The Amulet of Power Page 13

  Omar shrugged. “It breaks down a lot.”

  They waited another twenty minutes, and finally a rusted, dilapidated minivan pulled up.

  “That’s the bus?” asked Lara.

  “That’s the bus.”

  “The four of us will fill it up.”

  “I have seen it carry as many as fifteen grown men,” said Gaafar.

  “On the inside?”

  Gaafar laughed. “Remember to hide your face,” he said, and the four of them climbed into the minivan. Sure enough, it stopped twice more to pick up three more men, and Lara decided she was in more danger of being crushed to death than identified.

  When the minivan was about ten miles out of Khartoum it hit a pothole and blew its left front tire. The driver had everyone climb out while he went around to the back and removed the spare, only to find that it was flat as well.

  Lara was about to ask Omar what they should do next, then remembered not to speak aloud, and simply looked at him questioningly. He gestured her to follow him, Gaafar and Hassam fell into step, and the four of them began walking toward Khartoum.

  “There will be another bus along soon, perhaps a real one,” said Omar when they were out of earshot.

  “That was some bus,” said Lara. “I felt safer when people were shooting at us back in the desert.”

  “We are still in the desert,” said Hassam. “Khartoum is in the desert.”

  “Quiet!” whispered Omar sharply before Lara could reply. She turned and saw that the other three passengers were approaching them. Omar began walking again, and soon all seven of them—the six men and the false boy—were trudging along the pothole-filled tarmac toward Khartoum.

  Finally a large bus, every bit as filthy and rusty as the minivan, honked once and pulled up to a stop, and all seven got on. Omar paid for his party, and they walked past a few seated passengers to the back.

  The leather had been ripped off the seats, and Lara elected to stand, holding onto a strap that hung down from the ceiling. One of the passengers from the van walked back and was soon standing next to her.

  They lurched over the terrible road for a mile, then another, and suddenly the passenger had a knife in his hand and was plunging it into Lara’s robe. The only thing that saved her was the bulkiness of the robe, which concealed the precise location of her body. The knife missed her ribs by inches, and she wasn’t about to give her attacker a second chance. She grabbed his wrist and twisted sharply. There was an audible crack and the man’s mouth opened in a moan, giving Lara a glimpse of the stub of a mutilated tongue. He dropped to one knee, just in time for his face to come into contact with Lara’s swiftly rising knee. As his head shot back, she caught him on the throat with the edge of her hand, and he collapsed.

  “Turn away!” whispered Omar so softly that only Lara could hear him. “You’re humiliated and can’t meet anyone’s eyes!”

  All the passengers turned to stare at her. She was fully prepared to pull her guns and hold them at bay until the bus reached Khartoum, but then Omar stepped forward.

  “This scum actually had the nerve to try to kiss my baby brother!” he announced in outraged tones.

  Then, as one, the passengers applauded.

  “Serves you right, you son of a pig!” said Omar, landing a heavy kick to the unconscious assassin’s rib cage.

  Fifteen minutes later the bus came to a stop, the driver announced that they had reached the end of his route, and Lara, after many days and narrow escapes, climbed down the shaky stairs and finally set foot in Khartoum.

  She looked around, trying to get her bearings based on her one previous trip to the city.

  At least we should be all through with riflemen on horseback and slashers in buses, she thought.

  “Welcome to Khartoum,” said Omar. “I hope you enjoyed the journey, because now is when things start getting dangerous.”

  18

  They walked three blocks to the Bortai Hotel. They paused before the entrance, and then Omar shook his head.

  “Too many people know you’re in the country now,” he said, “and they know we have used the Bortai in the past.” He whispered to Hassam. “Hassam will go ahead and get us lodgings at the one other hotel where we can provide security. Most of the Mahdists don’t know we have any contacts there, so it should be safe—from them, at least—for the few days we’ll be here before you find the Amulet.”

  “It could be months or even years looking for it,” said Lara.

  “You are Lara Croft,” said Gaafar. “You will find it sooner than anyone thinks.”

