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?”

“He was more than simply a religious man. He had such absolute certainty that whatever he did was right, that God would direct and protect him. . . .” She grimaced. “He was a great man, but he must have been hell to get along with—especially if you disagreed with him.”

Omar watched in silence for another forty-five minutes, then approached and told her it was almost time to meet Mason.

“All right,” she said. “I’m not going to learn any more here.”

“Have you any ideas?”

“All I can think of after seeing this exhibit is to examine every church that was standing in 1885. Where else would a man of such faith hide something he believed belonged to a servant of the devil?”

“They have been searched.”

“Perhaps not thoroughly enough,” said Lara. “We’ll try again. But first I have to get to the library and the Ethnographical Museum.”

They reached the main lobby and found Mason waiting for them.

“Learn anything?” he asked.

“Not really. Just that we should probably go through the churches with a fine-toothed comb.”

“I did that before I went to Edfu,” he said. “Still, it can’t hurt to do it again. Might as well be thorough.”

“Well, that’s helpful, anyway,” said Lara.

“What is?” asked Mason, puzzled. “I didn’t find it.”

“No, but you knew where to look—so you must have a list of the churches that were built before 1885 and are still standing, and where they are.”

He seemed surprised. “I’ll be damned! I hadn’t realized how valuable such a list would be. I got rid of it when I couldn’t find anything in the churches.”

“No problem. It shouldn’t be difficult to put it together again. How many churches were there?”

“Four,” said Mason.

“We can search them tomorrow or the next day,” said Lara. “For the moment, I think we ought to get over to the Ethnographical Museum and see if they have anything useful—though I have my doubts. There won’t be anything on Gordon, but they might have something on the Mahdi, and I’m still looking for a map of 1885 Khartoum.”

The three of them walked out of the museum, and were immediately joined by Hassam.

“No Mahdists?” asked Omar.

Hassam shrugged. “Here and there. None of them chose to walk past me.” He turned to Lara. “Was the museum productive?”

“Probably not,” she said. “You have to understand: We’re on an awfully old, awfully cold trail.”

“You will find it,” he said with certainty.

“I appreciate your confidence, but it may be misplaced,” said Lara. “It’s getting very hot out, and we have a bit of a walk to get to the next museum. Let’s get something cold to drink first.”

“The Al Bustan restaurant is close by,” suggested Hassam.

They made their way to the restaurant and were ushered to a small table, where the waiter took their orders.

“Where is Gaafar?” asked Lara. “Shouldn’t he have joined us by now?”

“Don’t worry about Gaafar,” replied Omar. “He is probably just questioning the Mahdist.”

“For two and a half hours?” said Mason.

“He asks very thorough questions,” said Omar with an amused smile.

The drinks came, and Lara gratefully accepted an iced tea from the waiter.

“I never did ask,” she said. “Did you come up with anything at the museum?”

“Not really,” he said. “You were in the Gordon exhibit. I just wandered the rest of the place, looking for . . . hell, for I don’t know what. For anything that might jog my mind into gear, give me a hint.”

“Gordon and the Mahdi were well matched,” said Lara. “They were born leaders, they were brilliant generals, and they each had the absolute knowledge that God was on their side. Under other circumstances, they might have been great friends, even brothers.”

“I doubt it,” said Mason. “I don’t think either of them could ever tolerate the fact that the other spoke directly to God.”

She chuckled in amusement. “You’re probably right.”

“Finish your drink,” said Omar. “If we hurry, you can get to the Ethnographical Museum and the library today, and tomorrow the search can begin.”

“You’re being a little too optimistic,” said Lara. “Right now the only thought I have is to search through the churches, and Kevin’s already done that. We probably won’t learn anything from the next museum, and whatever books and papers I find in the library may take days to go through before I know if they’re any use.”

“And if they are not?” asked Hassam.

“Then we’ll study more,” said Lara. “Omdurman isn’t very far across the Nile. If I can’t learn anything from where Gordon died, maybe I can learn something from where he defeated the Mahdi. After all, if he came into possession of the Amulet before the Battle of Omdurman, perhaps he never brought it back to Khartoum at all. Maybe it’s across the Nile somewhere.”

“Do you really think so?” asked Omar.

“I don’t know.”

“I know how much it means to you and how badly you want it,” said Mason to the two Sudanese men, “but never forget: If it was easy to find, someone would have found it already.”

Gaafar caught up to them on the street outside the restaurant.

“How did your morning go?” he asked as he joined them.

“About as expected,” replied Lara. “How did yours go?”

“We were aware that the Mahdists know you are in Khartoum,” said Gaafar. “But they also know why. I think it likely that they will leave you alone until you find the Amulet or lead them to it.”

“As we thought,” said Lara. “Maybe we can relax a little now.”

“Except for those tongueless killers you mentioned,” said Mason.

“I said, ‘a little,’ “ Lara said.

Just then, a bread truck careened crazily around the corner, jumped the curb, and bore down upon them.