Easy Go Page 6

  “Please sit down, Mr. Barnaby,” Varese said. He rang a bell on his desk and told the boy who answered to bring mint tea. Barnaby suppressed a smile; this habit of serving drinks during any sort of business transaction was deeply ingrained and practiced by everyone from the lowliest hawker in the bazaar to the highest officials.

  “Now then,” Varese said, shifting to Arabic. “I have good news for you. I have met with the Board of Antiquities, and at my recommendation, your project has been accepted. I had hoped to be able to help in the financing—if only a token donation—but I fear that will not be possible. Can you arrange for the moneys yourself?”

  “I believe so,” Barnaby said. His heart was pounding. So Varese had bought it! At last, they could begin work.

  “I know something of your patron, Lord Grover,” Varese said. “Everyone does. I hope you will be able to…keep matters under your control.”

  “I will try,” Barnaby promised. He knew what Varese was saying: watch out for this millionaire, he is a kook, a pleasure nut, potentially irresponsible. He knew that Varese pitied Barnaby for stooping to this man for the money, but he also knew that Varese was a practical man and understood the necessity.

  “I mention this,” Varese said, “because our country is now passing through a phase of acute self-awareness. Any publicity which adversely affects the antiquities reclamation projects, or which seems to indicate that we are treating our historical resources badly, will force us to cancel your expedition. It would be unfortunate, for example, if the Daily Telegraph published a photograph of Lord Grover sitting on the shoulders of the Colossi of Memnon, waving a gin bottle. It would leave me no alternative.”

  “I understand.”

  The tea came, glasses of liquid with mint leaves floating inside. The hot glasses were placed in copper frames to allow the drinker to hold them. Barnaby dropped in two lumps of sugar and stirred slowly.

  “There is only one other point,” Varese said, sipping his tea without sugar. Sugar was scarce, in a country that produced vast quantities of sugarcane. It was all exported. “You have requested to place your camp in the Valley of Kings. This will not be possible; the current concession is held by the University of Heidelberg, and we cannot have two digs there simultaneously. I have suggested that your camp be situated near Deir el-Bahri; you could work on the Tombs of the Nobles first, or else travel to the valley. Have you funds for a car?”

  “I believe a Land Rover has been obtained.”

  “Ah, well. Then there is no problem.”

  Later, when Barnaby had gone, Varese remained at his desk, staring down at a blank pad of paper, tapping it with a pencil. He felt strangely disturbed, though he could not put his finger on the trouble.

  Barnaby was an odd fellow, he thought. So narrow in his goals, so limited in his vision. With big projects waiting all over Egypt, he had requested permission to enter the tombs of the nobles and kings in Luxor to retranslate certain hieroglyphics which had never been copied, only translated on the spot.

  It was true that Barnaby was a superior linguist, and his previous retranslations were illuminating. It was true that he also planned to make a large photographic atlas of the paintings and hieroglyphics of the region, a definitive work which would be of scholarly importance—and which could be edited to make an excellent, expensive volume for American coffee tables. It was true that he talked, in a vague way, of finding clues to the lost tunnel which connected the Valley of Kings with the outside world.

  But still, despite the implications and minor hopes, it remained a small project. How could he be so enthusiastic about it? When Varese had talked with him, the man was nearly trembling with excitement.

  Varese did not understand. He himself was trained as an archaeologist, and the only sort of project which excited him was a dig. That was an adventure—scooping into the desert sand, uncovering walls, buildings, monuments; watching the discoveries come to light, fit together; awaking each day with tense expectation, waiting to see what would be brought forth.

  He sighed. He had not found time to join a dig for twelve years.

  And why had Barnaby chosen Lord Grover as his benefactor? Varese could hardly imagine a more unpredictable, eccentric, and bothersome source of funds.

  No doubt, Barnaby had filled Grover’s head with a lot of nonsense about the lost tunnel and the mystical curses and incantations hidden within the hieroglyphics. Probably, he had reminded Grover of the fame of Lord Carnarvon, who had worked with Carter on Tutankhamen’s tomb.

