The Gospel of Esther: a Will Silence Adventure

Another one just for myself and the lovely Sweet_Denna...


The Pretorius mansion was built among the foothills outside Zurich, its imposing white domes walled off and guarded at all times by Pretorius' blackclad private army of Thompson gun-wielding guards. Guests were few -only the silent, unobtrusive servants moved to and fro through the long corridors.

Pretorius had not left his home in over twenty years. He had built it to contain everything he would ever need. One room, modelled on Wall Street's Stock Exchange, was filled with ticker tape machines and jangling telephones, allowing the millionaire to keep one dessicated finger on the pulse of his business empire at all times. There was the great glass-walled arboretum, filled with rare blooms and the sinister purple and black orchids, personally bred by Pretorius, that were his special favorites. Carved into the rock underneath was a small but comfortable bunker, equipped with enough supplies in canned goods to last ten years (considerably longer, as it happened, than Pretorius' personal team of physicans gave him).

But the rooms that Pretorius spent most time in, these days, were the galleries of his collection. Artwork -lost masterpieces from the Renaissance, a statue by Michelangelo, an extraordinarily beautiful, minimalist triptych by an unknown Japanese artist of the seventeenth century. Pretorius detested modern art. Manuscripts -first editions, drafts, ancient works. He had the lost Annals and Histories of Tacitus. One of the few remaining thoughts that could win a dry chuckle from Silas Pretorius was that of the teeth-gnashing frustration that the classicists would experience if they realised the treasures he was withholding from the world.

Wasn't that the pleasure of a collection like his? Not just owning it; denying it to others. And there weren't many pleasures left to him. His body had withered and failed, organ by organ long ago. He was impotent and confined to a wheelchair. His money and the ruthlessness of his will to power had poisoned his several marriages and his few friendships. Pretorius Industries, an unholy conglomerate of his numerous companies, ruled supreme in its sphere. Its only competitors were either equally untouchable or else so weak that crushing them was hardly satisfying. For a while, Pretorius had entertained himself by meddling in politics, backing hard-right regimes in turbulent Europe and setting up tinpot dictatorships in South America. But even that lost its charm. He had swept the board clear. He had outdone himself.

"Report?"

His voice was a dry whisper. He sat in his study, the nerve-centre of his empire, at the plate glass window which overlooked the valley and the snowcapped mountains beyond it. McAllister, his imperturbably efficient secretary stood behind him, dressed in his usual conservative pinstripe suit and tie. McAllister had worked for Pretorius for a long time, silently accepting that in exchange for his vast salary, he must discard all notions of a personal life or desires beyond pleasing his sour, ill-tempered master.

"Hussinger Technology has announced a new prototype -an electronic car. Stocks in oil shares are already plummeting."

Pretorius Industries had vast reserves of petroleum.

"Undo it," said Pretorius. McAllister nodded.

"I'll send a team to..."

An irritable wave of Pretorius' clawed finger silenced him. Pretorius did not care what dirty tricks would be used to undermine Hussinger's electric car; bribery, blackmail, a smear campaign or sabotage. He'd delighted in details like that once -now they just bored him.

"Workers in our mines in Durham are striking."

"Smash them."

McAllister nodded. He went through the remaining business, Pretorius clearly barely listening. The part he was waiting for came at the end -news from Pretorius' scouts and hunters in the art-world. Several deals had been concluded. One had fallen through (a Renoir in Amsterdam, bought by a local businessman who had then immediately donated it to the national museum. Pretorius scowled at that). And then there was the letter.

"Letter?"

"Yes, sir. But I hardly know if it's even worth your time. It's from a rare book dealer in Cairo -one Muhammed ibn Muwadi. A very small-time man, Mr Pretorius. We've never dealt with him before."

But Pretorius' attention had been engaged.

"What's he say?"

McAllister produced a crumpled sheet of paper and primly placed a pair of glasses on the bridge of his nose. Knowing his master's impatience, he skimmed through the irrelevant preamble and summarised.

"He claims to have a unique text, sir. It was found recently in the desert north of Abu-Symnal, by a farmer. Syriac. He calls it the Gospel of Esther, and he says it will shake the world. He wants to sell it to us. But in a transparent bid to drive the price up, he hasn't contacted just us. He's sent these letters to every major dealer and university in the western world."

Pretorius' attention was clearly starting to wane. McAllister frowned.

"This does make sense of something, though. The School of Oriental Studies in Vassar is sending someone to Cairo this week. I imagine they think that Muwadi's story is worth investigating."

Pretorius' attention returned.

"Mm? Get it."

McAllister had known that he would react this way. Never formally educated himself, Pretorius both loathed and had a grudging respect for institutes of higher learning. If Vassar wanted this manuscript, he would want to take it from them just to spite them. He bowed.

"Yes, sir. I'll get van der Sluys to..."

Pretorius interrupted him.

"No. Needs a subtler touch. The...", he had to pause to wheeze for breath. "The girl. The one who handled the St Petersburg business."

McAllister nodded. "Of course, sir. I will contact her immediately."

Zoe Brigandeau sat back on the chaise longue wearing nothing but an exquisite jewel necklace that rested enticingly between her round, firm breasts. “Now, how do I look?” she whispered, addressing a man in his forties who stood a few steps away from her. He wore an expensive suit and had the appearance of a high state official. One could always tell. Zoe sighed. Was there anything less exciting than a city full of these diplomats that had no other ambitions than getting the right dinner invitations and cheating on their boring wives? It was like shooting fish in a barrel.

“Your beauty and grace exceed that of a queen”, he whispered hoarsely, taking in the sight of the naked young woman in front of him. Her shiny hair that was almost black in the receding day light flowed down her delicate shoulders like that of a siren. “Even that of our own.”

Zoe’s ruby lips curled into a faint smile. “Thank you, ambassador. You flatter me.”

She was sure that the necklace had looked much less exciting around the neck of his aging monarch, and this heist was more a homage to the piece’s beauty than a real crime. Did the ambassador know that she was one of the most dangerous and sought-after art thieves of her time? Zoe tilted her head and beckoned him to come closer with one finger. Probably not. And if he did, would he have cared?

In a theatrical gesture he kneeled in front of the chaise longue and took one of her slender feet in his hand in reverence. “Madame, let me be your servant, no, your slave, let me cater to your every whim. All I wish for is for you to let me admire you. I will do anything for you, all you need to do is ask.” He placed his lips on the warm skin of her ankle with emphasis.

Zoe brushed a finger against the necklace. The poor man risked his career and his reputation with this valuable gift, and she tried to remember if his country still executed men for the crime of lese majesty. Not that she really cared, but the thought made this priceless piece of jewellery just a wee bit more valuable still. If truth be told, the jewels were really all she had ever wanted from him. Her job was done. Her client, a well-known gentleman of power and incredible wealth, would be very pleased indeed to be able to add the famous Samatya Jewels to his collection.

But why not enjoy the spoils of this successful endeavour just a little while longer?

With one graceful, fluid movement she leant forward and put one finger under his chin, raising his face to look at her. “My dear ambassador, how could I deny you such a modest wish?” She brushed over his lips with her thumb. “I am sure you know how to please a woman.”

His face lit up in subservient joy. “Allow me to show you, madame.”

Zoe smiled and leant back against the ottoman. Opening her thighs, she bent one leg and placed the other lightly on the floor, thus revealing her sex to the man kneeling at her feet. The ambassador sighed in admiration at the sight. “Go on”, Zoe whispered. “Show me.”

He placed one hand on her lower thigh, caressing the silken skin with light fingers, and then, encouraged by her soft moan, he parted her thighs with his hands and flicked the tip of his tongue against her clit. Zoe arched her back, urging him on. “More.”

The eager ambassador was happy to oblige. Zoe writhed under his skilful kisses, licks, soft bites, one of her hands now digging in his hair, pushing him against her sex. The jewel necklace glittered against her skin in the light of the setting sun.

The ringing of the phone on the stand next to the chaise longue ripped through the silence like the crack of a whip. With a frown, Zoe extended one arm and put the receiver lazily to her ear. “Yes?” The ambassador interrupted his caresses and looked up at her with an expression that reminded Zoe of an eager puppy. His lips and chin were glistening with her juices.

“McAllister.” The tone in her voice left no doubt about her displeasure. How did Pretorius’ little weasel know that she was here? “This better be very important. I am entertaining.” One finger curled around the cable of the receiver as she listened intently. “Very well then, go on.”

All the ambassador could hear was the faint voice of a man on the other end of the line who was obviously explaining something to Zoe. Gradually, her frown softened, and by the end of her interlocutor’s seemingly endless monologue, her dark blue eyes glittered in amusement. “Well, I don’t see why not. Tell your boss that I would be glad to take care of this for him. I could use a change of scenery.” Another pause. “Of course. I will take care of it.”

And she hung up. Pretorius. Zoe Brigandeau smiled at the memory of her adventure in St. Petersburg. She had come dangerously close to being discovered then, working for the old eccentric. Very close indeed, to jail, or much worse. Pretorius was more obsessed with precious objects than she was, and he paid well.

She placed one hand on the ambassador’s head, who was still obediently kneeling by the end of the chaise. “You better hurry up with your demonstration. I will go to Cairo tonight.”

***

“Lilly!”

Liliana Jones stepped off the train at the main station in Cairo, gingerly balancing a suit case and a leather bag over her shoulder. Shielding her eyes against the bright noon sun, she put both down as she heard her name.

The man who came striding towards her was maybe in his fifties, with a thick black beard and a friendly, open smile. He wore a light summer suit. “My dear Lilly, how good to have you back! It has been much too long!”

“Abu Hassan!” The young woman threw herself in his arms. “How are you, and how is your family?”

“Fine, fine. We have all been waiting for you. I could not believe it when I received your letter!” Holding one of her wrists in each of his hands, he stepped back. “But let me look at you, young lady. You are even prettier than the last time we saw you!” She wore a light long skirt and a long-sleeved blouse, and a hat, slightly crumpled from her long journey, covered her chin-length auburn hair. “The young men at home must be beating down your door!”

Lilly blushed. She was not very good at accepting compliments, not even from friends as dear as Abu Hassan. He laughed and picked up her bags, insisting upon carrying them himself. “But come, you must be tired and hungry. Everyone is waiting for you. Come!”

Walking along the crowded platform, they continued their conversation.

“I heard you have finished your dissertation? I will call you doctor now, yes?”

Lilly laughed. “I have indeed finished it, but I dread ending up in the dusty little office for the rest of my life.” Abu Hassan chuckled. “So you come to Cairo?” She grinned at him, trying to keep up with his brisk pace. Several times she had to apologise for bumping into other passers-by. She had missed the dusty, hot air of Cairo. “Indeed!”

“Are you here for the digs down by Al Kharjah? I heard that Robinson and his people expect the find of the century.”

Lilly rolled her eyes. “Yes, he would say that. But no, I am here for a more modest inquiry, probably nothing more than a hoax. Have you heard of the scroll from Abu-Symnal?”

Abu Hassan frowned and stopped in his pace. “I have. Muwadi is a crook. They sent you here for one of his rumours?”

Lilly, wiping her forehead, shrugged. “It seems quite unlikely, I agree. But if it gets me to Cairo, who cares?” Laughing, the two of them continued their walk. Lilly was very much looking forward to a bath and a meal, and to seeing Hannan and her family. Muwadi and his gospel could surely wait another day.

