‘He’s easy enough to find,’ Claudel said. ‘He’s the US Ambassador in Cairo. He’s also a millionaire and a passionate collector of artefacts from all over the ancient world.’
‘How can you be so certain he has the throne?’
‘Because I’ve seen it there. His collection is housed within his private apartment at the Embassy. And I happen to know that he’s throwing a big party tonight. It would be a perfect opportunity.’
‘Sounds as if you know this Sheridan pretty well,’ Ben said. ‘I think you should pick up the phone right now and get us all invited over to the Embassy party.’
Claudel shook his head ruefully. ‘I didn’t say I knew him well. I knew his wife very well. A little too well, perhaps. That’s why I could never go there to introduce you to Sheridan. He was the one who caught us. You might say I’m persona non grata in that household.’
‘I don’t care,’ Ben said. ‘I’m going to that party.’
‘How?’ Kirby asked, looking perturbed. ‘Surely not even you would just walk into an Embassy party as an uninvited stranger and demand to inspect a priceless throne.’
‘That’s exactly what I’m going to do,’ Ben said. ‘I’m going to walk right in the front door. But I won’t be asking anyone’s permission for anything.’
‘You’re crazy,’ Kirby said. ‘Raving. Delusional. How the hell do you think you can get in there? There’ll be massive security all over the place.’
‘That’s the whole idea.’ Ben turned to Claudel. ‘Can you provide me with a plan of the building?’
‘I know exactly where you need to go,’ Claudel replied. ‘I’ve sneaked up the backstairs to visit Eloise Sheridan often enough to know my way around the place.’
‘Excellent. Now, here’s what we’re going to do. Kirby, you stay here with Claudel. I have a couple of things to take care of.’
‘Things?’ asked Kirby, cocking an eyebrow.
‘Things you don’t need to know about. But first, I want to visit the wine cellar.’
Claudel looked mystified. ‘Why? You want some wine?’
‘You have very good wine, Pierre,’ Ben said. ‘But I’m more interested in PP- 01.’
Chapter Forty-Six
Garden City, Cairo
That evening
At one time in Cairo’s not-so-distant past, the quiet, leafy district just south of the city centre had been the urban playground of the Egyptian social aristocracy; now it was the high-security home of the British and US Embassies, the American University and several luxury hotels. It was just after seven-thirty when Ben and Kirby walked out of the lobby of the Nile Hilton, both wearing black tuxedos. Ben’s was an expensive item on loan from Claudel’s own wardrobe, and it fitted perfectly. Kirby’s had been a last-minute rental.
‘I feel awkward in this thing,’ he complained as they walked down the tree-lined street. ‘My body’s the wrong shape, or something. Do I look OK?’
‘You look like a dosser who just broke into an Armani boutique. But don’t worry about it. Nobody’s going to care.’
‘That’s just great.’
A Rolls-Royce purred by, perhaps delivering guests to the Embassy party, quickly followed by a Bentley
‘Capitalist bastards,’ Kirby muttered.
‘Coming from a Laird’s son hunting for a billion-dollar treasure.’
Kirby ignored that. ‘And I’ll tell you something else. The tux isn’t all that’s making me uncomfortable. This party thing is a really, really bad idea. You still haven’t told me how the hell you plan to get us in there.’
Ben didn’t reply. They were drawing closer to the US Embassy building. Floodlit against the darkening sky, it was a fine, imposing post-colonial mansion standing on the corner of two adjoining streets, surrounded by tall iron gates and overlooked by a mass of surveillance cameras. Palm trees threw long shadows in its elegant gardens, and the Stars and Stripes waved gently in the evening breeze.
Outside the grand entrance, US Marines stood to attention with rifles. At the front of the gated grounds, guests in evening wear were stepping out of their cars and limousines and showing their invitations to armed security personnel.
Ben and Kirby were just a few yards from the gates.
‘Keep it natural,’ Ben said. ‘Calm down.’
‘No way they’re going to let us in,’ Kirby mumbled. ‘Not a chance in a million.’
Ben glanced up the street that flanked the side of the Embassy grounds. It was empty apart from a white Peugeot parked in the shade of a tree. A two-man security team were standing next to the car, looking through the windows, letting their sniffer dog wander around it to hunt out any suspicious scents.
‘See how tight security is?’ Kirby asked irritably as they joined the throng of people at the gates. A laughing woman in a low-cut evening dress brushed by him, and he followed her with his gaze.
Ben didn’t reply. He watched as the dog returned to its handler and the security team gave up on the Peugeot and moved away. They started walking back towards the corner, into the glow of the floodlights. Ten yards, fifteen, twenty.
He took out his phone.
‘Who are you calling?’ Kirby asked. ‘Why can’t you talk to me? You know, I’m getting pretty tired of the whole Mr Mysterious routine.’
Ben scrolled down to a preset entry in the phone’s address book and hit the speed dial.
A sequence of rapid beeps as the phone automatically dialled the number in its memory.
Then a deafening explosion from the perimeter of the Embassy grounds.
There was half a second’s stunned silence as people recoiled and whipped around in horror at the blast, and then the screaming and panic and mayhem took over completely. The crowd broke into turmoil as security guards ran everywhere, yelling into radios, tearing out their guns as alarms shrilled. Smoke was pouring out of the white Peugeot and drifting up over the street. Almost instantly, a flood of US Marines poured out of the Embassy building, rifles poised. This is not a drill, their faces said.
Ben and Kirby were in a sea of chaos as the security staff fought to control the panicking crowd. Kirby’s eyes were huge. ‘What the hell was that?’ he yelled.
‘We’re under attack,’ Ben yelled back as a security guard shoved past with a squawking radio. Sirens were already wailing in the distance, and Marines were dousing the Peugeot with fire extinguishers. Ben grabbed Kirby’s sleeve and led him quickly through the mayhem. ‘Follow me and stay close,’ he said in his ear. Kirby looked blank for a second, then understanding dawned. ‘Oh, Christ. It was you.’
Ben dragged him through the gate. The security personnel and soldiers were all too preoccupied to notice them slip into the grounds, trot across the shadowy lawn to the building and sneak into a side entrance. They found themselves in a back kitchen. The place was empty. Alarms were still screaming all through the building. Ben could hear voices and running footsteps moving in all directions. He guessed that the Ambassador and his wife were already being whisked across town in a high-speed limo convoy, under heavy guard.
‘Mind telling me what just happened?’ Kirby rasped.
‘Not much,’ Ben said. ‘Just over an ounce of PP-01. That’s what the Serbs call C-4 plastic explosive. Enough to make a bit of a bang, not enough to do any serious damage.’
‘You’re insane.’
‘Not really. Think of it as doing them a favour. It’ll shake them up a bit, keep the CIA busy for a few weeks. Their security’s not as tight as they think it is.’
‘There was a sniffer dog. How did you do it?’
‘Sniffer dogs can’t smell through a sack of spices. Now let’s get moving. Try not to get under my feet, OK?’
They made their way through the Embassy, following Claudel’s layout plan and the directions to get to the Ambassador’s private residence within the huge building. Nobody noticed them move quickly and quietly through the
