The Seventh Scroll - Smith Wilbur - Страница 90

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"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

to be taken too seriously."

"And it will be an Ethiopian prison they toss you into.

That you can take seriously."

"You too," he grinned, "if they catch us."

You can be certain that HE has already registered a formal complaint

with the President's office," Geoffrey told them as he drove them to the

airport the next day. "He is most upset at the whole business, I can

tell you. Deportation orders and all that rot.

Never heard the likes."

"Don't fuss yourself, old boy," Nicholas told him. "As it is, neither of

us intends coming back here again. No harm done."

"It's the principle of the thing. Prominent British subject being

treated like a common criminal. No respect shown." He sighed. "Sometimes

I wish I had been born a hundred years ago. We wouldn't have to put up

with this sort of nonsense. just send a gunboat."

"Quite so, Geoffrey, but please don't let it upset you." Geoffrey

hovered around them like a cat with kittens while they checked in at the

Kenya Airways counter. They had only their hand luggage, two small cheap

nylon holdalls that they had bought that morning at a street market.

Nicholas had rolled his dik'dik skin into a ball and wrapped it in an

embroidered shamma that he had purchased in the same market.

Geoffrey waited with them until their flight was called and waved to

them after they passed through the barrier, aiming this affectionate

display more at Royan than Nicholas.

They had been allocated seats behind the wing, and Royan was beside the

window. The Kenya Airways plane started its engines and began to taxi

slowly past the airport buildings. Nicholas was arguing with a

stewardess who wanted him to stow his precious dik-dik skin in its

purple nylon bag in the overhead locker, while Royan peered out of the

porthole beside her for her last glimpse of Addis during takeoffs

Suddenly Royan stiffened in her seat, and while still gazing out of the

window reached across and seized Nicholas's arm.

"Look!" she hissed with such venom in her tone that he leaned across her

to see what had excited her.

"Pegasus!" she exclaimed, and pointed to the Falco executive jet that

had just taxied in and parked at the far end of the airport buildings.

The small, sleek aircraft was painted grpen and on its tall tail fill

the scarlet horse reared on its hind legs in that stylized pose. While

they watched through the window, the door in the fuselage of the green I

Falcon was lowered, and a small reception committee waiting on the

tarmac pressed forward expectantly to greet the passengers as they

appeared in the doorway of the jet.

The first of these was a small man, neatly dressed in a cream tropical

suit and a white panama straw hat. Despite his size he exuded an air of

confidence and command, that special aura of power. His face was pale,

as though he had come from a northern winter, and it looked incongruous

"in this setting. His jaw was firm and stubborn, his nose I prominent

and his gaze beneath dark beetling eyebrows penetrating.

Nicholas'recognized him immediately. He had seen him often enough on the

auction floors at Sotheby's and Christie's. This man was not the type of

person whom anyone would forget in a hurry.

"Von Schiller!" he exclaimed, as the German surveyed with an imperial

gaze the men who waited on the tarmac below him.

"He looks like a bantam rooster," Royan murmured, "or Thai') a standing

cobra."

Von Schiller raised his panama hat and ran down the steps of the Falcon

with a light, athletic tread, and Nicholas said quietly, "You wouldn't

think that he is almost seventy." moves like a man of forty," Royan

agreed. "He "He must dye his hair and eyebrows - see how dark they are."

"My oath!" Nicholas was startled. "Look who is here to greet him."

There was the glint of sunlight on decorations and regimental insignia.

A tall figure in blue uniform detached itself from the welcoming group

and touched the shiny patent-leather brim of his cap in a respectful

salute, before taking von Schiller's hand and shaking it cordially.

"Your erstwhile admirer, General Obeid. No wonder he could not meet us

yesterday. He was much too busy."

"Look, Nicky," Royan gasped. She was no longer watching the pair at the

foot of the steps, who were still clasping hands as they chatted with

animation. Her whole attention was focused on the top of the steps of

the Falcon jet, where another, younger, man had appeared. He was

bareheaded, and Nicholas had the impression of sallow skin and dense,

dark, wavy hair.

"Never seen him in my life before. Who is he?" Nicholas asked her.

"Nahoot Guddabi. Duraid's assistant from the museum.

The man who now has his job."

As Nahoot started down the steps of the Falcon their own aircraft

trundled on down the -tarmac, then swung out on to the main taxi-way and

blocked any further view of the gathering beside the Pegasus jet. Both

of them fell back in their seats and stared at each other for a long

moment.

Nicholas recovered his voice first.

"A witches' sabbath. A convocation of the ugly ones.

We were lucky to witness it. There are no more secrets now. We know very

clearly who the opposition is."

"Von Schiller is the puppet-master," she agreed, breathless with anger

and horror. "But Nahoot Guddabi is his

,Bell hunting dog. Nahoot must be the one- who hired the killers in

Cairo and turned them loose on us. Oh God, Nicky, you it's should have

heard him at the funeral, going on about how much he admired and

respected Duraid. The filthy, murib derous hypocrite!'

They were both silent until the aircraft had taken off and climbed to

cruise altitude, then Royan said quietly, "Of course, you were right

about Obeid. He is deep in von Schiller's pocket also."

"He may simply have been acting as the representative of the Ethiopian

government, paying respect to a major foreign concession-holder,

somebody who they hope is going to discover fabulous copper deposits in

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