The Laureate was a quiet, Mayfair-based gentleman's club of the old school. Bishops, peers and prime ministers numbered among its members and its extensive cellars contained some of the oldest and finest brandies, ports and wines in the British Isles. A rule of absolute silence was preserved in the smoking room (apocryphal legend had it that one excitable young Tory had rushed in one day in April, 1775, to announce that the Americans were revolting and been permanently barred from the club). The rule against women members and guests was enforced with a strictness that would have brought a Capuchin monastery to shame.

But even to members the upper rooms of the club townhouse were barred. They were reserved for the Board, the secretive, hereditary group who collectively owned the club.

The Board met very seldom, once or twice a year. Their members would not have been, for the most part, very recognisable except to certain specialised men of finance. They were all very wealthy yet they lived abstemious, almost austere private lives. They were universally married family men. Their business practises were shrewd and hard but not ruthless. Their donations to charity were considerable but anonymous. They did not appear to involve themselves in politics. They all attended church every Sunday but never made a show of their devotions.

They did not need to. For the members of the Laurate's Board of Directors knew that they were among the elect of a sinful generation, that they through no merit of their own had been plucked from the fires of Gehenna, just as their fathers and their grandfathers had been before them. Their success in business was merely an outward sign of God's unearned favour, and sometimes they must needs be about His work in this fallen world.

"Call to order," said the Chairman. The group, dressed in their uniformly sober black suits, were assembled around a green baize table. Around this table, in times gone by, the fate of the American colonies had been decided, the Crimean campaign had been planned and the truth of the Whitechapel killings buried forever. Never for wealth or political gain. Always for the advancement of the true gospel.

"Jeremiah: will you favour us with a report on recent events in Cairo?"

The Board usually shunned cloak-and-dagger theatrics, but it valued its anonymity. Each member had a code-name reflecting his special area of interest. Jeremiah's was Egypt.

"As I indicated in my preliminary report, all the evidence suggests that a copy of the Whore's Gospel has been unearthed in Abu-Symnal and is now being offered for sale in Egypt. As my brethren will recall, this is not the first time that this lying and fraudulent... filth has troubled the world. The so-called Gospel of Esther was first mentioned in a letter by Clement of Alexandria. He gave a brief summary of its contents, enough to indicate their lascivious and blasphemous nature. Fortunately, our agents have been able to secure and destroy all copies of Clement's letter.

"In 1856, the Gospel itself appeared. It had been looted from a Byzantine library by a Frankish knight during the sack of Constantinople in 1204 and then passed from hand to hand across Europe for the next six centuries. It was discovered by an antiques dealer in a secondhand bookshop in Prague and offered up for auction. Fortunately, our agents were able to secure the manuscript and destroy it. The dealer and his staff were purged."

There were bowed heads and sombre looks at this, but no surprise. As private individuals, the Board took the commandments against killing seriously, but they understood their role as holy avengers very well.

"May I ask a question?"

It was Malachi, whose domain was the Antipodes. Malachi was younger than the others, and still relatively new to his inherited role. The Chairman nodded gravely. Malachi cleared his throat self-consciously.

"The Gospel of Esther is all lies, of course. I've ah...", his cheeks coloured, "I've read our records on its contents. No man of reason could take such pornographic filth for holy writ. Why not say 'Publish and be damned!'"

There was a collective intake of breath. Even when quoting former prime ministers, members of the Board never swore. It was left to the Chairman to explain, with paternal patience.

"Malachi, our struggle is not with flesh and blood. You understand that. Politics is a thing of this world. God's elect have seen the worldly empires rise and fall to dust, again and again. They cannot challenge the kingdom of God. It is likewise with these modern day idols -Facism, Communism. They are of no importance. They are of no interest to us. But... but..."

The Chairman was warming to his theme, his eyes beginning to shine. This was his obsession, as to some degree it was the obsession of all present.

"There are those who would challenge the natural order of things. Who would legitimise the gratification of all the most sensual and depraved urges, who would trample the holy bonds of matrimony into the common mire, who would take woman from her natural place of modesty and subservience to man and place her on an equal footing where she was never intended to be. The suffragettes. The pornographers. The free-thinkers. These are rebels against Heaven, Malachi. These are Antichrist. And to place this book, libellous forgery though it is, in their hands is to afford our enemy the greatest weapon they may ever possess. Would you have your wife lord it over you, Malachi? Would you have your daughters cavorting in the streets like common harlots?"

"No, Chairman," said Malachi, his eyes downcast. The Chairman nodded benevolently.

"Good. Now, Jeremiah. What I suggest is that you send a group of proven men to Cairo, with orders to claim and destroy this document, along with all those who have been in contact with its infection. I trust that you can find souls who will not flinch at the necessary work?"

Jeremiah gave a sober nod and the motion passed. The Chairman bowed his head. It was an ugly business, but just as it had once been the task of Phineas to smite the unclean, it fell to their lot in the modern age.

"Habibi!"

One lazily turning ceiling fan disturbed the shisha smoke of Hanan's coffee-shop. It was a long, spacious room occupying the ground floor of an Ottoman building in Zamalek. Wrought iron tables were scattered throughout the room and out on the street outside, where motionless men sat. Their only interest in life seemed to be the strong, sweet black cups of coffee the proprietor and his son served, their only occupation their endless games of backgammon.

Will Silence had, when he required it, a gift for blending in but he could not have managed here. The aura of mystery, adventure and danger that clung to his tanned, leanly muscular frame, the restless live-wire energy that practically crackled in his blue-grey eyes and radiated from his enigmatic half-smile, the relaxed but poised set of his broad shoulders in his chair at his central table -all of these things distinguished him from Hanan's sedate, respectable clientele. He could not even play backgammon -he always won.

Hanan was a burly yet plump man, currently shaking his head in mock-dismay as he approached Will.

"Ahh, my old friend Will Silence! Hero of the HMS Southampton incident!"

"I was in the wrong place, wrong time," Will responded, only half-looking up from his newspaper. An outside observer would have been amazed by the detail and accuracy of the apparently inattentive young man's observation of his surroundings. Over the course of a crowded life, Will had learned the art of paying attention without seeming to pay attention.

"Saviour of Duchess Klara von Jurgenschon!"

"In all fairness, I think she had the situation with her kidnappers under control well before I arrived."

"Only survivor of the Frobisher Expedition!"

"The press blew that one out of all proportion. I'm not kidding -I've consulted lawyers on the case for libel."

"And, of course, most recently, discoverer of the legendary Black Pyramid!"

"It was black, it was pyramid-shaped. Hard to miss."

Hanan had reached Will's table and now slung himself down.

"And what does he do? What will this hero do next? He will sit at my table in my cafe, drinking coffee for which he does not pay, annoying my best customers by cheating at backgammon, and filling my impressionable daughters' heads with improper notions about his broad shoulders and handsome face."

Will lowered his newspaper to eye Hanan.

"I'm getting the slightest impression I'm outwearing my welcome here."

Hanan dropped his tongue-in-cheek indignation and looked at Will seriously.

"No. You are always welcome here, my friend. Always. But this is not where you belong. It's a quiet place, a place of rest. You belong in the world: chasing adventures, fighting villains, melting girls' hearts. And you know that."

Will considered. It was true. Hanan's had been a blessed refuge after the heat and turmoil of the Black Pyramid adventure. After weeks of chases and fighting in the desert, all he had wanted was to crawl into the shade and sleep. But mind and body had recovered and now all both craved was reentry into the fray.

"I guess. What are you thinking?"

"Never fear! Nothing too strenuous, habibi. Laila, Maha and Nahla would never forgive me if I exposed their hero's milk-white skin to too much peril. I have a brother-in-law -Muhammed ibn Muwadi. He sells rare books."

"Go on."

"Lately, he has come into possession of a most rare find. A book that he claims will change the world. It is called the Gospel of Esther and he is trying to sell it. But some people who have expressed an interest, who have been snooping around his shop recently -well, my brother-in-law does not feel that their intentions are honourable. He would not admit as much, but I fear that he is greatly out of his depth. He needs a man of the world, such as yourself. A strong man but not a brute. A person to simply discreetly idle around his shop, much as you presently idle around my cafe, and keep a watchful eye on his property and his person until the gospel's sale has been finalised."

Will looked at Hanan.

"You think he's in serious danger?"

Hanan shrugged. "Perhaps, perhaps not. He is not a very brave man. It may be all in his head. Regardless, your presence would ease his mind. I would consider it a favour."

Will needed nothing further -he had never refused a friend a favour in his life. He stood.

"Loiter around a bookshop. Guard a book. Doesn't sound like a big deal. I'm in."

They would prove to be fateful words.

It was early noon when Lilly turned up at Muhammed ibn Muwadi’s shop of rare books. Nestled into the outer walls of an old Mamluk caravanserai, it was rather plain and did not draw much attention from the outside. But once a customer had ducked into the doorway, Muwadi’s store turned out to be a veritable treasure trove for hunters of rare scriptures.

The room opened into a cavernous space filled to the ceilings with shelves, baskets, trunks and tables loaded with piles of books, manuscripts, copies of old newspapers, postcards, maps and scrolls. The only light source were the door and two small windows set high into the brick wall, and Muwadi himself sat crouched behind a wooden desk covered with ever more books. Lilly thought that he looked rather tired, and noticed that his hand holding a cigarette seemed to tremble. “As-salamu alaykum”, she said, and Muwadi nodded.

Lilly had not expected much from Muhammed ibn Muwadi’s shop. Abu Hassan had again and again insisted that he was a crook, a liar and a cheat, that all he sold were useless copies of unremarkable books, and that it was quite impossible for him to have anything that Lilly and the Department of Oriental Studies at her school could possibly be interested in. Lilly had politely pointed out that she only went to seek the book seller out to make sure that the Gospel he claimed to possess was a hoax, and Abu Hassan had been satisfied with that, and sent his oldest son Faisal with her, to, as he had said, “make sure that the arrogant bandit would not rob her”. Faisal had stepped into his father’s footsteps to study archeology, and had just started to work on his first excavation just outside of Cairo.

Now she was looking at a scroll that seemed to list the names of all dishes served at the circumcision festivities of one of Sultan Selim II’s sons in Istanbul, dating back to the 16th century. Lilly’s eyes widened as she scanned the Ottoman document – there was no doubt that it was the original. Carelessly thrown in a large trunk with other documents that seemed to be tax levies, port inventories and supply lists for the palace kitchens, it gave a glimpse of the treasures buried in this small book shop. Lilly began to wonder if Abu Hassan had been misled about Muwadi’s reputation, or if he had had some quarrel with him in the past that would now keep him from praising his wares simply out of pride.

At the age of 26, Liliana Jones was one of the youngest specialists on old Oriental languages in Vassar, and she had already made a name for herself in the field. Oxford and Berlin had both made tentative offers for assistant positions, and now that she had finished her dissertation, she only needed to choose. But Lilly was happiest in places like this little shop, digging through piles of dusty scrolls and books, away from the rapaciously competitive and misogynous battle fields of academia.

Her heart started to beat faster when she came across a yellowed manuscript that was lying on top of another large pile of books. She picked it up and with a sharp intake of breath, deciphered the Arabic script on the cover. “Oh”, she whispered. “This is a copy of Al Tifashi’s book!” In university, she had heard of the anthology he had written in the Early Middle Ages on sexual practices, too risqué to ever actually be turned into a book. But manuscripts of his witty erotic writings must have been handed down eagerly through the ages, and now she held one copy in her hands. Some of her colleagues would have – quite literally – killed to get their hands on it.

Faisal peeked over her shoulder and laughed. “’The Delights of Hearts’? Not a book for young ladies”, he remarked dryly. “Not for innocent eyes like yours.” Lilly blushed deeply against her will. “But you sound like you know it by heart?” she retorted, but put it down again quickly when the book seller threw her an eager glance, as if wanting to ask if she was interested. The university’s funds would surely not allow purchasing such rare and valuable works, and she was certainly unable to afford it.