  But still, why Grover? And why such an unambitious project? Varese shook his head: Harold Barnaby was a very strange man.

  Harold Barnaby sat in his hotel room, half drunk, exhausted, and exhilarated. He was trying to compose a telegram to Lord Grover. Something properly blasé, which would indicate that he had expected official approval all along.

  In fact, Barnaby had been terrified for a week. To him, the project seemed full of loopholes, riddled with inconsistencies. He was certain that Varese would see through them and realize something phony was going on. He had counted on Varese’s frustration about new digs and fresh information on ancient Egypt. That sort of bias could be blinding.

  Varese had bought it. Lock, stock, and barrel, he had been completely fooled. The last major obstacle had been removed from their path.

  10. Documents

  EDITED TRANSCRIPT OF NEWS Broadcast by BBC-TV, 30 September, also taped for use by BBC II radio.

  Hugh Gowling: Today, the tradition of British participation in the excavation of ancient Egypt was renewed by the arrival of Lord Grover, fifth earl of Wheatston, in Cairo. Lord Grover is financing and participating in a new dig recently approved by Cairo. Our correspondent, Jeffrey Constable, interviewed him as he arrived in the United Arab Republic.

  (Film clips of airport interview)

  Constable: We are here at the Cairo airport with Lord Grover, fifth earl of Wheatston, a gentleman well-known to many of our viewers at home. May I ask you, Lord Grover, what exactly do you expect to find?

  Grover: Well, as you know, the dig will be located in Luxor, near the ancient city of Thebes. It is a rich and famous region, archaeologically speaking.

  Constable: Have you any particular thing you hope to discover?

  Grover: (gesturing) Palaces…empires…perhaps nothing. Whatever the unwilling earth yields.

  Constable: How long will this dig be running, sir?

  Grover: It is impossible to say, and I shouldn’t like to make an optimistic prediction, since any prediction is most likely wrong.

  Constable: If in fact you discover something of major importance, will it go to the British Museum?

  Grover: (sternly) My dear fellow, this project is being conducted with the kind cooperation of the government of the United Arab Republic. The decision as to the disposition of any artifacts must remain in their knowledgeable hands.

  Constable: (undeterred) I understand preparations for the dig are in full swing. When will you begin work?

  Grover: (fanning his face with a newspaper) Not until it’s cooler, I hope!

  Constable: Will you remain with the project throughout?

  Grover: I should like to very much, but I am not sure it will be possible.

  Constable: I see that you are accompanied by several young ladies—

  Grover: Close family friends.

  Constable: Will they join you at the dig?

  Grover: It is my devout wish. It should be an excellent educational experience.

  Constable: On the eve of this exciting adventure, do you have any final thoughts, hopes, or fears?

  Grover: Oh yes, fears, lots of fears.

  Constable: What, specifically?

  Grover: The curse of the Pharaohs!

  (Laughter)

  Hugh Gowling: Lord Grover, in point of fact, would not disclose the precise nature of the expedition, but reliable sources have indicated that he hopes to find the lost tunnel which connects the Valley of Kings t
o the funerary temples along the Nile. There is considerable controversy among authorities here as to whether the tunnel actually exists, and Lord Grover may settle speculation once and for all.

  Sir Roderick Thorpe-Trevor, Curator of Egyptian Antiquities, of the Ashmolean Museum, said: “I wish them all the luck in the world.”

  Letter received by Robert Sevrais at American Express, Syntagma Square, Athens, upon presentation of passport:

  Banque Nationale

  Geneve, Suisse

  28 Septembre, 19—

  Mr. Robert Sevrais

  c/o American Express

  Athens, Greece

  Grèce

  Dear Mr. Sevrais:

  Following your directions, an account has been opened in your name. We shall await further instructions from you. Please be informed that we have waived the rule that single transactions in excess of two million dollars U.S. will require personal presentation of suitable identification. Fully handwritten letters will be accepted in lieu of this for deposit transfers only.