  “I appreciate your confidence,” she said. “I hope it’s not misplaced.” She turned to Omar. “Where will we be staying?”

  “The Arak Hotel. It is half a mile from here.”

  They walked slowly, pretending to window-shop, giving Hassam time to make the arrangements. When they arrived, the Arak turned out to actually be nicer than Lara had anticipated. During the colonial era it had been nicer still, and the management had made every effort to keep it up during the intervening half century of war, drought, and poverty.

  Omar walked up to the desk, nodded to the clerk, and came away a moment later with a number of keys. He handed one to Lara and one to Gaafar.

  “You will be staying in a suite on the third floor,” he announced. “Winston Churchill once stayed there.” He paused. “Gaafar and Hassam will be on one side of you, and I will be on the other.”

  The elevator wasn’t working—she suspected it hadn’t worked in some time—and they climbed the winding staircase, then walked down the broad corridor until they came to her suite. She unlocked the door and walked in.

  There was a large parlor with a number of chairs and couches, and best of all, given the heat, a bowl filled with fruit and figs on a small table. The bedroom and bathroom were off to the left.

  “I hope the accommodation is acceptable,” said Omar.

  “It will be just fine,” she said. “Come on in and have some grapes or a fig.”

  The three men entered the parlor. Gaafar and Omar seemed unimpressed; Hassam’s jaw dropped, and she had the feeling that these, threadbare as they were, comprised the most luxurious surroundings in which he had ever found himself.

  “Where will Kevin stay when he arrives?” she asked.

  “Before I answer that, I am afraid I must ask an indelicate question,” said Omar uncomfortably.

  “We’re just friends,” she said. “I never met him before I went to Edfu.”

  “Then he will room with me,” said Omar. “Assuming he is still on the Amenhotep.”

  “Why wouldn’t he be?”

  “The Mahdists or the Silent Ones may have killed him,” answered Omar. “Or he may be as brilliant as you believe. He may have figured out where the Amulet is hidden, and left the boat to go retrieve it.”

  “He doesn’t know where it is,” said Lara.

  “You are sure?”

  “The Sudan is his area of expertise,” she explained. “Yet he was looking for the Amulet at Edfu. That means he hasn’t been able to find it here.”

  “You will find it,” said Gaafar with conviction.

  “He’s the expert,” replied Lara.

  “But you are—”

  “I know,” she interrupted wearily. “I’m Lara Croft.”

  “Precisely.”

  “It gets to be a burden after a while,” said Lara.

  “Where will you begin looking for the Amulet?” asked Omar.

  “I have no idea,” she answered. “After all those days riding El Khobar and Nasrullah, and then what passed for a bus ride, I think I deserve the evening off. Tomorrow I’d like to see where Gordon lived, where his headquarters were, and if any of his writings are in the local library or museum I’ll need to read them.”

  “I will arrange it,” promised Omar. He turned to Hassam. “Ask Ismail when the Amenhotep is expected. If he doesn’t know, go to the docks and make inquiry.”

  Hassam nodded and left.

&nb
sp; “Who is Ismail?” asked Lara.

  “The desk clerk—and my cousin,” said Omar.

  “Well, it’s comforting to know you have a man on duty here.”

  Omar and Gaafar both laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked.

  “A man,” repeated Omar. “Hassam has seen to it that we now have eleven men on duty at the Arak. There is at least one on each floor, and two in the kitchen to make sure your food is not poisoned.”

  “Are they all your cousins?”

  “No,” he replied. “Some are Gaafar’s.”

  “Now I know why you felt we’d be safe in the Arak,” said Lara.

  “You are not safe anywhere,” Omar corrected her. “Remember Abdul—he is my cousin, too. You are merely in less danger here.”

  She noticed Gaafar eyeing the fruit bowl and urged him to take one.

  “They are for you,” he said.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “But later you will be.”

  “Then I’ll have room service bring more,” she replied. “I assume somebody’s cousin will deliver them, after someone else’s cousin makes sure they’re safe.”