“Come on, let’s talk to Ibn Muwadi”, Faisal said with a grin, taking her by the hand. “Before I lose you in one of these piles.” Lilly nodded, barely able to tear her eyes away from the stacks of books lining the walls. “Yes, let’s do that”, she said absent-mindedly. “That’s what we’re here for.”

***
Zoe sighed and adjusted her elegant sun hat. The noon heat did not become her, and she hated the dry, fine dust that seemed to cling to her skin despite the long-sleeved blouse and the wide linen trousers. In front of her, on one of the marble coffee tables, lay a copy of a French newspaper. Waiters, probably terribly hot in their Western-style uniforms, flitted around between the tables with trays laden with coffee, juice, and lemonade. These faux French cafés, mimicking the lazy elegance of Montmartre or the Latin Quarter, seemed to be all the rage in Cairo, and Zoe did not mind. It was easier to blend in here, between the rich wives of foreign diplomats and unadventurous tourists, and her view of the old caravanserai and Muwadi’s bookshop was excellent.

She played with the straw in her lemonade, seemingly bored, but in reality, nothing of the goings-on around her escaped her attention. From the way McAllister had described it, this should be a pretty straight-forward job. An old scroll, very likely a fake or some sort of hoax, with her only known competition a couple of mousy academics. Pretorious himself had probably already half-forgotten about this.

But Zoe knew better than to rely on assumptions. Better safe than sorry, right? She leant forward and took another sip from her ice-cold lemonade. This was the reason that she had decided to keep an eye on the shop for now without actually setting foot inside: see who else would be interested in the scroll, and then decide how to outwit them. Zoe preferred brains to violence, and in her experience, the latter was best avoided through thorough preparation. Of course, if she was forced to, she would resort to other, sometimes quite lethal, means – after all, the customer was always king. But for now, she did not see any need for that.

It was then that a young woman, clearly a foreigner, approached the shop, accompanied by a young man who seemed to be Egyptian. Zoe smiled. If the worn leather bag over the young woman’s shoulder was any indication, she was one of the academics that McAllister had talked about. What was it with these scholarly types? Zoe herself would have never been caught dead in the sandals she was wearing. Such a pretty face, such a lovely figure, and yet so little style.

The pair of them had entered the shop. Zoe had noticed a couple of other, rather shady-looking elements lurking around as well earlier, but she was not sure if they were actually interested in books, or more into the wallets of passers-by. With a sigh, she fished a small pocket mirror out of her handbag to refresh her lipstick. Cairo might have been hot and dusty, but this did not need to show on her face.

After she had traced her lips with the dark red colour and wanted to close the mirror again, she noticed a movement behind her that made her hesitate. Had she just seen the glimpse of a gun in the waistband of the man sitting at a table behind her? Zoe did not turn around, and pretended to check her mascara. There were several men sitting in the café, and when she looked into the mirror now, all of them seemed to be either engaged in conversation, or busy with cigarettes and coffee. She put her mirror away, and her full lips curled into a faint smile. Maybe this assignment was going to be less dull than she had thought?

It had been half a week now and Will had learned several things from his vigil.

The first was that Hanan's excellent coffee was not typical of Cairo's cafes. The thick, burnt black sludge served in the tourist trap opposite Ibn Muwadi's shop was not appetising.

The second was that Ibn Muwadi was quite convinced of the value of the text he'd found. He'd been fretful and anxious when Will first approached, alternating between gradiloquent speeches of the service he was rendering the world in making this text known and paranoid ramblings about the dark forces trying to stop him. He'd reluctantly given Will access to a set of rooms above the shop as a place to stay -Will suspected he usually used them as a place for assignations with his mistress. With a great air of ceremony, he'd shown Will the manuscript itself, taking it out from an iron strongbox he kept under his chair. Will had done his best to look impressed.

The third, and most important, was that Ibn Muwadi's paranoia was justified. Moving casually between cafe and bookshop, Will had been taking note of those who seemed to pass by too frequently, those who loitered aimlessly.

This had its difficulties. Cairo was a city where more life took place on the hot, dusty streets than behind doors, a city that only became more and more active as cool evening descended. You had to filter out the ambling knife-salesman with their wry cries in Arabic ('Who's tired of their mother-in-law?'); the vendors of cool drinks of crushed fruit and ice; the ubiquitious urchins; the redfaced sweating tourists; and the sharpfaced, darting pickpockets, touts and beggars. Nevertheless, Will was soon aware of a scattering of men, sitting in the cafes or standing in the shade, who fit none of these categories.

They were European, but neither tourists nor British officials or soldiers. They were dressed for the heat like Will himself -in cool white shirts (shirt tails loose, potentially concealing the handles of gun in their waistband) and tan or gray cargo pants. They looked like professionals. Their eyes were hard and watchful. Will hadn't told Ibn Muwadi. No need to worry him unduly. Will couldn't be sure, but he didn't think the watchers had made him.

Today, another player had joined them. She herself was attracting her share of attention from the men in the cafe. She was an exceptionally beautiful young woman. Smooth, sleek dark hair tumbled like a waterfall down her shoulders from underneath her sunhat, framing the delicate, ivory perfection of her features. There was a heady and alluring sense of style, intrigue and erotic power to her slightest movement, from the way she crossed her legs at the ankles to the lazily graceful gesture with which she ordered coffee. Will thought that if one got close enough (a tantalising thought), she would smell of fragrant sandalwood and just a hint of vanilla. In other words, she was as out of place here as he had been in Hanan's coffee shop.

The waiters knew it too but they didn't follow the thought through to its logical conclusion as Will did; they just silently praised their luck and then fought for the privilege of being the one to serve the lovely foreigner. She wasn't going to have to pay for her coffee, that was for damn sure.

So: spy. Of some description and quite possibly negotiable persuasion. And she wasn't working with the other watchers, that was also clear. Will wouldn't have expected a nod or even glance of recognition (strictly for amateurs) but their new arrival recieved a strange reaction from the only one of the male watchers present in the cafe with Will.

He'd looked at her -taking in, as every other man had, the graceful and sinfully inviting curves of her body under her blouse and linen trousers. Then he'd looked sharply away before almost furtively darting back for another peek, prudish indignation and concupiscence dancing a complicated tango across his face.

Will had been surprised. He'd have pegged the man as a seasoned professional. Seeing him acting like a nervous, guiltily horny choirboy complicated the image a little.

The attention of all three was drawn by the arrival of a new customer for Ibn Muwadi's bookshop. The bookdealer had rather self-importantly told Will that an academic, one Doctor Jones, was arriving from the States to discuss purchase of the gospel. Will had instantly pictured some dried-up old stick from Harvard. If the new arrival was indeed Jones, it was clear that he'd have to revise his notions about higher education.

She was young, for a start, with lustrous auburn hair falling down to her chin. She had a waifish, doe-eyed and delicate beauty that was all the more enhanced by the fact that she was clearly unaware of it. There was a shy, bashful tilt to her head and yet there was something about the curve of her soft, sensitive lips, their brave yet impish smile, that also seemed to promise a sense of humour. Most interestingly of all, Cairo did not seem to make her nervous the way it made many delicately-nurtured young ladies. She picked her way across the dusty streets with a confidence and aplomb that some foreign visitors to Cairo never acquired at all.

Will had sat up in his chair, momentarily exposing the butt of his own ever-reliable, hand-customised Hammersmith automatic. The slip was only momentary, but he could tell that the darkhaired spy girl at the table in front of him had caught a glimpse of the dull metal. Will lowered his head and took a deep interest in his coffee.

The arrival of Jones and her escort had caused a stir among the watchers. They were slowly coming together, taking their time, and heading for the entrance of Ibn Muwadi's shop. Five of them -he hadn't been able to get a proper count before now.

Will nodded. The strongbox. Not unbreakable but still a pain to get open. Plus, they probably wouldn't know which of the manuscripts inside was the one they wanted. No, wait for Jones to arrive, wait for Ibn Muwadi to open it up, fish out the Gospel of Esther, and lay it in front of her, then spring the ambush. Sensible.

The situation must have been as obvious to the darkhaired girl as it was to him, but Will didn't have time to see how she would react. He was already on his feet and strolling across the street, hand casually going to his side.

Gunfight in a bookshop filled with fragile, irreplaceable manuscripts. Not ideal. Nor was going up against five seasoned gunmen for that matter. But if he'd wanted a quiet life, he could have stayed on the farm in Illinois.

Whistling a happy little tune, Will Silence made his way directly behind the five men into the bookshop.



"Doctor Jones?" said Muhammed ibn Muwadi, squinting almost dubiously. "Ah! Forgive me! I was expecting... ah... I was expecting..."

Words seeming to fail him, he spread his hands in a gesture that encompassed with surprising clarity Lily's gender, youth, slender beauty and lovely form.

"But you wish to see the gospel, yes? Ahh, my dear doctor, the Gospel of Esther! You will be astounded. It is like nothing, nothing, that has ever been seen before. I had a Coptic priest translate just some of it. His eyes popped...", Ibn Muwadi performed another illustrative gesture, "Popped out of his head."

He lifted an iron box from under his chair and heaved it on to the table. Unlocking it, he leafed through a sheaf of rustling manuscripts before triumphantly placing a little, yellowing codex of calfskin and papyrus in front of Lily.

Lilly and Faisal exchanged a look. For a brief moment, neither of them seemed to breathe. The young woman brushed a strand of hair from her face, too stunned to speak. The only sounds that could be heard were the clicking of the overhead fan and the faint hubbub of the street outside. Lilly stared at the codex, taking in its structure, its colour, the even script flowing across the yellowing piece of parchment. Ibn Muwadi leant slightly forward, as if wanting to make sure that his guest had not fainted standing up. “Should I get us some tea?”

Lilly nodded absent-mindedly. She had not even listened to Ibn Muwadi’s question. Her slender hand hovered over the brittle parchment, as if taking in its aura. “The Gospel of Esther…” she whispered. “Incredible.”

The bookseller’s face split into a wide grin. “Of course! What else did you expect?” Throwing Faisal a glance, he added: “Some might call me a cheat, but rest assured that it was worth your while coming here, Doctor Jones.” Faisal blushed, but said nothing.

“To be sure, I have to examine the document further. Would you allow me to…?” She made a reverent gesture towards the gospel, and Ibn Muwadi smiled. “Please do, Doctor Jones. Please do.”

Lilly placed her leather bag on the table and reached inside to find a pair of thin cotton gloves. She noticed that her hands were shaking. If this was a hoax, or a fake copy, it was exceptionally well done. Was it really possible that this was the original Gospel of Esther? If it was, this would cause a stir, no, an uproar, maybe even a revolution in the science of religion. The role of women in Christianity, in Judaism and in Islam would have to be re-examined, and revised completely. Lilly felt the excitement trickle down her spine like a drop of ice water. Not everybody would be happy about it, but one thing was for sure: nothing would be the way it was now.

She put one gloved finger softly onto the parchment, carefully, without applying any pressure. It was a miracle that it had been so well preserved. Silently, she read the first lines of the gospel, forcing herself to look at it with the eyes of a scientist, not carried away by enthusiasm.

Faisal looked at Lilly, curious. “What do you think?” He did not read Aramaic, and was impatient to hear what she would have to say. “Is it…real?”

Lilly slowly, very carefully, lifted the document against the dim light coming in from the door and the small windows. The Aramaic scripture was well preserved. The structure of the thin skin was coarse, but surprisingly subtle and robust. Lilly smiled. The writer must have anticipated that this gospel would cause some commotion, she thought. It was sturdier than she had thought.

