H2G2 Storytime III: From Prussia with Love. Part XXXIII
Created | Updated Aug 11, 2006
It was already into the small hours in the police cells in the Centre of Cairo as the Police chief signalled a cordial wave to some of the guards on duty who snapped to attention.
"Down, down Sargent " he motioned the the officer to ower his salute.
"Are the prisoners secure?"
"Yes sir."
"Excellent, I want to see them for a moment." taking a sip from his coffee mug.
The Sergeant on guard undid the lock and the Captain pased through into the cells, down some steps he came level with the cages, in which sat Von Trapp and Vandeveer, Mary and an unconscious Anna.
Mary approached the bar.
The Chief walked along the cells dragging his coffee mug across them making a rat-at-tat clanging sound.
"Brother." Mary adressed him with a nod.
"Sister" the chief bowed.
"Everything is prepared?"
"I will take you to the loading docks myself and join you later in the Temple."
"We will see you there."
The Chief reached into his mug and took out the key to the jail cells.
"Nothing can go wrong now." he said as he turned the lock
In the reception to the Police Station Andrei Sreka waked into the small beige space and approach the front window.
"Freidrich Von Trapp?"
The duty night-officer looked up at the monitors and checked out the cells, saw the chief standing there, talking to the prisoners through the bars. "They're in an interview right now."
Sreka looked up at the security camera and the wooden surround of the Reception.
"I'll be Back." he growled.
And marched out of the door into the parking lot.
The duty night-officer shrugged, and turned back to the small TV on his desk. The censored Middle Eastern version of Basic Instinct was on - it was only twenty minutes long, and he didn't want to miss anything. Sharon Stone said something provocative, then she flickered like an old silent movie actor, and her legs switched position. The clerk chuckled under his breath. The tricks these girls could do...
There was a dull thump from the carpark, and the wall shook slightly.
Frowning, the desk officer pulled his holster from the hatstand, took out his pistol and ventured out the door.
An old Volkswagen Beetle was crumpled up against the wall, whirring and smoking. As the officer watched, a hubcap fell off. Then the door opened, and the Russian emerged in a cloud of smoke, coughing and swearing horribly.
"What is the meaning of this?" screamed the officer, aiming the pistol at the miscreant.
"Da, I know," said the Russian miserably. "It is embarassing. Is my face red? But there were no massive articulated lorries or fuel trucks around, and I must work with the materials to hand..."
"Put your hands above your head!" said the officer, slightly unnerved that the Russian seemed to be staring at a point just above his left shoulder.
"They really tell you nothing, do they?" he said with a hint of sympathy.
"Quiet! I said Hands above head!"
Sreka looked sympatheticly at the officer.
"Turn around." Sreka said.
The officer began to say something about not being fooled by that old trick, then Mary chopped him in the back of the neck and he crumpled to the ground.
"Andrei," she said brightly. "I never doubted your survival for a second. But weren't you supposed to wait at the hotel?"
Sreka looked shifty. "I got bored waiting. And then it...burned to the ground. Very mysterious."
Vanderveer and Von Trapp emerged from the police station, stretching their limbs and complaining about the prison food. A black van screeched into the carpark and the door slid open. The police chief leaned out the window and beckoned. Von trapp opened the doors and saw Anna was asleep in oen corner, so took up the seat opposite.
"Aha, our ride to the docks. Your leg is alright, Andrei?" enquired Mary.
"I have a good immune system," boasted Sreka. He was barely limping by now.
"And you're not the type to bear a grudge for some tough love that had to be administered?"
"Oh no," said Sreka contritely. "I take my medicine like a man. It is forgotten. I give you my word."
Mary smiled, and hopped into the van. Sreka lingered a moment longer in the carpark, muttering to himself:
"My word, yes...that when the right moment comes, you will regret meddling with Andrei Sreka."
Pausing only for a moment to take the unconscious officer's pistol, wallet and gold teeth, he climbed into the van, and it sped off into the maze of Cairo's streets.
Arthur and Rhysada looked uncomfortably at each other, and shuffled their feet in the dust. Each tried to block out the horrible, horrible noises coming from the little tent a few metres away.
It was thick canvas, and there was a half-moon cut into the tent flap from which the distressing noises and smells were emerging. After what seemed like an eternity, X emerged from the tent. He looked like a microwaved corpse, and was weakly wiping sweat from his forehead.
"Bloody spicy food..." he groaned. "I should have known...I should have known..."
"Hey now, man," said Arthur. "Don't be a poor guest. We're very grateful for this evening's supper, Rhysada."
Their contact nodded cheerfully, and continued to watch the horizon. They were on the outskirts of Casablanca, where the desert swallowed up the houses and olive groves.
"Far too many spices I couldn't pronounce," whispered X. "What ever happened to plain old salt and pepper, eh? We're a long way from home..."
Arthur diplomatically stamped on his partner's foot, and resumed scanning the horizon.