  “You are sure?”

  “I’m sure. Now eat.” Then, suddenly, she hissed: “Stop!”

  She pulled Gaafar’s knife from its sheath and plunged it into the fruit bowl. There was a crunching noise and she came away with a scorpion impaled on the blade.

  She held the scorpion up and studied it. “This fellow is a Lemurus quinquestriatus—a Deathstalker scorpion. One sting and you’re dead inside of five minutes. He’s smaller than Pandinas imperator, the African emperor scorpion, but he’s much deadlier.”

  “How do you know so much about scorpions?” asked Gaafar, clearly impressed.

  “I spend a lot of time in the desert. If I didn’t know what was dangerous and what wasn’t, I couldn’t survive a week.” She returned Gaafar’s knife and turned to Omar. “I think you need to hire more cousins.”

  “No,” answered Omar. “We need to eliminate at least one of the cousins we already have.” He turned to Gaafar. “You know what to do.”

  Gaafar nodded and walked to the door.

  “Whoever it is,” added Omar, “do not kill him so swiftly that he has no chance to name any confederates.”

  Gaafar stepped out into the corridor and closed the door behind him.

  “Why didn’t whoever placed the scorpion here simply walk up and shoot me?” mused Lara. “Why go to all this trouble? Not only did he take the chance that we’d spot it, but there was only a one-in-four chance that it would sting me instead of one of you.”

  “He couldn’t walk up and kill all four of us before one of us killed him,” answered Omar. “This way he hides his identity. If the scorpion failed, as it did, he is still alive and able to make another attempt on your life.” He paused. “And never forget—killing you is important to the Mahdists, but it is not the ultimate goal. Their mission is to find the Amulet, so even if you are dead, the race for the Amulet continues, and it is to their advantage to have a spy in our midst.”

  “Then we can expect more indirect attacks?”

  “It depends exactly who is doing the attacking,” replied Omar. “If it is a known Mahdist, he has no reason to conceal his identity or work indirectly. If it is a traitor, he’ll do everything he can to conceal his identity. The Silent Ones, of course, may strike at any time.”

  “That’s very reassuring,” said Lara.

  “By the way, you can get out of the robes whenever you wish,” said Omar. “I had hoped we could keep your presence a secret for another day or two, but obviously our enemies already know you are here.”

  “How do you suppose they found out so soon?” asked Lara, removing her robes. “We were just given this suite ten minutes ago.”

  Omar shrugged. “Perhaps all the other rooms are full. Perhaps the traitor knew we would give an Englishwoman the Churchill Suite. Perhaps our enemies didn’t have to see through your disguise at all; perhaps they merely saw Gaafar and Hassam and myself with a slight stranger and drew the logical conclusion.”

  “Should we change hotels?”

  “I don’t think it would help,” said Omar. “They know you’re here; they’ll be watching us from now on. If we move to another hotel, they’ll know it instantly—and despite the scorpion, we can still provide better protection here. There is one traitor in our midst, but we have ten men working in the Arak who are willing to sacrifice themselves to keep you safe.” He paused. “We not only have to worry about spies and Mahdists, but there are the Silent Ones, who never want the Amulet found and would be happy to kill you now, before you figure out where it is.”

  “That’s stupid,” she said. “It’s becoming active. It seems to have a will of its own, and it wants to be found. If Kevin or I don’t find it, then someone else will—but it’s pretty clear that it’s no longer content to be inactive.”

  “I know,” agreed Omar. “But we cannot convince all of those who should be our allies, who oppose the Mahdists as we do.”

  “We’ll worry about each in turn as we come to them,” said Lara, tiring of the conversation, which seemed to be about how many different factions wanted to kill her. She laid her robes onto a sofa. “They’re useful in the desert, but they’re awkward when I’m inside.”

  “I do not think you will have to return to the desert. Never forget that Gordon was surrounded. The Amulet must be in Khartoum.”