  Trusting that this meets with your approval, I am,

  Georges Lemarc, for the Banque Nationale

  Contents of safe deposit box number 423–88, National Bank of Greece, as rented by Robert Pierce, U.S. Passport number D098177: one Brazilian passport in name of Robert Sevrais.

  Rental for three years beginning 29 September, paid in advance.

  30 SEPTEMBER 19—

  FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

  TRANSCRIPT OF STATEMENT BY DR. ALI VARESE, DIRECTOR OF ANTIQUITIES SERVICE, EGYPTIAN MUSEUM, CAIRO, U.A.R.

  It is with great pleasure that the government and people of the United Arab Republic support the expedition of Dr. Harold Barnaby to survey the tombs of the Nobles and Pharaohs in Luxor. Our heartfelt hopes for a successful undertaking go with the entire group.

  The history of Egypt is a monumental step in the history of all mankind, and all men must share, as brothers, in the excitement at the start of such a project. It is significant that at the same time men are working at the Aswan High Dam for the betterment of humanity in the present, others are working in Luxor for a better understanding of humanity in the past.

  PART II: The Search

  “Evil is of old date.”

  —Arab proverb

  1. Cairo

  THE MODERN TRAVELER’S FIRST view of Egypt is appropriate: Cairo airport, set out in the flat, brown sand of the desert stretching away in silent heat for miles. It is a landscape that communicates, quite distinctly, a sense of agelessness, unchanging, interminable.

  Pierce flew in from Athens on a Polish airlines turboprop—a dirty, grumbling airplane that bounced down onto the Cairo airstrip in a disgruntled way and discharged its passengers into the late summer heat. The airline had only recently begun service to Cairo, and then only for a particular reason: to bring Russian technicians into the country to work on the dam.

  The airport was handsome, almost splendid, with that faintly overblown quality that distinguishes many modern Egyptian buildings, dwarfing the people, contrasting with their poverty. The marble floors were polished and the friezes were monumental, but the baggage delivery was inefficient and the customs officials lazy and carping. He was glad he had already obtained a visa for his first visit. Travelers who had planned to buy them at the airport were obviously in for a long wait.

  He stopped at the bank on the way out and changed some traveler’s checks for Egyptian pounds. The bank was short on small change—a characteristic of all banks in the country—and he was paid his last few piasters in stamps and advised curtly to send some postcards home.

  He looked at the money. The bills were not bad, but the coins had digits written in Arabic. He had not understood the denominations before, and he did not understand them now. They all looked the same to him. He walked outside and caught a taxi into town.

  It was a half-hour ride along a straight highway. The sun was setting, turning the sky pink, then red, then suddenly black. There were no clouds, and the sunset had a rather cold quality. The driver told him in excellent English how the desert in this region had been a huge British bivouac during the war. Pierce did not listen.

  The land was flat, desolate, windy; there was no vegetation, no sign of life.

  They entered the outskirts of town, passing down broad avenues lined with elegant mansions built in the Victorian style. Date-palm trees swayed gently in the evening breeze. Traffic thickened into a weaving swarm of black-and-white Fiat taxis, most of them battered. There were few private cars.

  At length, they were deep in downtown Cairo, a brawling, noisy, dusty city. The sidewalks were jammed with pedestrians—businessmen in suits, traders and shopkeepers in the native galaba, a striped garment like a nightgown. Everyone was talking, gesturing, active. It was a masculine crowd; Pierce saw only an occasional woman, mostly foreign.

  They drove down Suleiman Pasha Boulevard, past the statue of that man, a Frenchman named Ferrier, who modernized the army of Mohammed Ali. They came into the central plaza of Liberation Square, renamed after the revolution in July, 1952. Here, fountains played in the evening air; streetcars clattered, and buses grunted in a cloud of gray exhaust. Above the buildings facing the square were bright neon signs, in Arabic and English, advertising TWA, Rolex, LOT (the Polish airline), and Aswan Beer.

