepared their

story and rehearsed it thoroughly. As soon as the Cessna pulled on to

the hardstand in front of the airport buildings and the pilot cut the

engine, Geoffrey came back to life again, only a little green around the

gills, and handed Royan down the aircraft steps with a flourish.

"Of course, you will stay at the residence," he told them. "The hotels

in town are too dreadful to contemplate, and HE has a half-decent chef

and a passable wine cellar. I will rustle up some togs for both of you.

My missus is about the same size as you, Dr Al Simma, and Nicky will fit

into my gear at a pinch. Thank God, I have a spare dinner jacket. HE is

a bit of a stickler for form."

The British Ambassador's residence had been built during the reign of

the old Emperor, Haile Selassie, before Mussolini's invasion in the

1930s. Set on the outskirts of the town, it was an example of the better

colonial architecture, with a thatched roof and wide verandas. The

lawns, tended by. a host of gardeners, were wide and green, contrasting

with the brilliant crimson of the poinsettia. The mansion had survived

both the revolution and the war of liberation that followed.

At the front entrance Geoffrey handed them over to an Ethiopian butler

in a long, spotlessly white shamnw, who showed them to adjoining

bedrooms on the second floor. Nicholas heard the bathwater running in

Royan's suite next door as he lay in his own brimming bath, sipping a

whisky and soda and twiddling the taps with his big toe.

Then there was the murmur of the doctor's voice from next door as he

attended to Royan's knee.

Geoffrey's dinner jacket was loose round his waist and too short in the

arms and legs, and his shoes pinched, added to which Nicholas was in

need of a haircut, he realized, as he surveyed himself in the mirror.

"No help for it, now, he decided with resignation, and went to knock on

Royan's door.

"I say!" he exclaimed as she opened it. Sylvia Tennant had loaned her a

lime'green cocktail dress that set off Royan's olive skin marvellously

well, Royan had washed her hair and left it loose on her shoulders. He

felt his pulse accelerate like a teenager on his first date, and laughed

at himself.

"You look absolutely scrumptious," he told her, and meant it.

"Thank you, sir," she laughed back at him, "and you look very dashing

yourself May I take your arm?"

"I was hoping to carry you. Addictive activity."

"Those days are over," she told him, and brandished the carved ebony

walking-stick with which the butler had provided her. She used it on her

bad side. As they started down the long corridor, she asked in a

whisper, "What is the name of our host?"

"Her Britannic Majesty's Ambassador, Sir Oliver Bradford KCMG."

"Which stands for Knight Commander of St. Michael and St. George,

right?" she asked.

"No," he corrected her, "it stands for Kindly Call Me God."

"You are impossible!" She giggled, and then became serious. "Did you

manage to send-the fax to Mrs. Street?"

"It went through at the first attempt and she acknowledged. Sends you

her salaams, and promises to have some information about Pegasus double

pronto." It was a mild evening and Sir Oliver was waiting to greet them

on the veranda. Geoffrey hurried forward to make the introductions. The

Ambassadot-bad a bush of white hair and a red face. Geoffrey had warned

them about him and his view on troublesome tourists, but his hostile

frown started to fade as soon as he laid eyes on Royan.

There were a dozen other guests for dinner apart from Geoffrey and

Sylvia Tennant, and Sir Oliver took Royan's arm and led her around the

group introducing her. Nicholas trailed along behind them, resigned by

now to the fact that Royan had that effect on most men.

"May I present General Obeid, the Commissioner of Police," Sir Oliver

said. The head of the Ethiopian police force was tall and very

dark-complexioned, suave and elegant in his blue mess uniform. He bowed

over Royan's hand.

believe that we have an appointment to meet tomorrow morning. I look

forward to that with the keenest pleasure."

Royan glanced at Sir Oliver uncertainly. She had been told nothing of

this.

"General Obeid wants to know from you and Sir Nichola a little more

about this business in, the Abbay gorge," Sir Oliver explained. "I took

the liberty of having my secretary make the appointment."

"Just a routine interview, I assure you both, Dr Al Simma and Sir

Nicholas. I will take up very little of your time, I promise you that."

"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 cleavage.

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 mate

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 percent of the shares in Pe asus are owned by Valhalla

Mining Company," he continued imperturbably, "and the remaining

thirty-five percent 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 his dirty tricks that Jake Helm is

one of his heavies, 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 need, please do

not hesitate to call upon me. It has you 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.

yan's words were prophetic. There were idenical 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 shamnia, 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 head, quarters, 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." fill 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 so

deferentially the day before, looked had treated them 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 ation orders on both you and Dr Al

serve these deport 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