She swallowed. “I think it is, Faisal. I think this really is the Gospel of Esther.” Lilly did not hear the small silver bell that announced the arrival of another customer, but Faisal and Ibn Muwadi both looked up. Lilly felt the hand of her companion on her arm. “Lilly…” he whispered, sounding hoarse. “You might want to put it down now.”

***

What the hell…? Zoe sat up as a group of five men started to make their way towards the bookshop. The choreography of their movement looked too determined to be accidental. Furthermore they looked like they were working together, painfully so, dressed as they were in their matching adventure tourism outfits. Zoe took another sip from her lemonade. It was obvious that they had been watching the shop just like she had, and that the arrival of the young academic had triggered their beeline towards the shop door. It looked like Miss Academia and Pretorius were not the only parties interested in the document currently in the possession of Ibn Muwadi. Zoe sighed, slightly annoyed. McAllister had done a crap job at briefing her this time.

She raised an eyebrow as she watched a sixth person make his way over to the shop. Interesting. Zoe recognised the man who had been sitting behind her, the man with the gun. While he was dressed similar the other five, it was clear that he did not belong to their troupe. For a start, he moved with a different kind of confidence, and unlike the others, he wore his khaki pants with a kind of easy-going elegance that the other five were sorely lacking. Zoe softly rocked her foot, smiling. She liked it when her opponents were this attractive; it made the hunt all the more enticing.

But what now? It had been her plan to let the lady expert view and purchase the gospel, simply to make sure that she did not set off on a wild goose chase for a worthless piece of garbage. Once the originality of the document was proven, Zoe would have made her move. This sudden accumulative interest threw a spanner in the works of her plan. Would it be wise to throw herself into the fray and grabble for the piece of parchment with all the others? It would probably be better to wait for the first batch of treasure hunters to eliminate each other. She could then take the gospel off the victorious party. Easy as pie.

Zoe drummed her fingers on the cool marble surface of the coffee table. There was only one flaw to this rather sensible plan: the five men who had followed the young lady and her companion inside the shop did not look like larcenists or smugglers. They looked like killers. After more than a decade of being a thief, Zoe had developed an eye for such things.

Heisters with an appreciation of the money to be made off priceless antiquities did not walk into a bookshop of rare manuscripts in Cairo, in broad daylight, with the intention of creating a massacre. Such appetite for destruction was the trademark of a type of wayward criminal that Zoe had nothing but contempt for: the fanatic ideologist. Her frown deepened. These men were not here to procure the Gospel of Esther. They were here to destroy it. If they succeeded, the document would be lost forever.

And if there was one thing that Pretorius did not tolerate it was failure.

She put a few notes of money on the table and rose from her chair, tense and alert like that of a feline predator. With graceful nonchalance, she reached into her handbag, feeling for the cold hard metal of her own handgun. It gave her a sense of security, but Zoe had no intention of joining this ridiculously testosterone-driven shoot-out. What was needed now was a diversion, a distraction just brief enough for the killers to be slightly pushed off kilter. A few seconds would suffice for her to dive in and get a hold of the document then. Scanning the square in front of her, she noticed two policemen loitering around by the café. They would do.

“Pardon! Pardon!” She ran towards them, waving her handbag, looking suddenly breathless and distraught. “Thieves! Thieves stole my watch!” The policemen looked at her, trying to concentrate on her face. Zoe had to bite her lip not to smile, praising the effect that a bit of cleavage could have on a man. “He ran into this bookshop, over there! You need to help me!” They nodded grimly, ready to defend this lovely lady against whatever misfortune that might have befallen her. “Show us the bastard, miss!” one of them said. “Time that we teach this pickpocketing scum around here a lesson.” Reaching for their batons and their guns, they ran towards Ibn Muwadi’s shop. With satisfaction Zoe noticed that a crowd had started to form. Hopefully it would not be too late, but if these gunmen were not completely mad, they might have to think of a plan b.

"Pass the Whore's Gospel over here now."

The leader of the five, a burly bearded man, was standing in the centre of the shop, his gun trained on Lilly. His companions were covering Ibn Muwadi and Faisal, while two others watched the door. Will had been expecting this, which was why he was watching the scene from one of the small windows near the roof.

It had not been difficult for a man of Will's strength, agility and extraordinary physical fitness to climb the pitted, crumbling caravanserai wall. Now he looked down on the scene, tactics racing through his mind. He looked speculatively at the window. Narrow, but not too narrow...

Will seized the edge of the roof and with one fluid movement, swung himself through in a cascade of shattering glass. He swung out feet first into the bookshop and, with superlative timing, let go at the very apex of his arc. He crashed down on to the leader of the attack, knocking him down and kicking the gun from his hand.

In an instant, Will had scrambled to his feet and had drawn his own gun, aiming it at the man below him.

"Drop your guns or I'll shoot him," he told the other four.

They did not have time to react before two Egyptian policemen burst through the door. They took in the situation -Will standing and pointing a gun at the bearded man and hastily drew their own guns and levelled them at him.

"Freeze!"

Lilly looked at the men who had entered the shop with a frown, her first thought being that a gunfight in this shop would ruin a great number of irreplaceably valuable documents forever. “Are you mad?” she said in direction of the intruders, oblivious to the lethal danger that she and the other two men were presently in. Lightly waving the codex in the air she added: “Do you even know what this is? You'd better lower these guns before it gets damaged!” Faisal squeezed her arm, as if to point out to her that the wiser choice would be to shut up.

Ibn Muwadi whimpered, and put his hands gingerly in the air. “Bismillah”, he whispered in a distressed tone. “We better do what they say.”

Lilly, who looked very grim, was about to open her mouth and retort something else to the leader of the group when with an ear-shattering crash, another man came flying in through one of the small windows above. Ibn Muawdi screamed and ducked behind his desk, while Faisal let out a loud curse in surprise.

The young academic stared at the scene in front of her with her mouth open, the gospel still in her hand. What the hell was going on? The man who had jumped from the ceiling had managed to hit the man holding a gun square in the back, and he was now writhing and groaning in unexpected pain while his companions exchanged confused looks.

Lilly did not blame them.

The bookseller who peeked up from behind his desk broke into an insecure smile and scrambled back to his feet when he took in what had just happened. “William!” With a weak sigh towards his broken window, he came up from behind the wooden table. “Not a moment too early, I’d say.” Faisal looked incredulously from him to the man now training a gun at the bearded assailant’s head. “You know this man?” Lilly almost had to laugh out loud with nerves. And she had only been in Cairo for a day.

Carefully, she put the document back on the table, wondering if she should dare to slip it back between the other scrolls inside the safe box as long as the man with the gun held the others in check, but she had no time to decide. Two breathless policemen now made their way through the door, and immediately aimed their gun at the young man standing above the bearded man.

Faisal, his eyes widening, shook his head. “Is this a normal business day?” he asked the bookseller who was by now quite lost himself.

Then an elegant young woman appeared in the door, looking slightly dishevelled. Lilly sighed. It became clear that the gospel had already drawn much more unwanted attention than she had been aware of. “So what now?” she muttered, shooting Faisal a helpless glance.

***

Zoe smiled appreciatively when she set eyes on the scene in front of her. It looked like man number six had the situation pretty much under control, taken that the gang of insipid fanatics would care if their leader lived or died, something that Zoe herself was not as sure about.

She met his eye, and raised an eyebrow in recognition.

Then she turned to one of the policemen. “Oh no, officer, you have the wrong man. He was only helping me, you see.” Zoe did a convincing job of looking distressed. “This is the man I suspect.” She pointed at one of the armed intruders. “But it looks like they work as a team, maybe you should investigate this.”

Her hand slipped into her bag, searching for the butt of her gun. If these men would lose their nerves and shoot, she wanted to be prepared.

“Is this a normal business day?” asked the academic's Egyptian companion, as the policemen levelled their guns at Will.

"You know, for me, it kind of is?", he responded wearily. "I obviously made some poor decisions somewhere along the way..."

The young woman he'd noticed earlier sauntered inside after the policemen, her stunning looks only enhanced by a slight air of disarray (her décolletage had been tugged half an inch lower, adding to their already breathtaking effect). Meeting his gaze, she acknowledged their mutual recognition with a saucily raised eyebrow. Will had to shake his head in admiration at her cool.

She pointed out one of the intruders as a thief. Will nodded firmly. The intruders exchanged glances. Their leader had taken advantage of the confusion to rise to his knees. His eyes were gleaming, intent on the Gospel lying before the lovely female academic.

The policemen exchanged glances. Impressing a beautiful foreign tourist by arresting a pickpocket was one thing; arresting five armed men quite another, but what were their options? Trying to cover all four of the standing men at once, they moved down the sides of the bookshop.

"Drop your weapons."

All four looked to their leader for instruction. He spoke in a rasping undertone.

"They serve Man's law, not that of the Almighty. Kill everyone here. God will know His own."

With that, he lunged up, a glittering flick-knife suddenly appearing in his hands, at the female academic and the Gospel in front of her. Amidst the boom of guns firing, Will rugby-tackled the heavy man, one hand going out to seize his wrist. They met with a crash in mid-air -Will's hard unyielding strength against the sheer musclebound weight of the bearded man. Rolling across the table, the man managed to pin Will down through sheer weight, break his wrist free of Will's grip and raised his knife to strike while another hand fumbled for the Gospel.

Will brought his knee up sharply between the man's legs. With a grunt of pain, the man's grip slackened and Will wriggled free on the floor. He looked around and saw, through the clouds of gunsmoke and rising dust, one of the gunmen taking aim at Jones. He pulled her down to the ground, tipping the table over to act as a barricade at the same time. The song of a bullet whistling over their heads competed with the feel of her petite, lithe body; her fresh clean scent; the soft, smooth feel of her skin...

"Sorry," he told her. "My name's Will Silence and I know I'm not making a great first impression."

Another bullet slammed into the overturned table, making it creak and shudder.

"Though possibly a representative one," he conceded.

As the bearded attacker launched himself at Lilly, she staggered back against Faisal who tried to catch her, and with Will grabbing her to evade an oncoming bullet all three went down in a heap. The sudden and rather intimate proximity to a complete stranger who had previously wielded a gun made Lilly very uncomfortable.

“Well, what a pleasure to meet you”, she spat out sarcastically at his introduction, trying to untangle herself from Will’s grip. “What are you, some kind of adventure tourist?”

When she had finally managed to get to her knees, she peeked around the turned-over table, taking in the pandemonium before her. The tables and chests full of rare documents had been turned over, books and scrolls lay scattered across the floor of the bookshop. And there, only a few inches from the table they were hiding behind, was the gospel that had slipped from her grasp when she fell. As if by miracle, it was still undamaged. But for how long?

When the first shot was fired, Zoe ducked behind a bookshelf. She had to admit that her hope that these radicals would shy from a massacre in broad daylight had been misguided. “The Whore’s Gospel” their leader had called the coveted document. Huh. Zoe could not help but smile. It looked like like the codex was worth a read.

She watched as the handsome young man she had pointed out to the police as her rescuer tackled down one of the attackers, trying to keep an eye on his companions in the unfolding chaos.

She whirled around as a bullet grazed her arm, ripping through the thin linen of her blouse and leaving a faint scratch on her skin. Zoe whirled around with a curse. “Do you know what that blouse cost, you innocuous nitwit?” she yelled at the gunman who took aim at her again, whisking her own gun from her purse and taking him down with a clean shot to his kneecap. Then she darted along the wall of bookshelves with astounding grace, bullets crashing into the shelves behind her, sending bits of paper, plaster and wood flying through the air.

