Читать книгу The Alexander Cipher - Will Adams - Страница 21

Nessim, Hassan al-Assyuti’s head of security, arrived in Knox’s Sharm backpacker hotel to find the middle-aged concierge snoring raucously behind his desk. He came awake with a strangled shriek when Nessim slammed down the wooden access hatch.

‘Knox,’ said Nessim. ‘I’m looking for Daniel Knox.’

‘He’s not here,’ said the concierge, breathing heavily.

‘I know he’s not here,’ said Nessim coldly. ‘I want to see his room.’

‘But it’s his room!’ protested the concierge. ‘I can’t just show it to you.’

Nessim reached into his jacket pocket for his wallet, making sure that the concierge caught a glimpse of his shoulder holster while he was at it. He took out fifty Egyptian pounds and set them down on the counter. ‘This is me asking nicely,’ he said.

The concierge licked his lips. ‘Just this once, I suppose.’

Nessim followed the fat man upstairs, still brooding on what had happened on the boat, the humiliation of being bested by some beach-bum foreigner. At first, he’d thought that Knox would be easy to track down, but it wasn’t proving that simple. He’d had word back from a contact in the army that Knox had somehow bluffed his way through a checkpoint. When he’d heard about that, he’d felt a spike of intense anger and frustration. How simple it might have been! But he knew better than to make waves. Only a fool took on the army in Egypt; and Nessim wasn’t a fool.

The concierge unlocked and opened Knox’s door, looking around nervously lest other guests see what was happening. Nessim went inside. He had one night to capture Knox, and he had that only because Hassan was on morphine to manage his pain. When he woke in the morning he’d demand to know what progress had been made.

He’d want Knox.

Nessim fingered the shabby clothes hanging in the wardrobe, checked the side-pockets of the red canvas bag in the bottom, crouched to inspect the books lined up on the floor against the walls. A few comic novels and thrillers, but mostly academic works on Egypt and archaeology. There were CDs, too, some music, others for his laptop. He picked up a cone-bound document. The front page read, in both English and Arabic:

Mallawi Excavation First Season Notes Richard Mitchell and Daniel Knox

He flipped through it. Text and photographs of an excavation near an ancient Ptolemaic settlement a few kilometres from Mallawi in Middle Egypt. He put it back thoughtfully. Why would an Egyptologist be working as a dive instructor in Sharm? He checked a few more documents. Maps and photographs of reefs systems, as best as he could make out. He took the canvas bag from the wardrobe and packed all of Knox’s documents inside. Then he packed up Knox’s laptop too, and his work-related CDs and floppy disks. In the top drawer of Knox’s desk, he found photocopies of his passport and driver’s licence, presumably in case he lost the originals; and a strip of colour passport-sized photographs, no doubt for the myriad documents foreigners needed to work in Sinai. He scooped these up and tucked them away in his jacket pocket. Then he picked up the canvas bag and laptop to take away with him. The concierge gave a little whimper.

‘Yes?’ asked Nessim. ‘Is something the matter?’

‘No,’ said the concierge.

‘Good. A word of advice. I’d clear the rest of his stuff out, if I were you. I very much doubt your friend will be coming back any time soon.’

‘No?’

‘No.’ Nessim handed the man one of his business cards. ‘But call me if he does.’