wanted to put a strain on
England’s finances, blowing up the dam might just do the trick.
There is suddenly less money available for the war effort. Where
does England go in the event they need to borrow funds? The
Americans?”
He raked his hands through a
rich backsweep of blond hair and pondered the question. Even when
frowning he was ridiculously good-looking, and his cheekbones were
freakishly well-defined even in the dark. “That’s a whole new
kettle of fish.”
“Have you considered that the
dam saboteur and our double agent are one and the same?” She tore
up the tickets and dropped the bits of paper on the bedside table
at the foot of Anubis. “I’m going to Philae, Major Nash.
Notwithstanding this assignment, I actually want to visit the
island and see the temple of Philae which is regarded as one of the
loveliest in Egypt.”
Not many people would place an
image of the god of the dead on their bedside table and expect to
sleep soundly. Hard and glossy, burnished black, Anubis glistened
darkly, and he could have sworn he saw her shudder when her hand
brushed the jackal-headed god.
On the opposite bedside table
was Sekhmet the lioness goddess, carved from stone, gleaming with
an unnatural lustre, giving off a strange mineralizing light that
seemed to glow in the dark. “An odd choice,” he remarked,
indicating the two gods.
“One for courage and one for
fear.”
“Fear?”
“Anubis frightens me.”
“Then why not just get rid of
it?”
“If I do that then sacred
terror triumphs.”
“Sacred terror?”
“Irrational fear – a person in
the grip of irrational fear loses perspective of reality, they
cease thinking rationally. They become a prisoner of superstition,
religion and manipulation.”
He was too tired to comprehend
what she was blathering on about and it was way too late in the
night for abstract philosophical debate. “I better let you get back
to sleep,” he said quietly, moving stealthily in the direction of
the balcony.
“Wait,” she whispered, “Don’t
you want to see if whoever was in the corridor is still there?”
“No,” he replied. “I want to
get going. I’ve still got a few things to do. Goodnight.”
Major Nash was about to hoist
himself onto an architectural pediment framing an adjacent window
that would allow him to swing down to a persimmon tree when he
spotted several figures patrolling the garden. He pressed himself
into the shadow of a stone column and waited until they passed but
a couple of heartbeats later two more came along. A few moments
more and another two appeared - seven men in all. He didn’t feel
like explaining why he was leaving the bedroom of a female guest
via the balcony at midnight. Moreover, he wasn’t entirely convinced
the men in the garden were hotel security. They seemed to be
loitering rather than patrolling the grounds in an orderly fashion.
They were now lighting up cigarettes.
When they failed to move on, he
began to grow restless. The corridor was looking like the better
option. Aided and abetted by moonlight, he managed to avoid banging
into the furniture as he tiptoed across the room. He was almost to
the door when he heard a whisper in the dark.
“Where are you going now?”
“There are seven men down in
the garden. I’m going to check the corridor. If it’s clear, I’ll go
this way. The door is self-locking so don’t worry.”
“Wait,” she said. “It will look
less suspicious if I poke my head out. Turn around while I throw on
a peignoir.”
He was tempted to watch via the
cheval glass but decided to preserve her modesty. A few moments
later he noticed that she had also located the silky slip that had
been lying on the floor at the foot of the bed, which was just as
well because the peignoir was diaphanous.
She raked some fingers through
the luxurious baroque mane tumbling over her shoulders and down her
back. “Do you have any cigarettes?”
He tapped the pocket of his
dinner jacket.
England’s finances, blowing up the dam might just do the trick.
There is suddenly less money available for the war effort. Where
does England go in the event they need to borrow funds? The
Americans?”
He raked his hands through a
rich backsweep of blond hair and pondered the question. Even when
frowning he was ridiculously good-looking, and his cheekbones were
freakishly well-defined even in the dark. “That’s a whole new
kettle of fish.”
“Have you considered that the
dam saboteur and our double agent are one and the same?” She tore
up the tickets and dropped the bits of paper on the bedside table
at the foot of Anubis. “I’m going to Philae, Major Nash.
Notwithstanding this assignment, I actually want to visit the
island and see the temple of Philae which is regarded as one of the
loveliest in Egypt.”
Not many people would place an
image of the god of the dead on their bedside table and expect to
sleep soundly. Hard and glossy, burnished black, Anubis glistened
darkly, and he could have sworn he saw her shudder when her hand
brushed the jackal-headed god.
On the opposite bedside table
was Sekhmet the lioness goddess, carved from stone, gleaming with
an unnatural lustre, giving off a strange mineralizing light that
seemed to glow in the dark. “An odd choice,” he remarked,
indicating the two gods.
“One for courage and one for
fear.”
“Fear?”
“Anubis frightens me.”
“Then why not just get rid of
it?”
“If I do that then sacred
terror triumphs.”
“Sacred terror?”
“Irrational fear – a person in
the grip of irrational fear loses perspective of reality, they
cease thinking rationally. They become a prisoner of superstition,
religion and manipulation.”
He was too tired to comprehend
what she was blathering on about and it was way too late in the
night for abstract philosophical debate. “I better let you get back
to sleep,” he said quietly, moving stealthily in the direction of
the balcony.
“Wait,” she whispered, “Don’t
you want to see if whoever was in the corridor is still there?”
“No,” he replied. “I want to
get going. I’ve still got a few things to do. Goodnight.”
Major Nash was about to hoist
himself onto an architectural pediment framing an adjacent window
that would allow him to swing down to a persimmon tree when he
spotted several figures patrolling the garden. He pressed himself
into the shadow of a stone column and waited until they passed but
a couple of heartbeats later two more came along. A few moments
more and another two appeared - seven men in all. He didn’t feel
like explaining why he was leaving the bedroom of a female guest
via the balcony at midnight. Moreover, he wasn’t entirely convinced
the men in the garden were hotel security. They seemed to be
loitering rather than patrolling the grounds in an orderly fashion.
They were now lighting up cigarettes.
When they failed to move on, he
began to grow restless. The corridor was looking like the better
option. Aided and abetted by moonlight, he managed to avoid banging
into the furniture as he tiptoed across the room. He was almost to
the door when he heard a whisper in the dark.
“Where are you going now?”
“There are seven men down in
the garden. I’m going to check the corridor. If it’s clear, I’ll go
this way. The door is self-locking so don’t worry.”
“Wait,” she said. “It will look
less suspicious if I poke my head out. Turn around while I throw on
a peignoir.”
He was tempted to watch via the
cheval glass but decided to preserve her modesty. A few moments
later he noticed that she had also located the silky slip that had
been lying on the floor at the foot of the bed, which was just as
well because the peignoir was diaphanous.
She raked some fingers through
the luxurious baroque mane tumbling over her shoulders and down her
back. “Do you have any cigarettes?”
He tapped the pocket of his
dinner jacket.
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