wondered whether the two had managed to catch the night train to Aswan. If it was on time, they’d get there by about nine the next morning.
He couldn’t believe the stroke of luck he’d had in meeting this Ben Hope, someone who wouldn’t be afraid of a man like Kamal. If things went according to plan, he’d soon be free again. He could have his life back. Maybe one day he’d even be able to forget that this nightmare had ever happened to him. And perhaps it was time to get out of the whole antiquities game. It had turned sour for him now.
He paced up and down, feeling the tingle of excitement growing inside him. Escape. It felt good. He couldn’t wait to get out of here.
Then why wait at all?
He dashed upstairs, and hummed an air from Boccherini to himself as he grabbed two Louis Vuitton suitcases, laid them open on the antique four-poster bed in his room and started throwing clothes into them. Twenty minutes later he burst out of the bedroom with a case in each hand and the house and Ferrari keys in his suit pocket. Trotted down the stairs with jittery haste, crossed the marbled hallway between the busts of Roman emperors and headed briskly for the front door.
He was two feet away, and about to put down one of the cases to reach for the doorknob, when he saw it turn.
His blood froze. He stood there, paralysed, still clutching the cases.
The door swung open.
‘Going somewhere?’ Kamal asked with a smile. He was leaning casually against one of the pillars in the doorway, arms folded nonchalantly, his smile almost pleasant. The van was parked in the moonlight outside the villa. Claudel could see two of Kamal’s men sitting in the front seat-Youssef and the one who never spoke, Emad.
Claudel struggled desperately to come up with a plausible excuse for the bags. ‘I…I was just t-taking some suits and things for dry cleaning,’ he stammered.
‘The midnight laundry?’
Claudel was silent.
Kamal’s smile never wavered. He pushed himself off the pillar, walked inside the house, clicked the door shut behind him. ‘That can wait, can’t it? Come and have a drink with me.’ He slapped Claudel jovially on the arm. ‘I have something to celebrate. I’ll tell you all about it.’
Claudel sighed heavily and tried not to show his absolute despair and panic as he set down the cases and followed Kamal across the hallway and through the tall double doors into the living room.
Kamal was grinning as he flipped on the lights and padded over the cashmere carpet to the drinks cabinet. ‘I see you’ve been having a private celebration of your own,’ he said, noticing the empty champagne bottle and the single glass that Claudel had left sitting on the table. ‘Wouldn’t it be amazing if it turned out we were both celebrating the same thing?’
Claudel laughed nervously. ‘I was just having a nightcap.’
Kamal threw open the drinks cabinet doors, grabbed two crystal brandy glasses, twisted the top off a crystal decanter, and poured out two enormous measures of vintage cognac. ‘Sit down, Pierre. Drink with me.’
Claudel reluctantly accepted the glass Kamal handed him, lowered himself stiffly into a chair and sipped nervously at the brandy. He felt acidity rising in his guts, and it wasn’t just because of mixing drinks. Suddenly the image of Aziz flashed up in his mind.
Aziz had died in this same chair. Just after Kamal had offered him a drink.
Claudel’s glass trembled a little in his hand.
Kamal was leaning back against the wall, watching him closely. ‘Why are you so nervous tonight, my friend?’
‘I’m not nervous,’ Claudel laughed shakily. ‘Why would I be?’
‘I thought perhaps you had something to tell me.’
Claudel swallowed. ‘Like what?’
‘Like you’d found some new lead,’ Kamal said. ‘You do still remember our project, don’t you, Pierre? Our business partnership? The thing we were looking for?’
‘I’m very confident we’ll find it soon.’
‘So am I,’ Kamal smiled.
‘That’s good,’ Claudel replied lamely. A trickle of sweat ran down his brow.
‘Don’t you want to know why I’m so confident?’
Claudel was silent.
‘You haven’t asked me what it is I’m celebrating.’
Claudel frowned. ‘What are you celebrating?’
Kamal grinned. He wagged his finger reproachfully. ‘Pierre, Pierre.’
Claudel’s blood was quickly turning to ice.
Kamal walked up to the mantelpiece, and rested an elbow on it as he took another sip from his drink. He set down the glass and ran his hand down the side of the large antique glass-domed clock that ticked quietly over the fireplace. ‘I’ve always admired this clock very much. What did you say it was?’
Claudel gulped. ‘It’s a rare chiming skeleton clock made in 1860 by James Condliff. Very valuable,’ he added, watching Kamal stroke it.
Kamal met Claudel’s eye. He gave another little smile. Then his face contorted into fury as he shoved the clock off the mantelpiece and it smashed into a thousand pieces against the fire surround.
Claudel jumped to his feet. He gaped in disbelief at the fragments that littered the floor. ‘Why did you do that?’ he roared, beside himself.
Then his heart stopped. Somewhere among the wreckage of the clock was something that shouldn’t have been there. Something that most certainly hadn’t been put there by the clockmaker in 1860.
Kamal stooped down casually and picked it up. He tossed it through the air, and Claudel caught it. He stared at the miniature surveillance device in his palm and his legs almost gave way under him.
‘There’s what I was celebrating,’ Kamal said. ‘I wanted to drink a toast to the fact that we all know where the treasure is now. You, me, and your new friends.’ He took a step forward. Glass crunched under his boot. ‘Do you remember the deal we made, you and I, that day in the desert when we first met? I told you I was a man of my word. That if you helped me, I would repay you. But that if you betrayed me, it wouldn’t work out so well for you. Do you remember?’
Claudel started backing away.
Kamal walked steadily towards him. ‘So imagine my surprise when, on my way home from my business meeting, I discover that you’ve been conspiring against me. You’ve been useless to me from the start, and now this. I think the time has come for me to decide what to do with you. What do you think?’
‘Listen, I can explain…’ Claudel stammered, raising his hands in supplication. ‘This Hope person came here with threats. I had no choice.’
‘I heard every word of your conversation,’ Kamal said. ‘Here, in the wine cellar, in your study, everywhere. There were a dozen mini-webcams on you the whole time. You think I’m a fucking idiot? You think I’ve come this far by trusting shit like you?’
Claudel was backing away more quickly now. He glanced over his shoulder at the hallway behind him. Maybe he could make a run for it. If he could make it to the garden he could scream for help, and perhaps someone would hear.
‘You’re going to die now, Pierre,’ Kamal said.
Claudel panicked and ran, his feet slithering on the marble hallway as he raced towards the front entrance. His hand closed on the heavy doorknob and he wrenched the door open.
Youssef and Emad were standing there in the moonlight, blocking the doorway. Youssef was holding a silenced pistol. Claudel let out a cry of fear, turned and dashed for the stairs.
Kamal bounded up the stairs after him. He lashed out a hand, caught Claudel by the collar and dragged him down to his knees. Claudel rolled on his back, struggling.
Kamal slapped him hard across the face, and again with the back of his hand. He kept slapping until his hand was red with blood.
‘Please,’ Claudel gurgled through burst lips. ‘Please.’