“Fanatic shits can’t keep a steady hand”, she muttered under her breath as she took cover behind a large chest from where she could see the young academic, Faisal and the rather impressive young man whom she thought to be competition in the search for the gospel. It looked like he had accepted her on his team, for now at least. Her eyes scanned the room for the remaining gunmen, but the smoke of the gunfire obstructed her view. She could hear the pained groans of the man she had shot, but where were the others? At least one of the policemen had gone down. Zoe whispered a curse. This would complicate matters decisively. The Egyptian authorities could be very fickle when it came to unwarranted attacks on their security personnel.

And, most importantly, where was this damned gospel?

Her eyes met that of the academic across the room, and both spotted it at the same time, half-hidden by another scroll on the floor. Zoe tried to assess the distance. Would she be able to grab it and make it to the table before these zealots-turned-hit men would get her?

A hail of gunfire in her direction answered that question. Several bullets hit and overturned a basket full of old papers, standing next to the chest she was hiding behind. With a muttered curse, Zoe saw the codex vanish between countless other pages strewn across the floor. “Faisal, the gospel!” Lilly shouted, unsuccessfully trying to gather as many of the scattered documents as she could from behind the table. When two bullets ripped through the wooden floorboards next to her searching hand, she withdrew it again with a wince. Bits of paper and parchment whirled up in a dust cloud, and Lilly prayed that the Gospel of Esther was yet unharmed. Where was Ibn Muwadi? Didn’t he care that his irreplaceable treasures fell victim to this gang of mad treasure hunters?

Her outrage was cut short by one of the gunman appearing seemingly out of nowhere, towering above her with his gun aimed at her head. Lilly froze in shock. “Go to hell, bitch”, he muttered through clenched teeth, a mad glint in his eyes. The young academic edged backwards, feeling for something to defend herself with. “Will?” she whispered hoarsely, wishing that she had not been quite as dismissive earlier.

Lilly squinted in fear, expecting a bullet to be fired, but the next thing she heard was a hard thud and a groaned curse. When she opened her eyes, she saw the dark-haired woman standing behind the armed attacker who had gone down to his knees holding his head. She was wielding a book bound in leather. Evliya Çelebi’s book of travels! Lilly gasped.

“Be careful with that”, she protested, rolling up on one elbow, pointing angrily at the battered tome that Zoe was still holding. “That book is several hundred years old!”

“Well, it certainly served its purpose, mademoiselle”, Zoe retorted coolly, pointing down at the man still holding on to his gun. “Beardy here certainly seems impressed by its intellectual weight.” The attacker was kneeling on the floor, apparently suffering from a severe and disorienting headache. When he tried to grapple to his feet, Zoe brought the book down on his skull again, and this time, the man at her feet collapsed with a groan. “Obviously not much of a reader”, she commented, whereas Lilly seemed close to a nervous breakdown when she saw Zoe toss the priceless book aside to thwart another bullet whizzing over their heads.

Darting behind the table Zoe knelt next to Will. The faint sound of approaching sirens could be heard. “I have one bullet left”, she whispered. “And I imagine that we will get company very soon. Might we rely on you for our rescue?” Her ruby lips curled into a mischievous smile as she leant closer to him. “From what I have seen so far, you strike me as the solution-oriented type.”

Ibn Muwadi had ducked down in a corner of his shop, watching in horror as bullets shredded his merchandise. Will took a moment to feel sorry for him. Lilly's skirts flared as she bent forward to peer over the upturned table and bn Muwadi looked momentarily cheered by the sight of her crisp white panties bunched around her firm ass. Will felt less sorry for him.

Just then Will's bearded nemesis reappeared, snarling and pointing his gun down at the young academic. Will tensed himself, preparing to spring but he was forestalled by the young woman he'd noticed earlier. Dodging and dancing through the fray with preternatural grace, she appeared behind the man and cracked his head with a huge, leatherbound tome. He went down with a groan.

Will had rarely seen two girls together of such equal but opposite types of beauty. The newcomer's luminous brown eyes sparkled as she bantered with Lilly. She stood straightbacked and splendid in the bookshop-turned-battlefield, an untouchable, slender goddess. Lily, meanwhile, fretted over the book, her lovely face moving between surprise, indignation and anxiety.

The newcomer, meanwhile, had knelt down to confer with him. Will was oddly pleased to note that she did indeed smell of sandalwood and vanilla -a faint exotic aroma, hinting of warm Levantine breezes and inner chambers. She gave him an irresistibly mischevious smile. It was hard to imagine this young woman had ever been at a loss or disconcerted in her life. A mere gunfight in a bookshop over a thousand-year-old text had gone nowhere towards ruffling her immaculate composure.

He had, in fact, been giving the situation some thought. As breathtakingly gorgeous as both girls were, his principal in this case was still Ibn Muwadi, whom he'd promised Hanan he'd protect. The intervention of the police was now inevitable and this was unfortunate. Their investigation would lead them to the Gospel, and the Egyptian government would declare it property of the state and confiscate. Ibn Muwadi would be out of pocket, his livelihood in ruins, and none of the buyers would get the Gospel.

Therefore, the best thing would to remove the manuscript before the police arrived in force or the crazy fanatics currently shooting up the shop realised that their apparent aim, destruction of the Gospel, would be equally well-served by...

Ah. Still clutching at his head, the leader had gotten back to his feet and barked an order at his men. Laying down covering fire, they retreated out of the shop. On the way out, the bearded man grabbed a lantern and hurled it at the pile of papers among which the manuscript had fallen. The dry, dusty pages caught fire easily, the flames devouring greedily, droplets of burning oil spreading the blaze.

Will responded to his companion's wicked smile with a wry little half-smile of his own.

"Count on it."

Before he could consider the consequences of his decision, he had dived forward and had thrust his hands into the growing blaze of papers, hoping against hope that he would be able to save the Gospel.

Of course, it represented poor Ibn Muwadi's only hope of recouping his losses today. That was why Will did it. It wasn't to see another wicked smile from the lovely spy kneeling next to him. And it certainly wasn't because the look of sheer consternation and horror on Lilly's face as the lantern had fallen among the papers had rent his heart. Those would be stupid reasons to jump face-first into a fire.

The edge of the codex had been blackened and scorched but it seemed otherwise unharmed -Will pulled it out, beating out the flames that had already begun licking at his sleeves. A wall of fire and smoke had grown up along the centre of the shop.

"My books!" wailed Ibn Muwadi.

"Upstairs," Will told everyone, pointing to the little staircase cut into the wall by the corner. The apartment Ibn Muwadi used had a balcony that overlooked the caravanserai's inner court. Scanning every room for potential exit points was a habit that Will Silence had picked up long ago, in Chicago, and it had never ceased proving its worth.

As the lantern hit the ground, Lilly jumped up, oblivious to the spray of bullets around her. Zoe let out a curse. In order to avoid yet more problems with the authorities – not to mention the attention she herself would draw – it would be preferable if the young American would not go down in this damned bookshop.

Lilly raised both hands to her face and screamed. “Fire!” She stood frozen, desolate, as the greedy flames spread from scroll to scroll, document to document, consuming works of irreplaceable worth, the Gospel of Esther among them. Why did these mindless brutes have to resort to such destruction? What ignorance! What outrage! What kind of person would even contemplate doing this? Without thinking, Lilly darted forward to save at least the gospel, buried somewhere beneath the flames.

Zoe grabbed her by the wrist. “Are you mad?” Lilly whirled around, trying to break free from the young woman’s surprisingly strong grip. “Mad? I’d rather think that I am the only one here who is not mad!” the academic snapped, giving Zoe a most disdainful glance. “I don’t expect you to understand this, but this document might revolutionise history! Let me go!” For a moment, the dark-haired thief weighed the option of slapping her against letting the annoying bookworm walk straight into an open and rather rapidly spreading fire, but in the end, she simply smiled as sweetly and convincingly as she could. “Look, mademoiselle, I am really trying very hard to feel some sort of compassion for you here. Don’t spoil it.”

The slender academic was obviously not in a mood pervious to reason, but before either of the two women could react, the man next to Zoe had decided to mime the noble saviour of Esther’s gospel and had jumped amidst the fire. Zoe raised an eyebrow as her newly found companion darted forward, straight into the flames. “Fantastic”, she muttered dryly. “Way to set an example for the young misses here.” Yet her lips curled into an admiring smile.

Lilly did not move. She followed the young man with her eyes, anxious for his success. Would he be able to save the gospel? Unconsciously she moved towards the fire, pulling against Zoe’s grip, hoping to be of assistance. What if he would pick up the wrong one? “There, there”, she pointed excitedly, but was not sure if he could hear or see her. Zoe meanwhile watched the flames reach for the academic’s skirt and the hem started smouldering dangerously. With a muttered curse, Zoe pushed her back and in so doing stumbled over one of the table’s legs, taking the young woman down with her. “Would you all stop doing that?” Lilly shouted over the fire’s growing roar. For a moment, Zoe lay on top of her, the academics lithe body pressed against hers. Nice breasts, she noted with a smile. If she would not have been such a hysterical geek, the young academic was in fact quite sexy. But such thoughts were for later. With one smooth movement, Zoe got to her knees and patted out the flames licking up Lilly’s skirt, but not without revealing a good part of her lovely tanned legs.

Lilly scoffed, and pushed her hands away. Zoe rolled her eyes. “You can thank me later.” With that, she pulled the young academic to her feet. “We need to get out of here before it gets uncomfortable.” Lilly wanted to retort, but the smoke, now quickly spreading throughout the shop, caught in her throat and all she could do was cough angrily.

“Yes, yes, if you say so”, Zoe replied and pulled her along towards the narrow staircase that the self-professed hero had pointed out. Faisal and Ibn Muawdi followed; the latter not without trying to grab as many books as he could in passing, mostly without success.

Zoe cast a look over a shoulder, her eyes searching the man who had so selflessly jumped amidst the flames to save a piece of parchment. Ah, yes. There he was, holding the codex above his head. Flashing a smile, she circled thumb and index finger into a gesture of recognition. Well done, she mouthed, tossing back her hair. Skilled opponents were so hard to find. “It will be my pleasure to steal it back from you”, she whispered to herself before climbing up the stairs after the young Egyptian and the cursing bookseller.

The congratulatory smile on the brunette's pouting, ripe lips was something Will could happily have played and replayed on a film loop all evening. There was a thrillingly confident look of assessment in her dark eyes; a naughty arch to her fine, slender eyebrows. That look alone was enough to make any man stand a little straighter and square his shoulders, to cause him to hastily clear his throat after the deeply obscene thoughts that her lips, her smile and her body planted in his head.

The group was pounding up the stairs two at a time now, Ibn Muwadi grabbing an armful of books on the way, although he almost stumbled and dropped them all as he saw Lilly moving ahead of him. The demure academic had not noticed the damage the flames had done to her skirt. Now every step forward exposed tantalising lengths of bare, sunkissed leg, the blackened scraps of her skirt doing little more than framing the lovely sights.

They raced through Will's small apartment upstairs. Will, who had always travelled light, wasted no time in retrieving possessions but instead flung open the door to the balcony.

Their attackers weren't quite as stupid as they'd seemed. They'd placed a guard with a rifle on the rooftop opposite. Now he took aim at Will's head, a fierce grin crossing his face. Will's gun flashed into his hand and without pausing to take arm, he fired. The man fell backwards, clutching at his chest.

