The Amulet of Power Page 14

  “I know we agreed there was no more need for a disguise,” she said, indicating the robes, “but somehow I don’t think my usual outfit would go over too well. Besides, this way I can still wear my pistols.”

  “You are always thinking ahead,” said Hassam admiringly.

  “Right now the only thing I’m thinking about is breakfast. Where’s the restaurant?”

  “It is closed,” said Omar.

  “When does it open? I’m famished!”

  Hassam smiled wanly. “In three weeks.”

  “All right,” she said. “Where can I find some food?”

  “We’re just a few blocks from the Sudan Club,” said Omar.

  “The Sudan Club?” she repeated. “What’s that?”

  “A private club for your countrymen,” he said. “It numbered more than twelve hundred members at Independence back in 1956. Today it has less than one hundred and fifty members, and the building is in serious need of repair, but it does serve English breakfasts.”

  “I could kill for a good English breakfast!” said Lara enthusiastically. “Let’s go.”

  “We will take you there, and we will wait for you,” said Omar. “But we are not allowed inside.”

  “But this is your country,” she protested.

  “True. But it is your country’s private club.” He paused. “It has the only squash court and the best swimming pool in the city.”

  “Do any of your relatives work there?” she asked.

  “A few,” answered Omar. “And doubtless some Mahdists as well. No one of them is quite sure who is on which side, so I think you’ll be safe there as long as you remain in the public rooms.”

  “All right,” said Lara. “We’ll go there, I’ll have some breakfast, I’ll join the three of you while you eat, and then we’ll go meet the Amenhotep.”

  “We have already eaten,” said Gaafar.

  “Right,” said Lara. “I forgot: This place is teeming with your relatives.” She lowered her voice. “What did the police say when they found the man you killed last night?”

  “They will not find him,” answered Gaafar.

  “We’re not air-conditioned. Even if you hid him, he’s not going to smell very good by tomorrow.”

  Gaafar smiled. “He is not in the hotel.”

  “Where is he?”

  “After you were asleep, I left Hassam guarding your door and I took him swimming.”

  “Dead men can’t swim,” said Lara.

  “I know.”

  “The hotel’s pool or the Nile?”

  “We’re in the middle of another drought,” answered Gaafar. “There hasn’t been water in the Arak’s pool all year.”

  “And no one saw you drop him in the Nile?”

  “Probably someone did,” interjected Omar.

  “And they didn’t report it?”

  “You wouldn’t believe all the things that get dropped into the Nile at night,” said Omar. “Most of them are never reported. Shall we go?”

  He led her out the door, and the four of them walked the half-mile to a white building that had seen better days and better decades. A large bronze plaque next to the door proclaimed that it was the Sudan Club. Then, beneath its name, in smaller letters, was the inscription: For Members Only.

  A tall, lean Sudanese man opened the door.

  “Welcome to the Sudan Club, Lara Croft,” he said. “I hope you will enjoy your meal here.”

  Lara was surprised to hear her name spoken, and turned questioningly to Omar.

  “Another cousin?” she asked.

  “Almost,” replied Omar. “He is my half-brother Mustafa. He will take you to your table and watch over you until you are ready to leave.”

  Lara followed Mustafa through a large entryway, then turned left, and found herself in a walled courtyard. Some fifteen diners, all but two of them male, presumably all of them British, were seated at various umbrella-shaded tables. Most stared disapprovingly at her when she entered; at first she thought it was because she was an unescorted woman, but she quickly realized that it was because she was dressed in Sudanese robes.

  A single sheet of paper, with the day’s menu mimeographed on it, was handed to her. She studied it and then turned to the waiter.

  “I’ll have porridge, scrambled eggs with sausage, and tea.”

  “No sausage,” said the waiter.

  “You’re out of it?” she said. “What else have you got? Bacon, perhaps?”

  “No bacon,” he said severely.

