Pharaoh by Valerio Massimo Manfredi

why?’
    ‘They were Jaguars, if I’m not mistaken. French-made stuff. What were they doing here? What I mean is, those had to be Israeli fighters, right?’
    Gordon was uncertain how to answer. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said. ‘I don’t know much about weapons. Anyway, the situation is incredibly tense in the whole Middle East. Nothing would surprise me. But don’t worry, the area we’re working in is far off the beaten track. No one will bother you.’
    They had reached Maddox’s trailer. Gordon knocked and their host answered the door personally. His hair was still wet from the shower and he had changed: a Panama suit, blue shirt and cotton neckerchief.
    ‘Merry Christmas to you all!’ he greeted them. ‘Gordon, Professor Blake, please, come in. I was just getting myself a drink. What do you say to a martini?’
    ‘A martini would be wonderful,’ said Blake.
    ‘Fine for me too,’ said Gordon.
    Sullivan was sitting in a corner of the room and was already sipping his cocktail. He greeted them with a nod.
    The table was set with real porcelain, crystal and silver, a carafe of water and one of white wine, and a basket on the white tablecloth held freshly baked Bedouin bread. A synthetic Christmas tree sat on a table in the corner, decorated with dried desert fruits that had been decorated by hand and some coloured lights that blinked on and off.
    Maddox had them sit down, with Blake to his right. ‘I’m pleased that you accepted my invitation, Professor Blake,’ he said. ‘Mr Sullivan will already have explained everything, I assume.’
    ‘Yes, he has indeed.’
    ‘What do you think?’
    Blake tasted his martini. Exactly the way he liked it: the glass had been just rinsed with vermouth, then filled with straight gin and ice.
    ‘It’s hard to say without having seen anything, but from what Gordon tells me it would seem to be a very important discovery. Too important to be investigated like this.’
    Maddox looked him straight in the eye. ‘You are quite . . . forthright, Professor. That’s fine with me. I don’t like beating around the bush myself. Do you mean that you don’t feel up to the task, or you don’t approve of our methods?’
    An Arab waiter came and began to serve them. ‘I hope you like couscous. It’s all we have.’
    ‘Couscous is fine. I love it. Mr Maddox, if I’ve understood the situation, what I feel doesn’t make much of a difference, and I hardly think it would cause you to change your mind. On the other hand, I’m virtually washed up in my field and quite frankly I’m grateful for this opportunity. In other words, I’m in no condition to make demands. I would only like it to be clear that I’ve accepted this job purely in the interest of science, and in the hopes of publishing the results of my preliminary exploration and the studies that will follow.’
    Maddox poured him a glass of wine. ‘I’m not sure that you will have the possibility of conducting any further studies, other than viewing the tomb and the objects it contains.’
    ‘I have to, Mr Maddox. You can’t be saying that you expect me to understand everything at first glance. Let me tell you, I don’t think anyone could.’
    Maddox listened quietly and Sullivan looked at him from the corner of his eye.
    ‘I could provide with you access to the Internet on the company computer, under our surveillance, naturally. Would that be sufficient?’
    ‘It would help,’ answered Blake. ‘I could consult the library at the Oriental Institute and other research institutions. I would say that might be sufficient.’
    ‘As far as publication goes,’ continued Maddox, ‘it’s a problem that can’t be dealt with now. I’ll have to think about it and consider all the repercussions. Please, let’s face one problem at a time, shall we?’
    The Arab waiter passed with some beans and poured wine into their glasses.
    ‘It’s a Californian Chablis,’ said Maddox. ‘Not bad, is it? As I was saying, one problem at a