It was about a twelve foot drop from the balcony into the caravanserai court. Will exchanged glances with Lilly's young Egyptian companion. As if they'd practised the maneuvre a hundred times, they simultaneously mounted the balcony, lowered themselves towards the ground and then let go. Will landed with an agile roll. Faisal, less practised but still athletic, landed awkwardly but managed to save himself from a broken ankle.

Will extended his arms upwards. "Jump -we'll catch you."

He hoped Faisal would be the one who caught Ibn Muwadi.

As the shot rang out through the caravanserais’ court, Lilly let out a small scream. She had not seen the gunman on the opposite roof. Zoe cursed admiringly. Their hero was an excellent shot - a detail she was grateful to know.

Zoe would not have minded letting herself drop in either of the men’s arms, but it was clear that she was not the one who needed assistance. “Come on”, she urged the other two who were clearly still hoping that they could several of the books below, if not the entire shop. “We don’t have time for this.” Lilly growled, but knew that the woman was right. Turning towards Ibn Muwadi who did his best not to let his gaze drop below her eye level.

“Hand me the books, I’ll put them in my bag and drop them”, Lilly said. “That will be safer.” The bookseller nodded and winced as something in the shop below seemed to collapse with a loud crash. It was clear that the fire was spreading at a frightening speed. “Here you go, Doctor Jones”, he whispered. “It’s all I have left.” For a second, it looked like he was going to cry. Lilly was tempted to hug the poor man, but let go of that idea as his gaze strayed towards the substantially higher hemline of her skirt. She scoffed. How was it possible that he thought of that, even now, when his world and his treasures were going up in flames?

Lilly then lowered her bag and then dropped it safely into Faisal’s hands. The young man gave her the thumbs up as he carefully placed it next to him on the floor. She smiled sadly. They had been able to save three books from the flames, only three, and she did not even know what titles Ibn Muwadi had grabbed on his way up. But the main thing was of course that Will had snatched the gospel from the fire downstairs, she was indefinitely grateful for that.

Then she gingerly climbed onto the balcony. Zoe stepped forward and gave her a nod of encouragement. “Easy, love”, she said. “I’ll help you.” With that, she grabbed Lilly’s hands and carefully lowered her as far as she could. The young art thief was stronger than she looked.

Zoe looked over Lilly’s shoulder at Will, throwing him a suggestive smile. “I hope you have a firm grip”, she shouted. “Don’t drop her!” The young academic frowned, very aware of the very indecent up skirt view she granted Will below her, but at the same time she was very grateful for Zoe’s assistance.

Reluctantly, Lilly let go of Zoe’s fingers and jumped. With a small cry of fear, she dropped straight into Will’s arms, praying that he was strong enough to catch her and that her already tattered garb would withstand yet another challenge.

Faisal looked a bit worried at the prospect of catching the bookseller who was groaning above him as he climbed over the balcony railing, but there was no time to draw straws. He extended his arms and bent his knees to absorb his weight. “Ok, jump!” he finally said, but it was an unnecessary encouragement as Ibn Muwadi’s hands slipped from the iron balustrade and he fell into the archaeologist’s arms. Both men toppled over, and Zoe, watching from above, shook her head with a smile. Faisal could not suppress a muttered curse as the older bookseller climbed off him, but neither looked seriously hurt.

Then, casting another glance left and right to make sure that none of the fanatic creeps were following them, she elegantly threw her legs over the balcony and jumped, landing with the easy grace of a cat.

“Here we are”, she beamed at Will and Lilly. “Now all we need to do is get out of this place, past the police and these insane fanatics and the crowd that has likely formed on the square.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “All pretty straight forward.” Nodding in Will’s direction, she asked: “Should we follow your lead?”

A wickedly suggestive smile curved the lips of the beautiful, dark-haired girl as she dangle Lilly above Will's head. Lilly's beautiful face was white with a mixture of fear and embarassment. Clinging on with both hands, she was not able to control the fluttering movements of her tattered, once modest skirt. She offered a glorious, unrivalled view of the tight white panties wrapping a superbly toned, sweetly rounded bottom and tanned, mouthwatering legs. Judging by the mischief in the brunnette's deep, dark eyes, she was very aware of the sight she was helping to provide.

Will, prompted by conscience, tried to avoid taking advantage and kept his eyes on the young academic's face, raising his arms up and nodding to the girl on the balcony.

Lilly plummeted with a little shriek, directly into Will's arms. He did not even have to step back with the impact of her slender body -his hard, leanly muscled form easily taking the shock and stopping her before she reached the ground. She was in his arms. He could feel the outline of firm, supple breasts underneath her shirt and her bare legs were warm and silky smooth against his. The fresh, clean scent of her auburn hair below his chin tantalised his nose. He wanted to bury his face in it. He wanted to do considerably more. His arms tensed, then relaxed as he set her down on the ground with a little bow.

"Catch as catch can, right?"

Meanwhile, the darkhaired girl had executed a perfectly graceful dive off the balcony, landing with an easy feline grace. Will inevitably wondered if she brought the same grace and energy to every physical endeavour. Somehow, he thought she did.

"Follow me," he said. "I think I know a place..."


Escaping the caravanserai itself had not been difficult. It had merely been a matter of finding and bribing a group of the urchins who thronged every thoroughfare in Cairo. Getting them to set up a hue and cry at one end of the caravanserai ("There they are! The thieves! Come quick!") had drawn the police, what remained of the fanatics, and most curious onlookers. After which, their little party was able to make an exit by the back gate.

After that, a run through the city's sunbaked backalleys brought them to the bridge of Zamalek, beyond which, in the shadow of the railway tracks, lay Hanan's coffee shop. He met them outside, and silently ushered them into a little backroom, where a radio was playing alternating broadcasts of English and Arabic. Hanan left to attend to his customers, closing the door behind him.

"... thieves still believed to be at large. With the aid of the bookseller Muhammed ibn Muwadi, they are believed to have stolen a priceless Egyptian relic, burning down his bookstore to cover their tracks and murdering a policeman in the process."

"Ruined! I am ruined!" Ibn Muwadi wailed.

Will was more phlegmatic. It wasn't the first time he'd brushed with the law and in all probability it wouldn't be the last. It was a matter for concern that the other party involved in the disruption, the fanatics who had in fact murdered the policeman, had not been mentioned. A genuine misunderstanding? Or was someone covering up their involvement?

"Maybe before we go any further," he said, looking around the room. "We should all introduce ourselves and our interests in this little drama. I'm Will Silence. Hanan asked me to help Muhammed here out. Later, that will mean getting to the bottom of this and clearing his name but right now, that means getting him the very best price for his Gospel."

He looked at the two lovely girls.

"Do I take it that you're rival bidders?"

To Ibn Muwadi’s regret, Lilly had borrowed a pair of wide Egyptian woman’s pants from Hanan’s wife and had changed her blouse for a beautifully stitched tunic.

Zoe was lounging on a chair, a lit water pipe next to her. She had refreshed her lipstick and her artistically applied khol eyeliner. Previous exertions had not even left a faint mark on her. Faisal sat in the corner, his face dark with worry, clutching a small glass of sweet mint tea. Staring at the jasmine petals floating around on the surface, he listened to the radio report about the fire at the book store. Lilly put her hand on his wrist with a concerned smile.

When Will introduced himself, Ibn Muwadi threw his hands in the air again in a dramatic gesture that was meant to underline his distress. While Lilly looked at him with an expression that brought together extreme guilt and indistinct accusation, Zoe rolled her eyes. However, at the mention of Will’s name, her eyes seemed to light up. Will Silence, she thought. I have heard that name before. Very pleased to make your acquaintance. But she did not say anything that would have hinted at such recognition.

Lilly and Faisal just stared at him blankly, listening.

When he had finished, Zoe looked at Will with a provocative smile. Bravo, it seemed to say. And not only am I a rival bidder, but I am also the one who expects to emerge victorious from this little scramble. It was clear that she enjoyed the adventure already. Not so Lilly.

“A bidder?” she interrupted, frowning. “I am hardly a bidder.” She spat out the word, obviously gravely insulted. “I am an academic. A scientist. I am not here to…to…bargain over an invaluable object that should be in a museum, or a university, for all to see. The Gospel of Esther is hardly a commodity! You cannot trade it like…like…eggs, or…or potatoes.” A faint blush had appeared on her cheeks as she became increasingly animated. “That codex cannot be treated like loot. It needs to be studied, and published!”

Zoe laughed softly, and lazily inhaled the smoke of her water pipe. Curls of white mist drifted from her ruby lips as she shook her head. Lilly’s eyes were blazing. “Oh, does this seem ridiculous to you, Mrs…Mrs…what is your name, anyway?”

The dark-haired woman looked at her with a wry smile. “My name is Zoe Brigandeau, Doctor Jones. And if you want me to be entirely honest with you, then yes, this does seem ridiculous to me.” Gesturing vaguely towards the radio, she continued, never taking her eyes off the pretty academic: “You have heard it. All of us are suspected to be thieves. Looters, as you say. Oh, and we are currently wanted for murder as well.” Her voice was low, unfazed, much like the dangerous purr of a cat. “I am sure you are aware of how well the Egyptian authorities will take to the likes of us if they’ll catch us, Miss Jones?”

Lilly, wanting to retort something, sat up in her chair. Looking angrily from Will to Zoe to Faisal, she frowned, obviously struggling to find a convincing argument past Zoe’s interjection. The beautiful art thief cocked her head to one side, very clearly enjoying the angry academic’s predicament. “Right”, she finally said. “That’s what I thought.” Her eyes travelled from Lilly to Faisal to Ibn Muwadi. “I am sorry about your store. Clearly you had no idea how popular this little document has made you.” The bookseller had to clear his throat. Despite his misery, he had trouble concentrating on Zoe’s words and on keeping his eyes on her face. She turned back towards Will. “And since you asked: Yes, I am a specialist for rare artifacts and yes, my client has a certain interest in the gospel.”

Lilly scoffed, and mumbled something that sounded like “fat cat treasure hoarder.” Zoe ignored her.

“None of us can currently simply walk out on this. None of us can simply leave Egypt. There were too many witnesses.” The smoke wafted from her lips in lazy clouds as she paused. “And from this ominous news report I gather that these trigger-happy bigots are very well-connected.”

She leant back in her chair and a glint of amusement lit up her dark eyes. “As much as we might loathe the idea, we have to work as a team, at least for now, if we don’t want to end up in an Egyptian jail, or worse. I don’t believe for a second that these fanatics will give up. Soon enough, they’ll know that the gospel is safe, and they’ll be back to finish what they so ham-handedly tried to start back in the bookshop.” Zoe contently drew on her water pipe. “So we are in this together, mesdames et messieurs. Am I right?”

Jeremiah's headquarters were in Saladin's Citadel, on a high peak overlooking Cairo. Braun's team had their sleeping quarters and the centre for their operations there, in the cool long stone rooms beyond the heat and dust and jostling crowds at street-level.

Braun looked out on it all with distaste. The sun was going down, bathing the desert capital in vivid hues of red and orange, and the people were making their way to prayer. From where Braun stood on the balcony, he looked down on the ancient mosque of Sultan Hassan, the huge white dome gleaming in the dying rays of sunlight. His lip curled as he watched the believers flock to it.

They laughed. They jostled one another. They brought food. They joked among themselves. How could Mohammedanism call itself a religion? Braun hated this hot, dirty place. He longed for the cold, stark spaces of the true faith's chapels.

His second, Mason, stood just inside, respectfully waiting. When Braun finally strode back into the room, he snapped to attention. Mason was former British Army. Most of them were all ex-military of one kind or another. The army bred the right kind of man, even if it also produced rotten fruit in abundance -coarse and godless men.