  “He sent Colonel Stewart all the way to Edfu,” noted Lara. “What makes you think he couldn’t have sent someone else out of the country with the Amulet?”

  “Let us hope he didn’t,” said Omar. “The Sudan is big enough. I would hate to think we had to search the entire world.”

  “It would make life much easier if you were right—but it’s always possible that he was using Stewart as a decoy, that while his enemies watched him and Stewart, he gave it to some Sudanese man or woman to take into the desert, or to Somalia, or to Libya, or somewhere else.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “I don’t know,” answered Lara. “But you have to consider all possibilities. For example, Colonel Stewart traversed the Nile all the way from Khartoum to Edfu. What makes you so sure he didn’t simply throw it overboard, or bury it in a riverbank hundreds of miles from Edfu?”

  “Because history tells us that he did not travel alone until he reached Edfu, and he would not take the chance that someone might be observing him.”

  “Someone observed him going into the Temple of Horus,” she pointed out.

  “But we know now that he was acting as a decoy,” answered Omar. “If he actually had the Amulet with him, he would have waited until the middle of the night, and approached it by a circuitous route, making sure that he wasn’t being observed.”

  “Well, it sounds good, anyway,” said Lara.

  “You know it was not at the Temple of Horus or you would have found it.”

  “I keep telling you: I wasn’t looking for it,” she replied. “Besides, do you know how big that temple is? You could hide a hundred Amulets in it.”

  “But no one did,” said Omar with certainty. “Since the journalist’s memoir was found, the Mahdists have searched the temple top to bottom. If neither you nor they nor Dr. Mason found it, it was not there.”

  “I hope you’re right,” said Lara. “At least, I’m going to proceed on that assumption.”

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Come in,” said Lara. “It’s not locked.”

  Hassam entered the parlor. “The Amenhotep is four days overdue,” he announced.

  Lara looked at Omar with concern, but Omar merely smiled. “That’s faster than usual. Are they in radio contact with the port authority?”

  Hassam nodded. “They expect to be here tomorrow morning.”

  “Mason is still in good health?” continued Omar.

  “They have not reported any unusual incidents, and I thought it best not to
ask about him.”

  “You were right,” said Omar approvingly.

  “I saw Gaafar walking through the lobby on my way back to the suite,” said Hassam. “Is something wrong?”

  “There has already been an attempt to kill Lara Croft,” confirmed Omar.

  “I will get my rifle,” said Hassam instantly.

  Omar shook his head. “That will not be necessary. Gaafar will take care of it.”

  “But—”

  “I want you to stay here to protect her.”

  “I can protect myself,” said Lara firmly.

  “Right now you are the most important person in the whole of the Sudan,” said Omar. “Through no fault of your own, you also have the most enemies. There is no question that you are able to protect yourself under normal circumstances, but you must acknowledge that these circumstances are anything but normal.”

  Suddenly a hideous scream echoed through the corridors of the hotel. A moment later Gaafar, the front of his robe spattered with blood, entered the room and closed the door behind him.

  “My family just became smaller,” he announced.

  “Who was it?” asked Omar.

  “Abdullahi.”

  “He prepared the fruit bowl?”

  “No, that was Khalifa,” answered Gaafar. “Abdullahi is the one who placed it in the room.”

  “You are sure Khalifa was not a confederate?” asked Omar.

  “I am sure.”

  “How sure?” persisted Omar.

  “He will be out of hospital the day after tomorrow.”

  “I think we had better have Ismail and Suliman make sure there are no other traitors on the staff.”

  “I can do that,” said Gaafar.

  “I know you can—but we cannot continue finding trusted replacements for each one you question.” He turned to Lara and said, only half-jokingly, “I hope you can find the Amulet before we run out of family members.”

  19

  Lara awoke shortly after sunrise, washed her hands and face in the trickle of water that came out of the bathroom faucet, dressed in her shorts and top, donned Omar’s robes over them, and went down to the lobby, where she found her three companions waiting for her.