one and passed it to him. That is a shot of the rear wall of the tomb.
You can just make out the alabaster jars in the niche. That was taken
before we removed them.'
'Nice picture, but it could have been taken anywhere.' She ignored the
remark and passed him another photograph. The ten scrolls in Duraid's
workroom at the museum. You recognize the two men standing behind the
bench?'
He nodded. 'Duraid and Wilbur Smith.' His sceptical expression had
turned to one of doubt and bemusement.
'What the hell are you trying to tell me?'
'What the hell I am trying to tell you is that, apart from a wide poetic
licence that the author took unto himself, all that he- wrote in the
book has at least some foundation in the truth. However, the scroll that
most concerns us is the seventh, the one that was stolen by the men who
murdered my husband.'
Nicholas stood up and went to the fireplace. He threw on another log and
bashed it viciously with the poker, as if to give release to his
emotions. He spoke without 'turning 'What was the significance of that
particular scroll around, as opposed to the other nine?'
'It was the one that contained the account of Pharaoh Mamose's burial
and, we believe, directions that might enable us to find the site of the
tomb.'
'You believe, but you aren't certain?' He swung around to face her with
the poker gripped like a weapon. In this mood he was frightening. His
mouth was set in a tight hard line and his eyes glittered.
'Large parts of the seventh scroll are written in some sort of code, a
series of cryptic verses. Duraid and I were in the process of
deciphering these when-' she broke off and drew a long breath, 'when he
was murdered.'
'You must have a copy of something so valuable?' He glared at her, so
that she felt intimidated. She shook her head.
'All the microfilm, all our notes, all of it was stolen along with the
original scroll. Then whoever killed Duraid went back to our flat in
Cairo and destroyed my PC on to which I had transposed all our
research.'
He threw the poker into the coal scuttle with a clatter, and came back
to the desk. 'So you have no evidence at all? Nothing to prove that any
of this is true?'
'Nothing,' she agreed, 'except what I have here.' With a long slim
forefinger she tapped her forehead. 'I have a good memory.'
He frowned and ran his fingers through his thick curling hair. 'And so
why did you come to me?'
'I have come to give you a shot at the tomb of Pharaoh Mamose, she told
him simply. 'Do you want it?'
Suddenly his mood changed. He grinned like a naughty schoolboy. 'At this
moment I cannot think of anything I want more.'
Then you and I will have to draw up some sort of working agreement,' she
told him, and she leaned forward in a businesslike manner. 'First, let
me tell you what I want, and then you can do the same.'