  “Let me think about it,” said Lara. “Come back in a few moments.”

  The waiter walked away, and a white-haired gentleman at the next table leaned over.

  “Excuse me for interfering, my dear,” he said. “I couldn’t help overhearing. You are an Englishwoman, are you not?”

  “Yes.”

  “I won’t even ask why you are dressed in such apparel,” he said. “Let me give you a piece of advice: If you ask for sausage or any other pork products, you will be refused and told they don’t have any.”

  “What’s the secret?” asked Lara. “I notice you have sausage on your plate.”

  “You just have to speak a little British,” he said with a smile. “Ask for bangers. They don’t know it’s our informal word for sausages. They just open the banger package and fry them. They probably think it’s beef or lamb.”

  “Thanks,” said Lara. “I’ll try it.”

  She ordered bangers with her eggs, and got them. When her food arrived she closed her eyes and just enjoyed inhaling the odors for a minute before she began eating. It was possible she’d had another meal this good since she was trapped in the tomb back in Edfu, but she couldn’t remember one.

  With the exception of the man who had given her the hint, none of the other club members made any effort to introduce themselves or start up a conversation, and for that she was grateful. She didn’t feel like lying, and she had no intention of telling anyone the real reason she was here. She was aware that Mustafa was hovering near the entrance to the kitchen, making himself as inconspicuous as possible, but never letting her out of his sight. When she finished she left some Egyptian pounds on the table and got to her feet. Mustafa came over, picked up the money and returned it to her, explained that she was a guest of the club—a statement no one challenged or seemed to care about—and led her back to the club’s front door, where Omar and Gaafar were waiting for her.

  “Where’s Hassam?” she asked.

  “He’s gone ahead, just in case the Amenhotep has already arrived,” said Omar. “We wouldn’t want Kevin Mason wandering off in the wrong direction.”

  The three of them walked to the riverfront, where Hassam was waiting for them.

  “Soon,” he said. Then he shrugged. “That is probably exactly what they said the last four mornings.”

  “Almost everything in this country needs fixing,” complained Omar bitterly. “The one thing we absolutely do not need is a charismatic leader who is intent on destroying what’s left. You and Mason must find the Amulet before the Mahdists do.”

  “We’ll do our best,” said Lara. “You know,” she added, looking at the buildings all crowded together by the river, “it’s not London or Paris or New York, but it’s a lot bigger and more built up than when General Gordon was here. So much has changed in more than a century. It’s always possible that the Amulet is encased in cement, buried beneath the cornerstone of some five-story building.”

  Omar shook his head. “Gordon was a careful man, and he knew what he had in his possession. He would never have simply buried it in the empty streets of Khartoum and hoped that someday someone would erect a building over it.”

  “Probably not,” agreed Lara. “But I hope you’re wrong.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if it’s part of a building, or beneath a slab foundation, it will never be found, which I gather will please you as much as my finding it.”

  “Yes and no,” he answered. “If I knew it was in such a p
lace, inaccessible for all time to come, I think I would be satisfied. . . . But there is always a chance that if you do not find it on your own, it will lead or call or direct you—or someone—to where it lays hidden.”

  Suddenly Gaafar nudged him with an elbow. “I see the boat.”

  Lara and Omar looked down the river, and sure enough, the rusted, decrepit Amenhotep was finally in sight.

  “It will be here in ten minutes,” announced Omar.

  His prediction was optimistic. It took the Amenhotep more than half an hour to reach them, and another five to attach the gangplank.

  The first one off the ship was the captain himself. He was followed by half a dozen men who looked like they had just escaped from jail or were destined to wind up there before long. Then Mason appeared and walked down the gangplank and onto the shore.

  Lara was about to approach him, but Omar grabbed her arm and held her back.

  “What’s the matter?” she said.

  “Wait.”

  “Why?”

  “I have spotted three Mahdists. Let’s see if they are here for Mason, or if they have some other reason for meeting the boat.”

