Sphinx by T. S. Learner Read Free Book Online Page B

let me guess: your mystic told you about a wonderful but deeply cynical Englishman with an interesting Northern accent . . .’
    ‘Not if you intend to ridicule me.’
    ‘I promise to keep an open mind.’
    ‘Really?’ Her lack of guile was utterly disarming.
    ‘Cross my Newtonian heart and hope to die.’
    Isabella smiled. Then, after finishing her drink, she moved closer.
    ‘Years ago, Ahmos Khafre was given a letter rumoured to have been written by Sonnini de Manoncour, a naturalist who had travelled with Napoleon’s troops. He wrote that he had come across information that a ship carrying Cleopatra, retreating from the Battle of Actium and sunk in the Alexandrian Bay, had been carrying a famous astrarium. One day I’ll find that astrarium, I know I will. I have to.’ She hesitated as if she were about to tell me something else, something of greater importance. Then in the next instant she looked pensive. I remember, even to this day, that intensity. Her narrow triangular face collapsing into vulnerability and, to my great surprise, I instantly wanted to rescue her, a sensation that only fuelled my desire.
    ‘Can I be with you tonight?’
    I could barely hear her over the noise of the revellers behind us and, sitting there wanting her in all my low self-esteem, I thought I had misheard. It was only after our lovemaking later the same night that Isabella told me about how Ahmos Khafre had also insisted upon giving her a birth chart that predicted the date of her death. Furious at the irresponsibility of such an action I’d sat up in bed and had tried, unsuccessfully, to persuade her that it was all superstitious nonsense. I’d failed. We were married three months later.
    I stared down at the murky water, incredulous at how we’d come from there to here and that Isabella had actually carried out her quest.
    My reverie was broken by Jamal’s shout - the rope was twitching. Was it possible she’d actually found it? Against my reservations, I felt some of the same elation that Faakhir had shown earlier. If this was it, this was truly a momentous event in history. I tugged the rope, the signal to Isabella that I was ready, and she replied with four twitches. I fastened the steel clip attached to the thick tube to the cable and lowered it into the water; in seconds it had disappeared, sliding down to the divers below.
    Jamal reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a battered packet of Lucky Strike cigarettes, which he offered to both Omar and me. I’d given up smoking a year before because I’d noticed it was affecting my sense of smell - an essential asset for my oil hunting - but that morning I lit up.
    ‘Now we wait,’ Jamal announced ponderously, then began to hum ‘Stayin’ Alive’ by the Bee Gees under his breath while Omar stared fixedly out at the horizon. I exchanged glances with Jamal. It was as if our thoughts drifted up with the cigarette smoke - independent patterns curling around each other, then merging in a secret shared anxiety: what if we get caught?
    A speedboat roared past, seemingly coming out of nowhere. Startled, my stomach tightened as I steeled myself for a raid by the coastguard. But Omar leapt to his feet and waved. A man on board waved back and the boat continued on its course.
    Omar smiled, reading my expression. ‘Don’t worry, he is a friend. Besides, we have nothing to hide.’
    I had the distinct impression that he was enjoying my discomfort.
    Just then a flock of pigeons flew overhead. Both men looked up at the sight of the wheeling birds.
    Jamal cursed under his breath and glanced nervously at the shoreline. ‘That is not good,’ he muttered.
    ‘A bad omen,’ Omar confirmed grimly, his gaze following the swooping mass.
    ‘It’s just pigeons,’ I said, wondering why they were so agitated.
    ‘Look again, my friend,’ Jamal said, and pointed. ‘These are land birds flying away from the land.’
    ‘Perhaps they’re flying towards an