The Trespass(76)

“What is this place?” he asked Mukannishum.

Mukannishum slotted the sceptre into a recess on the altar where it gleamed, reflecting the artificial light.

“This place?” Mukannishum smiled. “It was built by one of the first men to come to Africa. His name was Ham.”

Dracup felt a growing excitement in spite of his predicament. Noah’s sons: Shem, Ham and Japheth.

Mukannishum went on. “And he brought with him a reminder of his roots, a signpost to ensure he would never forget where his kin had settled, so that they could be found – if need be – in times to come.”

Dracup nodded. “The sceptre. Yes. Alpha and Omega – when brought together they complete the stanza that reveals the location of Ham’s brethren. His special brethren.” Dracup paused to gauge the reaction. “Ham, Shem and Japheth did what they were told, didn’t they? They moved away from the Ark and spread across the earth. But there was an elite band, a remnant of Noah’s family who were charged with the protection of something, sworn to the preservation of a treasure. And my grandfather found it – with the help of this ‘signpost’.”

“It is so.” Mukannishum’s eyes were black marbles in their deep, hooded sockets.

Dracup wondered how far he could push Mukannishum – too far and he could seal his fate immediately; not far enough and he might lose the only chance he had. He gestured towards the object on the altar. “Well, I have a question for you, then: if it’s so sacred to your people, why have you abandoned it here for so long?”

Mukannishum moved towards him with a lithe, darting motion. Dracup stood his ground. The zealot’s face was centimetres away, the whites of his eyes webbed with tiny rivulets of blood. A thread of spittle clung to the thin lips. “This is not something I would normally share with a godless Westerner, but as your life is at an end I will show you leniency and explain.” Mukannishum took a step back, his long body again performing that strange unfolding motion as he drew himself up to his full height. “It is written that in the fullness of time, the sceptre shall be made whole again and reunited with the one to whom it was given at the beginning.”

Dracup was listening. He was also looking for an escape route, but the encircling priests seemed to sense his intentions. They closed in, tightening the circle. He had to keep Mukannishum talking. “And that time is now?”

Mukannishum smiled, a cynical movement of his lips. “Yes. Our prophet has decreed it to be so.”

Dracup’s brain was racing. “And apart from my grandfather’s diary this is the only means by which your people can be traced, correct?”

“Correct.” Mukannishum opened his robe and slid out a small book. “And I have both Omega and the diary in my possession.”

Dracup could sense Mukannishum’s patience slipping away. But if he was going to die he wanted to die with answers. “Why my daughter?”

Mukannishum straightened to his full height. “She is not my responsibility,” he said dismissively. “The prophet will decide her fate.”

“Then take me to him. At least I deserve a hearing.”

Mukannishum threw back his head and laughed. “He is a thousand miles from you – in distance and in spirit.” Watching Dracup carefully, he added, “The girl is useful to him,” he added a final phrase that chilled Dracup’s heart, “in his service.”

Dracup grappled with his conflicting emotions. The words confirmed that she lived. But a thousand miles away? He felt despair seep through his body like a sedative and dug his fingernails into his palms, forcing himself to think. Keep talking, Dracup. Keep him talking. “The Americans have Alpha. They may still be able to trace you.”

“I doubt that,” Mukannishum leered. “I have already made provision to acquire your recently unearthed discovery. US intelligence has already proved itself less than competent. Alpha will be in my hands very soon. As is its sibling.” Mukannishum turned to the altar and unfixed the half-cross from its plinth. Laying it down carefully he produced a soft cloth from his bag and began folding the material this way and that across the object as if to protect it in transit. The priests, silent up to this point, began to murmur amongst themselves. Dracup eyed them with caution. Was this unexpected? They appeared surprised at Mukannishum’s actions. One stepped forward and grasped his arm, said something in the strange language Dracup had heard earlier that day. The gesture was unmistakable. It is not permitted.

Mukannishum whipped his arm from the point of contact. “Do not touch me,” he hissed in English. “Kadesh himself has decreed that the sign be returned to the Korumak.”