The Trespass(107)
“My name is Jassim.” Again the long vowel inflexion. “And it was not my will that brought your daughter here, but the desire of our leader.”
The sudden confirmation of Natasha’s presence was an electric jolt through Dracup’s body. He remembered Mukannishum’s whispered confession: the name of Kadesh. “Kadesh? You must take me to him.” He felt the tension in Jassim’s bearing. He was beginning to suspect that the man’s appearance on the surface was a solo initiative, but wondered whether he was acting merely out of curiosity or driven by some greater sense of urgency.
Jassim shook his head. “That would be unwise.” He reached into the folds of his garment. Dracup tensed. The brown hand reappeared. As it opened, Dracup gasped; in Jassim’s palm lay Sara’s moon and star necklace. “Your daughter is with my sister.”
“Your sis–?” Dracup was lost for words. And then he acknowledged the similarity in facial structure, the high cheekbones, the curve of the perfectly white teeth. “Sara?”
Jassim nodded. “They are both in great danger. You must do exactly as I say.”
Dracup swallowed. His throat was parched. “I have many questions.”
“But the answers may not serve your immediate need.” Jassim lifted his staff again and pointed at the reddening sun. “We wait until it has set. Then I will lead you down.”
The early evening brought with it a refreshing coolness and a spectacular sunset. Dracup watched as the sky was filled with a blaze of orange and red, sweeping colour across the clouds with the abandonment of some celestial surrealist painter. Jassim had quietly withdrawn to a nearby scattering of boulders and sat, staff in hand, apparently deep in thought.
Dracup puzzled over the non-appearance of Potzner. He wondered if the American might have sustained injuries in the airport attack. He thought of the Interpol woman and felt a pang of guilt that he hadn’t gone to her assistance. He reasoned that help had been at hand, but also acknowledged – with some discomfort – that he had acted out of sheer, blind instinct. He found one of Bishop’s chocolate bars and broke off a piece. It was partially melted, sticking to the foil. As the sweet taste filled his mouth his ears strained at the sound of approaching engines. Jassim seemed unperturbed, gazing out onto the plain, moving his staff languidly back and forth between his hands. A minute or so passed and the sound faded; whatever machine was responsible for the distant drone was clearly on some other flight path. Dracup, however, was under no illusions; sooner or later Potzner et al. would be paying Tell A23 a visit. He bit his lip. He had to trust Jassim’s judgement.
The heavenly light show gradually faded and the shadows of the Tells fell darkly across the parched soil. Jassim walked over to join him. He seemed preoccupied and tense, in a hurry to begin the descent. “It is time. Let us face our futures, and may God be our judge.”
Dracup followed Jassim to the base of the Tell and along its rubble-strewn length. At the northernmost point a natural formation of rock was buttressed up against the body of the mound, and as they drew nearer Dracup could see a number of elongated fissures in its composition; these scars ran vertically upwards until they eventually disappeared into the clumps of sparse vegetation adhering to the Tell’s summit. They were unlikely portals to the hidden world underground, and yet Dracup was unsurprised to see Jassim squeeze his tall body through the second of these fault lines and disappear from sight.
He followed suit, and discovered that the gap widened significantly as he progressed, to the extent that he soon found himself standing in a circular clearing, overarched high above by an odd fusion of natural geology and derelict architecture. In front of him, set into the ground like a series of puckered mouths, was a triad of sink holes, openings into the body of the Tell. Jassim waited by the central hole, signalling impatiently with his staff. Dracup joined him and peered into the depths. A waft of warm, perfumed air emanated from the deep. It recalled, oddly, the sensation of standing at the top of the high escalator at Holborn tube station; there was the smell and feel of humanity somewhere in the depths, the sensation of unseen activity. Dracup’s heart hammered against his ribs. Jassim was talking, his voice an urgent whisper.
“I can descend with you only part of the way. Then our paths must diverge.”
“Diverge? How do you expect me to –?”
“I expect nothing, Professor Dracup. I must attend to my responsibilities. The hour of trial is almost upon us. I must play my part.” Jassim’s face was grim. “Take the steps where they will lead you. The passages will be clear at this time; our people are gathered in one place.”