"And we're awfully grateful that you managed to get us those letters of passage, too," Arthur added. "In case a desert patrol stops us. You didn't tell us how exactly you got your hands on them...?"
Rhysada chuckled.
"It was nothing, my friends. Simply a matter of knowing what gin joint to walk into. Aha, you see! There he is!"
Arthur and X squinted against dark desert sky and, far off in the starry distance spied a tiny black-on-black dot was moving toward them.
"This is the man who will take you to Egypt," said Rhysada. "His people travel all across North Africa, and acknowledge no nations or borders."
They waited a little while. The tiny dot grew a tiny bit larger. The horizon, meanwhile, seemed to stretch to infinity.
Arthur cleared his throat.
"Are his people some kind of desert tribe, then? What are they called again...?"
There was a long, long pause. The dot on the horizon grew infinitesimally larger, and lengthened slightly.
X snapped his fingers.
"Tuaregs. They're called Tuaregs."
"Ahhh," said Arthur. "Campfires! Yes I remember now."
The silence stretched. The desert wind raised small whirls of sand. The dot became a blot, which is slightly larger.
"So..." said X. "Is that who he is? A Tuareg?"
There was a slightly shorter, embarassed silence. Rhysada shuffled his feet. The blot became a shape.
"Not exactly, my friends. It is a delicate subject..."
The shape became a jeep, which braked to a halt in a cloud of sand. A man with bandoliers across his robe hopped out and advanced, arms wide.
"Hallo, United Kingdom spies!" he boomed "I am Jimmy Faisal, your driver! Can I interest you in some genuine Kalashnikovs? Perhaps some ground-to-air missiles? Some cocaine? Very good refined cocaine, just like mother used to make..."
Arthur and X rounded on Rhysada, who reddened slightly.
"Smugglers?" said Arthur, raising his voice. "Gun runners? Drug traffickers? These are the types our North African division is associating with?"
Rhysada waved his hands about nervously.
"Please, these are good honest fellows. Mostly, we see that they are selling the guns to us and the drugs to our enemies. It is good business, you see? And Jimmy is a husband to my cousin."
Arthur turned his back, smacked his forehead, ground his heel in the sand.
"He is also the only fellow who can get you across the desert undetected!" insisted Rhysada. "Also, he needs the work. With this recession, the bottom has dropped right out of the Scud missile market..."
Arthur gritted his teeth.
"Alright. Alright, but this is going in my report, Rhysada, and there is going to be a financial review..."
Rhysada gasped, and blanched.
"...when this is all over."
Arthur scowled for a minute, then saw Rhysada's expression. The man was like a hulking, six-foot-five kicked puppy in a fez. The Agent's anger melted a little, and he clapped Rhysada on the back.
"Ah, what the hell. Good work, man," he said. "Keep fighting the good fight."
Rhysada nodded, then straightened up and saluted. Arthur saluted back, and Rhysada grabbed him up in a great bear hug. Then he turned and marched off back towards the city, singing The Sex Pistol's 'God Save The Queen' in a great rolling baritone.
Arthur rubbed his aching ribs, and turned back towards the jeep.
"X! Put down that...cigarette! Don't touch anything! Right, let's go!"
Jimmy Faisal poured a little whiskey from his canteen onto the sand as an offering to the djinns of the desert. Then, mumbling prayers under his breath, he gunned the engine and the jeep bounced off across the dunes and into the heart of the Sahara.
Several hours later and dawn had arrived and left the sun rising into the sky.
Ody woke with a start.
The pain arrived a few moments later.
His head throbbed as though his brain was trying to escape from his skull by pounding on his eyeballs.
There was a fire in his chest, he couldn't breathe.
"ow!" he mutter meekly.
The tent flap was pulled back and Jamilla peered in.
"Your awake - at last."
Ody propped himself up on his elbows.
"Hurts." he said, wincing.
"I'm not surprised." Jamilla said sadly, stepping inside "It was awfully brave, what you did."
"Hmm?" asked Ody still a bit groggy.
"That man...the impostor. Don't you remember?"
"s'a bit foggy." Ody conceded, waving his hand around to indicate amnesia brought on by concussion.
We showed him where the cover-stone to the chamber was and he got Haziz and the others to remove it. He sent them away and it was just the three of us - is this jogging any memories?"
Ody swung his legs off the camp-bed, and stood up very shakily on his feet, arms outstretched for balance. He stumbled over to a basin unit and doused himself in water from the bowl and looked up into the mirror. He touched his scalp gingerly and winced at the bruise. The skin hung in dark rings under his eyes and his stubble was growing to beard-length.
"You look terrible" Jamilla confirming what Ody was beginning to suspect through thoughts as tangible as running water.
Ody, with his hands resting on the bowl, half out of exhaustion and half to stop himself falling over in case his legs gave out underneath him. Slowly came to say "what happened?"
"He had a gun." Jamilla started to recall...