  The taxi drove up the ramp of the Cairo Hilton.

  He was back.

  “Robert Pierce,” he said at the registration desk.

  A short, pudgy man smiled pleasantly. “Passport, please.”

  Pierce handed it over.

  “Sign here, please.” The man pushed across a form and called a bellboy, who came up. The man handed the passport to the boy, who left.

  Pierce did not blink. He knew what was going on: The boy was taking the passport to register it with the police. On his first visit, he had gotten excited.

  “Hey,” he had said, “where’s he going with that?”

  “To the police. You must be registered. He will bring it back.”

  “He’d better,” Pierce had said.

  Then, the man had said, “That will be one Egyptian pound, please.”

  “Why?”

  “Cost of registration. The hotel does this as a service to our guests. If you do not wish to pay, you can register yourself. But the lines are long, and—”

  “Never mind,” Pierce had said, handing the man a pound note.

  Now, he dug into his wallet and passed the pound note across the counter without being asked.

  “Ah,” the clerk smiled. “You have been in Egypt before?”

  “Yes,” Pierce said. “I have.”

  His room was impressive. There was a good view of the riverfront and the Nile; looking south, he could see the other two large hotels of Cairo, the Semiramis and Sheperd’s. They were both faintly gaudy, reminiscent of Miami Beach.

  A knock on the door. A boy entered and gave him his passport. Pierce thumbed through it and found a small stamp on page 13, beneath his U.A.R. visa. There was Arabic writing, then in English, REGISTRATION WITHIN THREE DAYS, followed by more Arabic. He shrugged; it was no different from the stamp he had received on his first visit.

  The telephone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Robert? Grover here, in 452. Come on up, will you?”

  Grover opened the door. “Robert, how good to see you.”

  Pierce frowned. There was something funny going on; instinctively, he looked past Grover’s shoulder, wondering if someone else were in the room. It was empty.

  “Do come in, my boy, come in.” The voice was falsely, jovial. “Drink, of course.”

  “Of course,” Pierce said, still frowning.

  “I made quite an odd discovery,” Grover said, “which I thought might interest you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.” He mixed the drink. “You see, this archaeological thing is quite newsworthy—oh damn, I’m fresh out of ice.”

  Pierce looked at the buck
et; it was still half full. He was about to say something, when Grover put his finger to his lips and shook his head.

  “Before I tell you about my discovery, let me ring down for more.”

  He went to the telephone, lifted it, and turned it bottom upward. Pierce saw a small black object attached to the undersurface.

  “Room service? More ice for 452, please. Thanks awfully.” He hung up. “It’s on the way. Now, about that discovery. I wondered—”

  “I can’t talk business without a drink,” Pierce said. “Let’s hold off for a minute.” He took out a pad and wrote, HOW LONG HAVE YOU KNOWN?

  “Whatever you say, Robert. Have you admired the view? My room is higher up than yours, I believe.”

  Grover took the pad. YESTERDAY MORNING. NOTHING SPILLED, BUT ALMOST.

  Pierce got up, the pad in his hand. “It is a beautiful view. This is my second visit to Cairo. I think it’s a marvelous city.” SURE IT’S LIVE?

  “Oh quite, quite.”

  “I’m eager to explore it further.”

  “My dear boy, we must. It is an absolute necessity.” HOW’S YOUR ROOM?

  HAVEN’T CHECKED.

  “Perhaps we should wait until November for a thorough exploration of the city. It will be cooler then.”

  “You may be right.” LET’S JUST CHAT.

  “I think so,” Pierce said. “How are preparations coming?”

  “Wonderfully. We will be ready to leave in about a week’s time, I think. It’s very exciting.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  There was a knock on the door. That would be room service with the ice. Pierce gathered up the notes and stuffed them into his pocket while Grover answered the door.

  “I have no damned idea what’s going on,” Grover said. They were walking toward Barnaby’s hotel. “I simply cannot imagine.”