  Lara spent the next couple of minutes scanning the faces in the crowd, trying to pick out the Mahdists. As she did so, Mason walked slowly through the mass of people, obviously looking for her. Finally he gave up and began walking toward the Bortai Hotel, as she’d instructed in the note she’d left him.

  “All right, they are not here for him,” said Omar.

  Lara walked ahead and caught up with Mason before he had gone another hundred feet. She reached out and touched his shoulder.

  He turned and looked at her, eyes widening in surprise and pleasure. “Lara!”

  “Did you have a pleasant voyage?” she asked, returning his smile, surprised at how glad she was to see him.

  “I searched all over that damned boat for a few hours, looking for you, before I found your note and realized you were all right,” he answered. “The trip was pretty dull. There was nothing to read, so I spent most of my time on deck and got to brush up on a couple of local dialects.” He looked around. “Are you alone?”

  “No, I have friends with me. I just thought I’d better speak to you first, so you’ll know you can trust them. They have been with me since I left the boat.” She turned and nodded to Omar and the others, who approached them. “This is Omar, this is Gaafar, and this is Hassam. I don’t know their last names, and frankly, it’s probably safer for all of us if neither you or I ever learn them.”

  “I recognize two of you from the boat,” said Mason.

  “Only two?” asked Omar with an amused grin.

  “Oh, hell!” said Mason after studying his face once again. “You were the waiter!”

  Omar bowed. “At your service, Dr. Mason.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you all,” said Mason. “And if Lara vouches for you, that’s good enough for me. I hope your trip was as uneventful as mine.”

  “We’ve had our share of events,” said Lara. “I’ll tell you about them later.”

  “Later?” he repeated. “What are we doing now?”

  “Have you eaten breakfast?” she asked.

  “Well, I ate something,” replied Mason, making a face. “I’d hesitate to call it breakfast.”

  “You don’t have any luggage, right?”

  “As you’ll recall, we left Cairo in rather a hurry.”

  “Then there’s no need to feed you or to take you to our hotel right now,” said Lara. “So we might as well get to work.”

  “An hour from now will be soon enough,” said Omar.

  “Oh?” said Lara. “What do you suggest we do first?”

  “Lose the men who are following us.”

  20

  Omar led them on a torturous route as the morning temperature topped the one hundred degree Fahrenheit mark, a sign of worse to come by midday. They circled city blocks, cut through alleyways, walked into the Aeropole Hotel and walked out through a side entrance. After half an hour the little group came to a stop.

  “Well?” asked Mason.

  “We have eluded all but one of them,” announced Omar.

  “What happens now?”

  “Now you and Lara go to work.” He turned to Gaafar. “You know what to do.”

  Gaafar nodded and walked into the open doorway of a small fabric store.

  “We just walk?” asked Mason.

  “That is correct,” answered Omar. “Hassam and I will accompany you.”

  “And what about the man who’s following us?”

  “He won’t be following us once he passes the fabric store,” said Omar with a grim smile.

  “Well,” said Lara to Mason, “where do you want to go first—the library, the National Museum, or the Ethnographical Museum?”

  “I don’t suppose it matters,” answered Mason. “Sooner or later we have to see them all.”

  “Let’s start at the National Museum, then,” she said. “It’s the largest of the three.”

  “Sounds good to me,” said Mason. He looked around. “Which way is it?”

  “You’re kidding!” said Lara. “Your father contributed two rooms’ worth to it. They named the Kevin Mason Gallery after him.”

  “I’m all turned around,” he explained. “It was eluding those men. I couldn’t even tell you where the Nile is.”

  “Follow me,” said Lara, leading the party to El Gamaa Avenue. They reached the Botanical Gardens in a couple of blocks, and a large brick building loomed up behind all the foliage.

  “Do you know where you are now?” asked Lara.

  “Of course,” said Mason.

  She turned to Omar. “Are you two coming in with us?”