Sean Daltmooreby watched as the last of the workers disappeared into the nest of tents at the camp. He turned back to face his son and the woman They were whispering to each other.
In front if him lay the recently re-discovered slap covering the Altar of The Dying Pilchard...and within.
"Dr Najil, Dr Daltmooreby, you will both accompany me down into the Cave." he commanded and threw at her feet several lengths of length of climbing rope and rappels.
Jamila attached the three ropes securely and Jamila went down first followed by Ody then Daltmooreby Senior followed them.
Inside the Caven Daltmooreby had Ody switch on the lights. The Turqoise lightbeams criss-crossed across the room once more illuminating every nook and cranny.
"Oh my." Daltmooreby said, eyes as large as saucers.
"Which one is..."
"Find it yourself." Jamila said angrily.
"I intend to do no such thing," Daltmooreby said sinceerly.
"You on the otherhand wil find it for me, Dr Najil - and you will hurry."
She folded her arms set her jaw fierce, her eyes blazed.
..."and you will fetch me the Turquoise Moon."
"I will not!" she protested
"You will. And you will hurry."
"Find one diamond out of all of these? "Impossible!" she protested
Daltmooreby cut her off. "Wrong. Quite possible. It's all a matter of having the right...motivation." He produced the revolver from his belt and pointed it at his son.
"Now start looking."
Ody was sat on the edge of the camp-bed his face a mask of horrified concern at the story Jamila was telling.
"I...I don't remember."
"He wasn't messing around that guy, I was afraid he was going to shoot you Ody."
"I would have been alright." Ody sought to reassure her.
"No! Don't you see that man wasn't from the Ministry - He was justa theif trying to get his hands on The Moon."
"Did he leave with the diamond?" Ody asked holding his head.
He left with a diamond. Jamila said smugly. "The Empty Plinth remember? The Turqoise Moon was removed from that Chamber long before we ever got there."
"He didn't suspect you'd given him a dud?"
No, not really. On the contrary, he seemed very pleased with the one I chose...."
Jamila Najil pointed out at random on of the diamond spheres on top of one of the many pillars that dotted the Turqoise Moon Chamber.
"This one." she said. All the others have minute flaws but this one is perfect. It usually sits on top of the Empty Plinth, why it was moved we don't know. Possibly to hide it's true nature from...thieves
"You are far too judgemental my dear."
Daltmooreby held up the diamond sphere. His eyes glowed with that same quality of greed Jamila saw cross Ody's face. Not for the first tiem she found herself pondering something imponderable.
"This is surely The Turqoise Moon!" Sean Daltmooreby exclaimed.
"..and I am merely returning it to it's rightful owners: The Cult of The Dying Pilchard."
"The inscription!" shouted Ody, shocked.
"What Cult?" Jamila cried out.
"We are older than you can realise - The Cult...have lain claim to The Turqoise Moon for centuries - and now at last it will return to where it belongs.
"That diamond belongs in a museum." Ody said fiercely stepping toward the imposter.
Jamila shouted "Ody don't!"
Ody threw a wild punch which the man easily side-stepped. Ody glanced to his left and caught sight of the butt of the gun catching him on his temple, then it all went swimmy and dark and he dropped onto the stone floor with a sound like "urgh!"
"Then what happened?" Ody asked.
"He called you something." Jamilla was struggling to recall, "'Junior!' I think it was. Then he said: 'I won't kill you. Not you.'
I was shocked - I didn't know what to do. You were just laying there. He took the diamond and climbed back up the rope and ran off, I thought of going after him but..you were bleeding and.."
"It's okay." he said standing to comfort her, she let him take her in his arms and laid her head on his shoulder.
"What did he mean 'not you'. Ody who was that man?"
Ody looked up, out through the open tent at the horizon. Jamila stayed with her head resting on his shoulder. They looked like Janus the two-faced Roman God. Which was appropriate. Ody said nothing.
Daltmooreby walked out of the desert, with the sun rising, and a large diamond in his possession, and his coat slung over his shoulder.
"This is surely the Turqoise Moon!" he chuckled to himself out of earshot from the entirity of civilisation.
"I am a traitor - oh yes. Yelena, forgive me." and he shrugged up at the fluffy white clouds clustering in the sky.
He saw that Slepp was waiting on the edge of the desert with a car.
"Did you get the co-ordinates for Turqoise Moon?" he asked concerned.
"Certainly did." Daltmooreby lied. It what he was best at, really. "We could go there right now."
"No," said the assassin. "Mr Vandeveer and The Nun should be the first."
"You are so loyal." Daltmoore complimented his partner, "and you are right. I'll take them there myself," and climed into the back seat.
Slepp put the car in gear and they drove off.
Daltmooreby took the chance the rest his hand on the melon-sized diamond hidden in a cloth satchel he had carried over his shoulder and now sat beside him on the back seat. Slepp didn't suspect a thing. Daltmooreby gazed out of the rear window at the retreating sands, a wicked smile flashed across his face and then vanished.
