movies that she recognized it instantly as a fragmentation grenade, and
at the same moment she realized that the priming handle had flown off
and the weapon was set to explode within seconds.
Without thinking, she grabbed the door handle beside her and flung all
her weight against the door. It burst open and she tumbled out in the
road. Her foot slipped off the clutch and the Renault bounded forward
and crashed into the back of the stationary bus.
As Royan sprawled in the road under the wheels of the following taxi,
the grenade exploded. Through the open driver's door blew a sheet of
flame and smoke and debris. The back window burst outwards and sprayed
her with diamond chips of glass, and the detonation drove painfully into
her eardrums.
A stunned silence followed the shock of the explosion, broken only by
the tinkle of falling glass shards, and then immediately there was a
hubbub of groans and screams.
Royan sat up and clasped her injured arm to her chest. She had fallen
heavily upon it and the stitches were agony.
The Renault was wrecked, but she saw that her leather sling bag had been
blown out of the door and lay in the street close at hand. She pushed
herself unsteadily to her feet and hobbled over to pick it up. All
around her was confusion. A few of the passengers in the bus had been
injured, and a piece of shrapnel or wreckage had wounded a little girl
on the sidewalk. Her mother was screaming and mopping at the child's
bloody face with her scarf The girl struggled in her mother's grip,
wailing pitifully.
Nobody was taking any notice of Royan, but she knew the police would
arrive within minutes. They were geared up to respond swiftly to
fundamentalist terror attacks. She knew that if they found her here she
would be tied up in days of interrogation. She slung the bag over her
shoulder and walked as swiftly as her bruised leg would allow her to the
alleyway down which the Honda had disappeared.
At the end of the street was a public lavatory. She locked herself in
one of the cubicles and leaned against the door with her eyes closed,
trying to recover from the shock and to get her confused thoughts in
order.
In the horror and desolation of Duraid's murder she had not until now
considered her own safety. The realization of danger had been forced
upon her in the most savage manner. She remembered the words of one of
the assassins spoken in the darkness beside the oasis "We always know
where to find her later!'
The attempt on her life had failed only narrowly. She had to believe
that there would be another.
I can't go back to the flat," she realized. "The villa is gone, and
anyway they would look for me there."
Despite the unsavoury atmosphere she remained locked in the cubicle for
over an hour while she thought out her next movements. At last she left
the toilet and went to the row of stained and cracked washbasins. She
splashed her face under the tap. Then in the mirror she combed her hair,
touched up her make-up, and straightened and tidied her clothing as best
she was able.
She walked a few blocks, doubling back on her tracks and watching behind
her to make sure she -was not being followed, before she hailed a taxi
in the street.
She made the driver drop her in the street behind her bank, and walked
the rest of the way. It was only minutes before closing time when she
was " shown into the cubicle office of one of the sub-accountants. She
withdrew what money was in her account, which amounted to less than five
thousand Egyptian pounds. It was not a great sum, but she had a little
more in her Lloyds Bank account in York, and then she had her
Mastercard.
"You should have given us notice to withdraw an article from safe
deposit," the bank official told her severely.
She apologized meekly and played the helpless little-girllost so
convincingly that he relented. He handed over to her the package that
contained her British passport and her Lloyds banking papers.
Duraid had numerous relatives and friends who would have been pleased to
have her to stay with them, but she wanted to remain out of sight, away
from her usual haunts.
She chose one of the two-star tourist hotels away from the river where
she hoped she could remain anonymous amongst the multitudes of the tour
groups. At this type of hotel there was a high turnover of guests, for
most of them stayed only for a few nights before moving on up to Luxor
and Aswan to view the monuments.
As soon as she was alone in her single room she phoned British Airways
reservations. There was a flight to Heathrow the following morning at
ten 'clock. She booked a one-way economy seat and gave them the number
of her Mastercard.
It was after six 'clock by then, but the time difference between Egypt
and the UK meant that it would still be office hours there. She looked
up the number in her notebook. Leeds University was where she had
completed her studies. Her call was answered on the third ring.
"Archaeology Department. Professor Dixon's office," said a prim English
schoolmarm voice.
:Is that you, Miss Higgins?"
Yes, it is. To whom am I speaking?"
"It's Royan. Royan Al Simma, who used to be Royan Said :, Royan! We
haven't heard from you for an absolute age. How are your They chatted
for a short while, but Royan was aware of the cost of the call. "Is the
Prof in?" she cut it short.
Professor Percival Dixon was over seventy and should have retired years
ago. "Royan, is it really you? My favourite student." She smiled. Even
at his age he was still the randy old goat. All the pretty ones were his
favourite students.
"This is an international call, Prof. I just want to know if the offer
is still open."
"My goodness, I thought you said that you couldn't fit us in, whatr
"Change of circumstances. I'll tell you about it when I see you, if I
see you."
"Of course, we' love to have you come and talk to us.
When can you manage to get awayr
"I'll be in England tomorrow."
'my goodness, that's a bit sudden. Don't know if we can arrange it that
quickly."
"I will be staying with my mother near York. Put me back to Miss Higgins
and I will give her the telephone number." He was one of the most
brilliant men she knew, but she didn't trust him to write down a
telephone number correctly. "I'll call you in a few days' time."
She hung up and lay back on the bed. She was exhausted and her arm was
still hurting, but she tried to lay her plans to cover all
eventualities.
Two months ago Prof Dixon had invited her to lecture on the discovery
and excavation of the tomb of Queen Lostris,. and the discovery of the
scrolls. It was that book, of course, and more especially the footnote
at the end of it, that had alerted him. Its publication had caused a
great deal of interest. They had received enquiries from Egyptologists,
both amateur and professional, all around the world, some from as far
afield as Tokyo and Nairobi, all of them questioning the authenticity of
the novel and the factual basis behind it.
At the time she had opposed letting a writer of fiction have access to
the transcriptions, especially as they had not been completed. She felt
that the whole thing had reduced what should have been an important and
serious academic subject to the level of popular entertainment, rather
like what Spielberg had done to palaeontology with his park full of
dinosaurs.
In the end her voice had been over-ruled. Even Duraid had sided against