  “I will join you,” he answered. “Hassam will guard the entrance.”

  “Why bother?” asked Mason. “He can’t stop anyone from entering.”

  “You’d be surprised at what he can do,” replied Omar.

  “I mean, it would draw too much attention.”

  “To whom?” asked Omar with a smile.

  “Ah!” said Mason approvingly. “I see! It will cause enough of a commotion that we’ll be forewarned and can leave by a different exit.”

  “All right,” said Lara. “If we hear a fight, we’ll find another way out.”

  “And if they’re already waiting inside,” added Mason, “I’ve got a gun in my shoulder holster and I’m sure you’ve got your pistols under those robes. But I doubt they’ll attack us here. They’ve got to have figured out that if we’re here researching Gordon and the Mahdi, we don’t have the Amulet yet, so why rush things when we still might lead them to it?”

  “That logic might work for the Mahdists,” said Lara. “But not the Silent Ones.”

  “The who?” asked Mason.

  Lara explained as they climbed the stairs leading to the main entrance of the museum. Omar, Mason, and Lara walked through it; Hassam remained behind.

  “All right,” said Lara. “Shall we split up or do it together?”

  “Together,” said Omar before Mason could answer. “If you split up, I can’t watch you both.”

  “Watch Lara,” said Mason. “I can take care of myself.”

  “If you insist,” said Omar. “We’ll meet you back here in two hours.”

  Mason headed off to the far end of the museum, and Lara turned to Omar.

  “You agreed awfully fast,” she said. “I thought you wanted to keep an eye on both of us.”

  “That was just good manners,” replied Omar. “You are the one we are counting on, so you are the one I will guard.”

  “All right,” she said. “It’s too hot to argue. Let me get to a museum directory. I need to find what they have on Gordon and the Mahdi, and if possible I’d like to see a map of Khartoum as it was in 1885.”

  She soon found herself in the Gordon Room, which was filled with photos of the man, medals he’d won in China and the Sudan, a proclamation he had signed years before the siege in which
he abolished all slavery in the Sudan, a portrait that had been painted in his home in England a year before he’d been summoned to defend Khartoum, and a trio of original manuscripts for religious monographs he had written. His sword and pistol were in display cases, as were three of his uniforms. There was even a glass case containing the saddle he had used when directing the Battle of Omdurman, and another displaying the telescope with which he studied the Mahdi’s forces across the river during the siege.

  There were no photos of the Mahdi, but there was a jeweled dagger that was said to have belonged to him, and a pair of letters he had written to his generals.

  She looked around at the photographs and exhibits. “He was quite a man, that Gordon. It’s just amazing that he could have held out for so long with no army, no artillery, hardly any food. . . .”

  “He had his God,” answered Omar. “And they say his faith was as strong as the Mahdi’s.”

  “He also took comfort from the knowledge that a relief column would arrive at any moment,” said Lara. “The column arrived two days after Khartoum fell, and Lord Kitchener didn’t retake the city for a dozen years.” She paused. “Of course, Gordon didn’t know that. All his information said that he had only to hold out a few more days or weeks until the column arrived. He may have lost, but it was a truly remarkable bit of soldiering.”

  “He was a remarkable man. They both were. And they were both sure that they had Allah’s blessing.”

  Lara sighed. “Well, I’d better see what I can glean from all this.”

  She began examining each item, each photograph, with a single-minded intensity. After she’d been through the entire room twice in an hour and was starting to go through it a third time, Omar stepped forward.

  “What exactly is it that you are looking for?” he asked. “Perhaps I can help.”

  She shook her head. “I’m just trying to learn how his mind worked—why he did this instead of that. Did he ever feel self-doubt or fear? Did he have any respect or compassion for his enemies? When did he know for certain that he couldn’t save Khartoum, and when he finally did know it, why didn’t he at least save himself?”

  “And have you discovered anything about his mental processes?”