"Sir! Following your instructions, we've completed our investigation of those involved in the incident today."

Braun nodded. The Laureate kept an extensive database of news-clippings and maintained up to date profiles on all persons considered of interest. He had had his men digging through the archives of the Cairo office all day. Mason proffered him a folder.

"Summarize, please."

"The Egyptian man is Faisal bin Abu Hassan. He's an archaeologist -we suspect he was there escorting the American woman. The American man was one Will Silence -a figure of some celebrity in the popular press -journalist, explorer, and adventurer. He seems to have a knack for getting both in and out of trouble across the world -and his name has been linked with a number of high-profile and glamorous women."

The frosty disapproval in Mason's voice was redoubled in Braun's eyes.

"The darkhaired woman... has been difficult to trace. We have pictures of her at various high society functions, always the escort of wealthy and powerful men, but rarely with her own name supplied -and the name that is sometimes supplied changes. These pictures often immediately predate the theft of jewels and rare art from the vicinity of the party. My conclusion would be that she is a top-flight art thief who uses her knowledge of society's upper echelons and her charms to steal."

Harlot, he did not say.

"Be careful when we apprehend her," Braun remarked. "Our men are pure-hearted and strong but who knows what such a seductress is capable of?"

A tint of red appeared in Mason's cheeks and he cleared his throat.

"As for the last woman... she is a Doctor Liliana Jones, of Vassar."

"Let me see," said Braun. Mason handed over the folder immediately and backed away.


Braun flicked through the file on Lily Jones. Young, ethereally beautiful... innocent. She wasn't wicked like the others, like the interfering Will Silence and his sinful whore. It was just that education had interfered with that pretty auburn head of hers. It was just that vile modern notions of equality between the sexes had disrupted her natural modesty. It was that an ever more sensual world had stirred up and overheated her feminine parts.

One of the clipping was from a local American newspaper. Lily's graduation. She stood on the college lawn, flushed with happiness and smiling shyly, a mortar board capping her head, her slender and lithe body draped in a robe, a scroll clutched in her arms. Braun looked at the picture for a long time.

He hated the thought of her reading and becoming troubled by the lies of the Whore's Gospel. He hated the thought of her with a libertine like Will Silence, who undoubtedly would try and bend this sweet and innocent girl to his filthy desires. He hated the thought of her in the company of that debauched thief, learning from her example, perhaps even... Braun's thoughts ran frenzied, perhaps even...

No. He would save her from the sink of depravity and lust that she had been trapped in. He'd take her from Silence and the thief. He'd reteach her respect for men and the modesty and self-effacement that was a woman's true adornment. Looking at the picture, he mentally removed the mortar board. Conscious of having sinned, she'd kneel before him, eyes cast demurely downwards, and beg forgiveness from God and from him.

And he'd lift her up... no, he wouldn't lift her up just yet. He mentally removed the robe as well. Glorious in her feminine nudity, a spill of rich auburn hair spilling on to a bare, slender shoulder, pale where the sun had not touched it... while she knelt there, he would unbuckle his belt and begin teaching her the first of her wifely duties...

Mason cleared his throat. Braun's eyes snapped up from the picture.

"Your orders, sir?"

Braun grimaced, a flash of white teeth behind his beard.

"Find them. They're hiding somewhere in this city. Find them."

Will had never realised that there could be such an erotic quality to the act of smoking from a water pipe. But then, he was beginning to understand that there was seemingly nothing that Zoe Brigandeau could not make into an elegantly, obscenely suggestive gesture.

Her full lips curled around the stem of the water pipe. There was a delicate pulse in her throat and then she would pout delightfully, emitting a little jet of white smoke. That was all, and yet it was enough to send shudders down the spine of every man present. She sprawled out, lazy like a cat, seemingly have the time of her life despite the straits the group was in.

Despite the distractions her face and slender body presented, Will did not miss the archly challenging smile she shot him. He did not believe that Zoe's commission involved payment to Ibn Muwadi. He did not believe that Mademoiselle Brigandeau ever needed to pay for very much. This was too bad for Ibn Muwadi, who most certainly had missed the implications of her wicked little grin, hypnotized as he was by the jiggling of her breasts as she stretched.

Lily did not seem to be having such a good time. Her indignation flushed her face, marking her exceptional, delicate beauty all the more but all but rendering her speechless. Will had to sympathise. This situation presumably hadn't been covered by the classes at Vassar.

"Mademoiselle Brigandeau has the right of it," he said. "We're in this situation together and we have to act as a team for the moment. We have to know who's coming after us, where they're based and what they've got up their sleeves. Ibn Muwadi, Faisal -you blend in the best in Cairo, you need to hit the streets and start trying to find out who these people are. Lily -you should start translating the Gospel. If we know what it actually says, we might have a better idea about what it is all this is about. I'll join you guys on the street soon... but first I think Zoe and I need to have a little chat. See me upstairs?"


Upstairs was the building's flat roof. Night had fallen on Cairo now and the temperature had plummeted. A marvellous, coldly glittering expanse of stars spread out overhead. Will leaned on the low parapet and looked out over the cityscape, waiting for Zoe to join him. He was motionless and relaxed, yet somehow as tensed and ready to spring into action as a tiger lying in its lair. There was always that hint of danger, almost of menace, underlying his wisecracks, his easygoing personality.

Her footfall was very, very soft. She was as close to soundless in her movements as a human being could be. But he still sensed her, catching just the faintest hint of her fragrant, subtle scent.

"Night in the Middle East," he said, without turning around. "Don't think I could ever get tired of it."

Lilly looked grimly from Will to Zoe. “Fine”, she mumbled. The handsome American and the annoying treasure hunter were right: they only stood a chance by sticking together. “I will start copying and translating the gospel right now.” She stood up. “This would be easier in a library, but I guess I can manage.”

Without looking up, Zoe said softly: “Sweetie, we don’t need a dissertation on Esther. All we would like to know is what she had to say that made our opponents so very angry.” Lilly scoffed. “I doubt that you will be able to understand.” Zoe’s lips curled into a wry smile. She recalled that one of the gunmen had called the document the “Whore’s gospel”. “Au contraire chérie, I have an inkling that Esther and me would have understood each other very well indeed.”

Faisal looked up from his glass of tea and frowned. “I don’t like the idea of leaving you here, Lilly.” It was clear that he did not trust his newfound companions. The young academic shook her head. “It’ll be fine. I think I’ll be fairly safe.” She shot Zoe a disapproving look, but bit back a snide comment. Now was not the time for bickering.

The young archaeologist put the tea glass down and turned towards Ibn Muwadi. “Yallah, the sooner we get going, the sooner we will be back here.” The book seller was wringing his hands nervously. He would have preferred to stay with Will, or, even better, with Zoe.

When Faisal was about to reach for the door, Lilly held him back by the arm. “It would be safer to have a couple of copies of the gospel. We need some really good fakes.” She looked at her Egyptian friend. “Faisal, do you think it would be safe to call on Salwa? Bring her here? If you explain everything to her, she will know what to bring.” The archaeologist hesitated for a moment. Lilly knew that he was not happy to drag Salwa into this, but she was the best forger of ancient artefacts Lilly had ever met. “I know what you are thinking Faisal. But having a few copies might be the only way to keep these creeps at bay. A sort of life insurance, you know?”

Zoe laughed softly and took another drag from her water pipe. “She is right. That is actually the first smart thing I have heard her say all day.” Lilly folded her arms in front of her, instantly annoyed again, but Zoe ignored her. “A few well-made fakes might distract these fanatics long enough from killing us.” Ibn Muwadi winced. “And besides, when all this is over, we might even be able to sell them.” Lilly decided to simply blank out the other woman as best as she could. There were more important things to think about.

When the men had left the room, Lilly sat down at the table where Will had left the document for her to translate. She took a deep breath. Her hands shook a little as they hovered over the Gospel of Esther. The young academic still could not believe that she was actually looking at the codex that had been believed to be a myth for centuries. Now it was here, right in front of her. Was it possible?

Lilly was pulled roughly from her thoughts when Zoe looked over her shoulder. “Doesn’t look like much, does it?” The auburn-haired woman jumped, and then frowned, intent on ignoring Zoe. The art thief whispered in her ear: “Well, I better leave you to it then.” A second later, she was gone.

A faint scent of sandalwood and vanilla still lingered in the air after she had left. Slightly flustered without really understanding why Lilly pulled a small notebook bound in black leather from her bag and opened it. “Now talk to me, Esther.”

***

Zoe climbed the narrow stairs that led to the roof of the house. The hint of hashish in the water pipe made her skin tingle rather pleasantly, and her head spin ever so slightly. After the chase through Cairo, Zoe felt wired; every muscle in her body seemed tense and alert. As she caught glimpse of Will standing at the edge of the roof, she smiled. Ah, would the situation have been slightly different, he would have been a welcome distraction, a possibility to unwind. Alas…

Her naked feet made no sound on the stone roof, still humming and warm from the sun. Without turning around, he addressed her. Zoe decided that he was a man rather to her taste. “I agree, Mr. Silence”, she purred, standing so close to him that he would feel the heat radiating off her skin. “Especially if the night is spent in such inspiring company.”

Laughing softly, she stepped forward to stand close beside him, following his gaze across the city. “But we are not here to admire the view, are we?”

Zoe's voice was a silky, smooth caress. It was achingly sensuous and feminine. It was like a cool finger traced slowly down Will's spine. She was standing so close to him that he could feel the heat of her perfect body. He turned and smiled down at her. The pupils of her gorgeous dark eyes were a little enlarged by the hashish, adding to their lustrous, exotic appeal. She held herself just so, her proud breasts moving up and down hypnotically under her blouse, confidently offering up a breathtaking view of her own for admiration.

Will liked Zoe. His near-certainty that she intended to eventually double-cross himself, innocent Lily, and poor beleaguered Ibn Muwadi by trying to take the Gospel from them did not alter that. In fact, it made her all the more intriguing, added spice to their interactions. Will had never exactly been attracted to the perfect suburban housewife type, after all.

"Sadly no. Maybe after this whole thing blows over, you and I can take a holiday to Sharm el-Sheik or somewhere, though. Rent a beach house. Go skippy-dipping. That would be nice."

He stepped even closer. Now to keep holding his intense gaze, Zoe had to tilt her chin upwards.

"I've just got this awful feeling that it'll never happen, though. That the last any of us will see of you will be a beautifully manicured hand waving us goodbye out a train window, and that's the last we'll see of the Gospel of Esther as well."

Smiling, he breathed in the elusive, intoxicating scent of air.

"Do you have an opinion on that, Miss Brigandeau?"


***

After the blazing heat of the Cairo streets, the cavernous space was blessedly cool and dark. Faisal let his eyes adjust to the darkness for a few moments.

Manshiyat Nasser. Garbage City, where the Zabbaleen brought the city's refuse to the great, stinking rubbish heaps. Coptic Christians lived here, the pigs that they kept feeding on the garbage.

In the dilapidated tenement he was in, flystrewn rubbish heaps had been piled up to the skylights. Men, women and children were industriously and methodically picking their way through them, looking for anything salvageable. Faisal looked at them with pity. He was educated, and the child of educated and well-off parents, but he'd never been unaware of the levels of poverty in the city.

They ignored him as he moved past, into the thieves' warren of narrow passages and smoky dens at the back. Not just Christians lived in Garbage City. Many people with something to hide found it an ideal bolthole.

