The Alexander Cipher Page 0,3

didn’t make it ineffective. But it reminded him forcibly of Hassan, too, so he scowled and looked away. She sat back down with a thump, an open bottle in her hand, a mischievous smile on her lips. “Want some?” she asked.

“No, thanks.”

She shrugged and took a swallow. “So have you known Hassan long?”

“No.”

“But you’re a friend of his, right?”

“I’m on the payroll, love. That’s all.”

“But he’s kosher, right?”

“That’s hardly the smartest way to describe a Muslim.”

“You know what I mean.”

Knox shrugged. It was too late for her to be getting cold feet. Hassan had picked her up in a nightclub, not a Sunday school. If she didn’t fancy him, she should have said no, simple as that. There was naive and there was stupid. It wasn’t as though she didn’t know what she was doing with her body.

At that moment, Max Strati appeared around the line of cabins. He walked briskly over. “What happens here, then?” he asked frostily. He had come to Sharm el-Sheikh on vacation twenty years ago and had never gone home. Egypt had been good to Max, and he wouldn’t risk that by pissing off Hassan.

“Just talking,” said Knox.

“On your own time, please, not mine,” said Max. “Mr. al-Assyuti wishes his guests to have a final dive.”

Knox pushed himself up. “I’ll get things ready.”

The girl jumped up, too, clapping with false enthusiasm. “Great! I didn’t think we’d be going down again.”

“You will not join us, I think, Fiona,” Max told her flatly. “We have not enough tanks. You’ll stay here with Mr. al-Assyuti.”

“Oh.” She looked suddenly scared, childlike. She put her hand tentatively on Knox’s forearm. He shook her off and walked angrily toward the stern, where the wet suits, fins, masks, and snorkels were stored in plastic crates next to the steel rack of air tanks. A swift glance confirmed what Knox already knew: there were plenty of full tanks. He felt a sudden tightness in the nape of his neck. He could feel Max’s eyes burning into his back, so he forced himself not to look around. The girl wasn’t his problem, and she was old enough to look after herself. He had no connection to her, no obligation. He had worked his balls off to establish himself in this town, and he wasn’t going to throw that away just because some brat had misjudged the price of her lunch. Of course, his self-justifications did little good. He felt sick in the pit of his stomach as he squatted down by the crates and started checking equipment.

The MAF Nile Delta excavation, Northern Egypt

“HELLO!” CALLED OUT GAILLE BONNARD. “Is there anyone here?”

She listened patiently for an answer, but none came. How odd. Kristos had been clear that Elena, who needed her help translating an ostracon, would be waiting for her in the magazine, where they stored and documented all their finds. But there was no sign of her or her truck, and the magazine was closed. Gaille felt a rare flicker of irritation. She didn’t mind making the fifteen-minute walk from the cemetery site, but she did mind having her time wasted. Then she noticed that the door of the hut was hanging ajar—something she had never seen before. She knocked, pulled it open and looked within, allowing in a little sunlight. The interior walls were lined with shelves stacked with battery lamps, hammers, mattocks, baskets, rope, and other archaeological equipment. There was a dark square hole in the floor, too, from which protruded the top of a wooden ladder.

She crouched, cupped her hands around her mouth, and called down, but there was no answer. She waited a few seconds, then called down again. Still hearing nothing, she stood with her hands on her hips, brooded. Elena Koloktronis, head of this Macedonian Archaeological Foundation excavation, was one of those leaders who believed all her team incompetent and who therefore tried to do everything herself. She was constantly running off in the middle of one task to see to another. Maybe that was what had happened here. Or maybe there had just been a mix-up with the message. The trouble was, with Elena it was impossible to do the right thing. If you went looking for her, you should have stayed where you were. If you stayed, she was furious that you hadn’t come looking.

Gaille crouched again, her hams and calves aching from her long day’s work, and called down a third time, feeling just a tremor of alarm. What if Elena had fallen? She turned