Free Thieves Like Us 01 - Thieves Like Us by Stephen Cole Page A

linked in to the secret of eternal life.
    Jonah’s money was on ‘might not’. But the job didn’t sound too scary. Just nuts.
    He’d been given a perfectly forged passport under the name Johann Sypher, ‘just in case’ he needed to show it to anyone, and Con led him out on to the chateau’s private runway. Jonah had a grin on his face a mile wide as he watched the twin-engine turbo-prop plane glide out of its hangar. He’d always wanted to fly. Up till now, he’d never even been abroad.
    ‘Coldhardt not coming with us?’ he asked.
    The mention of his name brought a glacial frown to Con’s face. ‘Why would he? The job is simple. A child could do it.’
    He smiled innocently. ‘So how
was
last night?’
    ‘Just get on board,’ she told him.
    The five-hour flight from Geneva to Cairo passed quietly. Con and Patch wasted little time crashing out in the luxury seats. But Jonah was too excited to shift his eyes from the circular windows. He could hear Motti crouched over a thin sheaf of plans and papers and a seltzer, puzzling something out and muttering about the injustices of life. It seemed to have been a late night. Jonah had wisely gone to bed around one, when Motti was already on to his sixth beer and fourth tournament of
Fatal Conflict
against Patch. The sound of electronic gunfire had carried faintly to his room like distant thunder, as clouds swallowed the moon through his window like a bad omen.
    ‘We’re here,’ Tye announced, jerking Jonah fromhis memories as a big welcome sign came into view.
    Guards in dark uniforms loitered near the entrance with bored faces and big guns. The landscape had been bleached of all colour by the fierce sun. Tourists milled about in roped-off areas, lingered in front of impressive tombs. But there were wide tracts of sandy desolation too, and excavations in progress. Figures in white djellabas and turbans drifted about the mounds and rubble, working or overseeing others.
    ‘If this place is so old, how can there be anything left to uncover?’ Jonah asked.
    ‘Egypt’s dead were buried here for more than three thousand years,’ Tye informed him. ‘They’ve been excavating for maybe a couple of hundred.’
    He blushed. ‘OK, when you put it that way …’
    ‘I’ll get us access all areas,’ said Con.
    ‘Can you ask if we can use their toilet, too?’ Patch called.
    Con gave him a withering look as she got out of the car. Patch stared back dreamily as she smoothed out her short denim skirt and black top and walked over to the guards. She started talking confidently and fluently in a language Jonah didn’t recognise.
    ‘Is that Arabic or something?’
    ‘Duh!’ said Motti. ‘What else is she gonna speak in Egypt?’
    Jonah was impressed. ‘How many languages does she speak?’
    ‘Fluent in eight,’ said Tye. ‘Good working knowledge of eleven more.’
    ‘Including “goddess”,’ Patch added.
    A few minutes later Con got back in the car,looking pleased with herself. ‘We can drive through to the dig office. The guard’s calling through to Professor Allein now – he’s the team leader. We’re archaeology students with special clearance.’
    ‘Got it,’ said Tye.
    They drove on along the bumpy, dusty track, Con reeling off directions. The office was a battered old Portakabin, its weatherproofing dried out and cracked by the sun. A thin, balding man in a linen suit, his tanned face scored with deep wrinkles, was frowning down his long nose at them.
    ‘I don’t have time to speak to students,’ he said in a thick French accent. But when Con started gabbling at him in his own tongue, he smiled broadly and said something back.
    ‘The professor says he’s about to make an important phone call,’ Con reported. ‘He is sorry he was rude. He thought we were all English.’
    Tye muttered something that was probably deeply offensive in Creole.
    As Con continued her chat, Motti shrugged. ‘Whatever. Saves
us
having to speak to old Leather