The Cult of Osiris

Nina pulled free. ‘Okay, then. If you’ll just show me the zodiac . . .’

Osir chuckled. ‘It’s not here.’

A chill ran through her. ‘What?’

‘I have business in Monaco, so my people are reassembling the zodiac on my yacht - I want to be right there while its secrets are deciphered. You’ll come with me.’ Seeing her uncertain expression, he added, ‘It’s a very nice yacht.’

‘There is nobody else you were planning to meet, is there?’ asked Shaban with predatory suspicion. ‘Like your husband?’

Nina waved a dismissive hand. ‘Oh, God, no. The jerk.’ She turned back to Osir. ‘So. You have a yacht, huh?’

Macy paced back and forth beside the rental car, looking anxiously along the lake at the castle for any signs of activity - or Nina. She saw neither. More pacing - then finally she couldn’t take any more and opened the door. ‘How can you just sit there?’

‘ ’Cause it’s more comfortable than standing?’ Eddie offered.

‘You know what I mean! It’s your wife in there! Why aren’t you worried about her?’

‘I am worried about her.’

‘You don’t look it! What is this, some British stiff upper lip thing?’

‘Just get in and sit down.’ Sulkily, Macy climbed in and slammed the door.

In truth, though, he was worried about Nina. As he’d told her in Paris, meeting Osir in person was like not only walking into the lion’s den, but doing so wearing a jacket made of meat and a T-shirt reading Lions are pussies.

But she had her own arguments: that letting Osir raid the Pyramid of Osiris would be an archaeological tragedy; that a dangerous cult getting its hands on a vast fortune could only be a bad thing; that after everything Osir and Shaban had put them through, didn’t he want the chance for some payback? He couldn’t deny that the last had a certain appeal.

Which still didn’t mean he liked her plan. But now that it was in progress, all they could do was wait.

‘How do you stand it?’ Macy said, breaking the silence.

‘Stand what?’

‘Just . . . waiting!’

‘There isn’t much else I can do, is there? And you backed her up about going in there in the first bloody place. Did you think she was just going to knock on the door, say “Hi, I’ve come to see your zodiac”, then walk right back out?’

‘But she’s been in there over two hours! Oh, my God, what if something’s happened to her? She might be —’

‘She’s not,’ Eddie said firmly, hoping he was being truthful. ‘Okay, you want to know how I stand waiting around like this? Because I’m used to it.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Being a soldier isn’t all running about and shooting at people. Ninety-nine per cent of the time, it’s boring as fuck. You go to a place, then you wait for something to happen. Mostly, you eventually get orders to go to some other place, and wait again.’

‘So what do you do to keep occupied?’

‘Nothing. Know why?’ She shook her head, curious. ‘Because when you do something to take your mind off the boredom, you also take your mind off what you’re supposed to be waiting for.’

‘Which is?’

A thin smile. ‘Trouble. If you’re chatting with your mates, or listening to your iPod or whatever . . . that’s when some arsehole with an AK’ll pop up and blow your head off - and you won’t even see it coming.’

She looked unhappy at the prospect. ‘Oh.’

‘So yeah, waiting around doing nothing in a combat zone’s a pain in the arse. But that’s how I stand it, ’cause it means that when something does happen, I’m ready for it.’

‘I get you. Although I really don’t think I’m cut out to be a soldier.’ She cocked her head. ‘Wait, so why are you chatting to me now?’

He grinned. ‘ ’Cause this isn’t a combat zone.’ A glance towards the castle. ‘Yet.’

She wasn’t sure how to respond to that, but the trilling of Eddie’s phone immediately took both their minds off the subject. He switched it to speaker mode. ‘Nina! Are you okay?’

The reply was a hurried whisper. ‘Yeah. I think Osir believed me.’

‘You think?’

‘Well, he didn’t have me killed on the spot! Look, I can’t talk long - I’m in the bathroom and they’ll get suspicious.’

‘Did you see the zodiac?’ Macy asked.

‘No - it’s not here.’

Eddie looked at Macy in dismay. ‘Bugg—’

‘Don’t even start,’ said Nina, cutting him off. ‘It’s on his yacht in Monaco. That’s where we’re going. He’s got a private jet at Geneva airport.’

‘How am I going to find you if you’re on a bloody boat?’

‘I don’t know! Maybe I can - dammit, gotta go! I’ll see you soon, I love you, bye!’

‘Love you too,’ said Eddie, just after the line closed. He looked at Macy, who had put a worried hand to her mouth. ‘Well, that’s fucking marvellous.’

‘You . . . you know how you didn’t want her to go in there, and I was all, “No, we have to find the pyramid before he does”?’ she said. ‘Now thinking: ’kay, might have been wrong.’

‘Bit late,’ Eddie growled. He banged a fist on the steering wheel. ‘Shit. Monaco’s over three hundred miles away. It’ll take us at least five hours to drive there through the bloody Alps. Probably more with all the grand prix traffic.’ A clattering rumble reached him: a helicopter flying up the valley, heading for the castle. ‘And they’ll be there in less than an hour.’

‘What are we going to do?’

‘Get there as fast as possible and wait for her to call us,’ he said grimly, starting the car. ‘Nowt else we can do.’ He pulled out, and with a crunch of gravel spun the car round to head south.

14

Monaco

Though hardly the only micro-state to dot the map of Europe, the Principality of Monaco is by far the wealthiest, at least in terms of income per head - and also the most glamorous. The tiny country’s location on the French Riviera near the Italian border gives it a warm subtropical climate, and its royal family and casinos add an air of expensive mystique . . . to say nothing of its tax haven status, which makes it a magnet for the super-rich.

It is, however, arguably most famous for its annual motor race, million-dollar vehicles screaming through the twisting streets at over 180 miles per hour. From the foredeck of Osir’s huge yacht, the Solar Barque, moored offshore beyond Monaco’s outer breakwater, Nina couldn’t see the Saturday qualifying session as the drivers steeled themselves for the Sunday race - but she could hear it, the roaring wail of ultra-high- performance engines echoing off buildings as cars speared along the harbour front before looping back into the city and making the steep ascent to Casino Square.

‘Wow,’ she said to Osir. ‘Must be distracting if you live there and you’re trying to watch TV.’

The cult leader was, in fact, trying to watch TV. ‘I think anyone who lives in Monaco and doesn’t like the noise of racing cars can afford to take a vacation for one week each year,’ he said, eyes fixed on a live broadcast of the qualifying session. ‘But then, anyone - no!’ He muttered an Arabic curse.

‘Someone else has beaten Virtanen’s lap time?’ asked Shaban from a nearby lounger with mocking