Salwa's room, at the far back of the building, combined study, kitchen, office and bedroom, as every space Salwa occupied came to sooner or later. She worked too hard to give more than the slightest thoughts to creature comforts. Her low pallet overflowed with books and writing materials -a stand next to it held a half-empty bowl of figs, a crust of bread and a long-cold cup of coffee. Other tools of her trade -a drafting board where it caught the light by the window, a set of inkbrushes and papyrus, and a whole chemist's lab of acids intended to replicate the effects of time and sun on papyrus, were strewn about the room.

Faisal shook his head. Salwa was a forger. He was an archaeologist, Salwa's natural prey. They should never have been friends. But he couldn't help but admire the impish mischief and wit of Salwa's productions (she claimed to have placed a secret signature somewhere on every piece she'd ever worked on), the purity of her devotion to the art. Salwa often claimed that forgers were the only truly selfless artists, since the greater their work was, the more they guaranteed their own anonymity.

"Salwa?"

Begining of the Gospel According to Esther

All of my life, I have heard the stories concerning my father. In the synagogue in Alexandria when I was a little child, they spoke of Yeshua the sorcerer, Yeshua the heretic. His followers, the serious and passionate men who would come sometimes to argue with my mother, talked of Yeshua the miracle-worker, Yeshua the Messiah. On my travels since I left home, I have heard of other Yeshuas -of Yeshua the living God in Ephesus, of Yeshua the princely son of David in Jerusalem.

But my favorite stories of my father are those that my mother told me -of Yeshua the man, Yeshua the lover. I never met him, and yet I have looked for a man like him in all of the lovers I have had. Sometimes I wonder if my Yeshua is any more real than any of the others.

Last night Joash came to my chamber. He is by turns gentle and tender, and fierce and stormy. But last night he was tender. He knelt before me and kissed the insides of my hands, kissed my thighs, placed his lips to my secret place and lapped at me there, ravishing me with irresistible pleasure. Afterwards, he told me that he had been among the Christians. Joash likes them, though they will have nothing more to do with me.

Joash said that they were all discussing among themselves something new. It is called an evangelion, a proclamation but it is more than a proclamation. It is the story of my father Yeshua, from the beginning of his mighty deeds to his death on the cross. They read it out that day, before their love feast.

Joash described it to me, and I have since obtained a copy myself. Parts of it are true, parts of it not. But very little of it is about my mother. And so, for her sake if not for my own, I have resolved to write my own evangelion. It will tell her story, and the story of Yeshua's mother Miriam, and her mother Anne, and that of his sisters, and all of the other women whom it seems history is apt to forget. Perhaps some day it too will be read out before the crowds.

My hopes are not high.

Zoe laughed softly, her dark eyes glinting with amusement. “An opinion?” She did not break eye contact while she spoke. “I have more than an opinion on that.” In the distance, a dog started to bark madly before being silenced by a loud curse and, apparently, some thrown object. The barking trailed off into a whimper. “I can guarantee you that this is exactly my intention. That is why I am here.”

Tiptoeing lightly, she leant in closer, the warmth radiating off his skin tantalisingly intense.

Her lips brushed against his ear ever so lightly as she whispered: “I guess you will just have to have a close eye on me for now, don’t you?” It was hard to resist the temptation to plant a kiss on the side of his neck, taste the soft skin there, but Zoe enjoyed this game of seduction way too much to give in to it. “I am sure you will enjoy that just as much as I will.”

She stepped back a little.

“But as I have pointed out before, we don’t really have the luxury – or the choice – to bicker about loyalties. If any of us want to make it out of this dusty city alive, we have to work together. Trust each other to a certain extent. N’est-ce pas?”

Zoe’s eyes wandered from his face to his chest, then provocatively lower, as if caressing him with her gaze. “Do you have the stomach for that, William Silence?” Then she looked up at him again with a smile. “If you are as good as they say, maybe we will go skinny dipping in the Red Sea after all…when all of this is over.”

***
Lilly put down her pencil, realising that her hand was trembling. The young academic took a deep breath, and took a sip from her cold tea, the bitter-sweet liquid scratching her throat. So these were the words of Esther, the…the…daughter of Jesus of Nazareth?

She leant back against the wall with a sigh. This text would do more than incite the anger of a few crazy religious zealots. Much more. Of course, Lilly had always known that the codex – if it existed at all – would contain contentious words, contentious tales. But this? She looked at the document before her as if it posed a physical threat. For a brief moment she wondered if she was prepared for this at all. For all the academic essays she had studied on the subject, for all the lengthy conferences she had attended she still felt like she faced Esther’s words completely unprepared.

Her eyes flew over the first paragraphs again, and Lilly felt the heat rise to her cheeks. It also seemed like sweet Esther had been sexually far more liberated than she felt herself to be. She spoke of lovers. Lilly checked the noun again. Yes, the word was a clear plural.

She had to clear her throat. Well, it was pretty clear why the fanatic gunmen from Ibn Muwadi’s bookshop had called it “the whore’s Gospel”. Lilly frowned. She remembered their hate-wrecked faces, their stone-cold brutality and shy modesty suddenly gave way to anger. “Don’t worry, Esther”, she whispered, putting the tip of her pencil back to the page of her notebook. “I won’t let a gang of raging hypocrites keep your tale from being heard.”

***

A shadow fell through the door of the small dwelling as a slender young woman appeared behind Faisal, the barrel of a handgun aimed at his chest. “What the hell are you doing in my house?” Salwa’s Syrian accent was still clearly discernible, despite the long time she had now spent amongst Cairo’s poorest.

As she recognised the intruder, the hint of a smile briefly lit up her features. “Oh, it’s you.” She lowered the gun and stowed it away in a bag slung over her shoulder. “These days, you cannot be careful enough.” She stepped over the brushes and small pots strewn over the floor of her humble abode.

Salwa wore a long tunic of some indistinct, bleached out colour over wide trousers. Her bare hands and feet still bore traces of faint henna paintings, petals of flowers winding across her skin. Thin silver bands and glass beads wrapped around her dark ankles tinkled softly with every step. A scarf was loosely wrapped around her head, and thick ebony curls framed a delicate face. “It has been ages since you came to see me, Faisal.” She frowned. “A gentleman would have sent flowers.”

She did not wait for his answer, but proceeded to take out a small copper pot and a tin from a wooden box on the wall that served as something like a kitchen cupboard. “Coffee?” Salwa smiled to herself. “I remember you like it strong and sweet.” With that, she spooned the fine dark powder into the copper pot, added some sugar and poured water from a tin jug. Only then did she turn around to face him, slowly stirring the mixture. “Garbage City is not a place for a decent young man like yourself.” Her dark eyes, thickly lined with khol, bore into his. “So what wind has blown you into my path again, ya ayouni?

Will gave a crooked smile. Zoe's sultry, smoky gaze traced knowingly, wickedly over the hard lines of his taut, hard body.

"Oh yes," he said. "Keeping a close eye on you won't be any hardship at all."

His own blue-grey eyes could be hard and cold as northern glaciers when he was angry but now quite a different emotion blazed in them. His gaze moved up and down Zoe's body. The tops of her proud, flawlessly smooth ivory breasts were tantalizingly revealed by the low-cut blouse she wore. They rose and fell regularly with her shallow breaths. Dark hair fell, shining like a river in the moonlight, and adorned the curve of slender shoulders. She stood, straightbacked and confident as a young cadet on parade under scrutiny, with an empress' secret half-smile on her full lips.

A bronzework bowl of fruit had been laid out on the parapet, packed in ice. Will palmed an icecube. Then he moved closer, laid his hands slowly on Zoe's slender hips. This time it was his turn to whisper into her ear, to furiously resist the temptation to kiss and playfully nip at the smooth skin of her cheek and neck.

"Agreed," he said. "We'll just to have work together until we're out of Cairo. Got to ask, though... "

He laid his hand on the small of her back just above the sweet, firm swell of her ass, on the bare skin between her blouse and trousers. He pressed the icecube against the base of her spine, ran it idly up and down.

"You're risking your life for the Gospel. Aren't you even a little curious as to what it might say?"


****


Faisal smiled.

Salwa always had the slight air of enjoying a private joke, though at no one's expense except perhaps her own. There was a generous spirit to her. He accepted her coffee with a murmured "Shukran."

"A wild desert wind, Salwa. It's blown trouble and chaos into Cairo, and I think we've just seen the beginning of it."

He looked at her. Salwa could have been the model for the beautiful, dark-eyed and white-breasted houris said by some to wait for the Faithful in Paradise. Even now, despite the danger they were all in, it was all he could do not to simply gape at her.

"It's a wind called the Gospel of Esther."

Zoe drew in her breath as the ice cube made contact with her spine, but she did not flinch, and not move. His whisper against the sensitive skin of her neck felt like a caress. Like a promise.

Still as a statue, she enjoyed the feel of his hand on her hip, the chill of the ice cube against the small of her back. If she would have moved now, it would have been to pull him close, to have him shove her up against the wall, to fuck her right there and then.

But Zoe Brigandeau was professional enough to know that that would have been a very bad idea.

“Of course I am curious”, she said softly. “Judging by the anger of our lunatic friends from the bookshop, it seems to be a rather contentious little text.”

She laid a hand against his cheek and gently forced him to look at her again. Yes, she would be watched by the handsome American, and she was determined to give him one hell of a show.

“I also wonder innocent Dr Jones will be able to handle the sharp words of a declared…whore.”

With his face so close to hers, all she could do was lean in and kiss him on the mouth. She could not resist sampling at least a little taste, and she had an inkling that he would not mind. Her lips parted with a sigh. Sweet, she thought. Sweet and strong.

Breaking the kiss as unannounced as she had started it, she added: “And the perks of my job are simply too good to miss. Well worth taking the one or other risk. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr Silence?” Then she stepped back from him and cocked her head to one side playfully.

“Well, I am glad we talked.” With that she turned and made her way towards the stairs, a smile playing around her ruby lips. In her experience, men did not like a woman who robbed them of the pleasure of the hunt, and she sensed that Will Silence was an excellent hunter.

***

Salwa had turned to make another coffee for herself. She did not answer immediately to what Faisal had said. Unfazed, she added water to the coffee and sugar, and put both down on the small stone stove. The rich scent of cardamom drifted through the small room.

“The Gospel of Esther, you say?” She stood with her back to him, stirring the coffee until it started to boil. She took it off the fire and poured it into another chipped porcelain cup. Then she turned around. Motioning towards a brass tray on a low, ornamental wood stand that served as a table, she nodded. “Why don’t you sit down?” It looked like her words snapped him from a rather pleasant daydream, and Salwa could not help but smile. She had a soft spot for the young archaeologist, and his affection for her flattered her. In the real world, his parents would probably rather have him dead than near a woman as herself.

She sat down cross-legged herself, holding her cup delicately in both hands. “It’s not mine, if that is what you were wondering.” She took a sip of coffee, gazing at him over the rim of her cup. “And I have not heard of anyone ever trying their hand at such an ambitious endeavour either.”

Salwa put the small porcelain cup down on the low wooden table between them. “Or are you trying to tell me that the document you speak of is the original? That the Gospel of Esther really has reappeared?” The excitement was clearly discernible on her pretty face. “Have you held it in your hands?” There was a strange glint in her silky black eyes as she looked at him intently, much as if she was trying to read the thoughts going through his mind. “Because if that is true, then we must not speak of a wind, hayati.” A soft breeze swept into the small room, ruffling loose sheets of paper strewn all over the floor and the bed. “If the gospel really is back, it will cause a violent thunderstorm that will leave destruction and death in its wake.” She was whispering, but the urgency in her voice was clear.

Then, as if sudden realisation hit her, Salwa frowned, obviously alarmed. “What is it then that you are here for? What do you want of me?”