“Two Shorten the Road” - an old Irish proverb

CAIRO MAIN TELEGRAPH OFFICE 13:46 - 8 MARCH 1924 TO: LADY EVELYN HERBERT FROM: HOWARD CARTER FLYNN ARRESTED IN CAIRO ATTEMPTING TO BUY TICKET STOP STOLE UNRETRIEVED FUNERY ARTIFACTS FROM TUTANKHAMEN TOMB STOP REFUSES TO SAY WHERE HE SOLD THEM STOP EGYPTIAN POLICE AFFAIR STOP OUT OF MY HANDS STOP

Carter wasn't happy with Jacks appointment. While he wasn't the sort to actively cause trouble for Jack, using the miles between himself and Evie as a way of avoiding doing anything more than sending a telegram was right up his street. After hurried phone calls to her cohorts in Cairo, Evie sat under a blanket in the back of the ruby red bespoke Rolls-Royce Phantom 1, biting a nail, worried about what might be.

Amy too was on the phone. Petrie was nowhere to be found, supposedly camped near Aswan he is out of contact with the civilised world. Just the way he likes it.

Madeleine muses over post, and puts pen to paper herself.

It is midnight when Morton gets a call at the bar in The Grovenor. He's on his second Bourbon and Sarah's story catches him unawares. He sighs to himself. Well, at least the daft Mick'll owe him one after this; but it's not like Flynn to get himself caught, never mind locked up in a Cairo prison. He pays for what's left of the bottle and heads for the train station.

Things are thrown together in a hurry, but with practiced efficiency. Sarah heads immediately home to Sussex where there is a letter waiting. She has her former RAF (cargo converted) twin Rolls-Royce Eagle VIII four-seater Handley Page 0/400, gassed up, wings unfolded, and filled with tinned food, practical all weather travelling kit and chamber pots when Evie and Morton arrive next day.

In the same hour, Flora arrives also. Pushing an envelope of money into Sarah's hand, she watches from the ground as they taxi to the main field.

Heading east they first flew to Paris, landing and refuelling with the help of Sarah's friend at the former French Air Force base and now Morane-Saulnier company private airfield in Villacoublay. From there they flew to in Italy, stopping for a day in a field near Milan so that Sarah could get some sleep while Morton made a fire and shot Bud bottles from a wall. Evie traded for fresh eggs and rough Chianti with the locals.

Next, the three days to Greece, delayed at Crete by a broken wing strut from bird-strike over the Atlantic. Had it not been for Morton's belt and Sarah's skill in wrestling the 12,000 pound aircraft safely onto a patch of rocky terra-firma (not much wider than the planes 100ft wingspan), the journey would have stopped there. Expertly done mused Evelyn, especially considering that in its operational days the 0/400 would have required a working crew of three.

From Greece they flew the plane dry, 650 air miles, getting to know each other and singing Yankee show-tunes through the long cold night. Morton found himself surprised by Lady Herberts all-round hardiness, born of a life of travel and of following her fathers footsteps into the Sahara. They landed near Giza, having traversed the open desert in the early hours of Sunday morning. Evie recognised the cream and grey six-cylinder Renault 40CV Type JP waiting by the runway, holding the sleeping Imran Il Shidi, Lord Caernarfon's former chauffeur in Cairo who had been alerted by Evies hurried phone call from England.

As Morton and Imran loaded the baggage into the car, Imran explained what he had learnt. Jack was being held at the central jail in Cairo . He was not allowed visitors but Imran believed that Mr. Slim had made arrangements to talk to Yukman Hip Phlemsi, the governor of Cairo jail, earlier that afternoon. Imran drove to the Mena House Hotel and at the bar by the pool they met with Chester.

Slim had been busy since Evie's call and informs them, over a glass of orange Amer Picon, that Phlemsi is one of the vilest little men with whom he's ever had the displeasure of sharing a handshake. He tells the others that charges have been brought against Mr. Flynn by a Frenchman called De' Lacy, Jean Francoise De' Lacy. Evie recognises the name, damned if he's not an archivist who works for one Gaston Camille Charles Maspero…

Eventually, Sarah felt obliged to ask the question. “Er, who is Maspero”? Morton and Evie explained, while Chester poured. Morton had heard that Maspero had begun studying Egyptology at the tender age of 14. Evie, or her father if truth be known, knew him professionally. Though a French Egyptologist, born in Paris, Maspero had been named as the director of the first Egyptian Antiquities Museum, in Bulaq in the city in which they were currently staying. A very influential man and, one could say, entirely above suspicion. Evie had also heard that Carter owed a degree of his career to Maspero, which, as Slim mentioned, would probably explain a few things.

Maspero, in 1899, was impressed enough by Howard's progress to place him in charge of the Monuments of Upper Egypt and Nubia, affording Carter his base of operations at Thebes. Evie also mentioned that when Carter had been out of work, Maspero had brought her father and Carter together. It was Maspero who had advised the Earl that he should have the services of an expert archaeologist for his excavations and suggested Howard, but Evie now found herself beginning to question the mans motives. The two men, Carnarvon and Carter, had worked together from 1907, except during the war, until her father's death the previous year.

Evie added solemnly that, according to Carter, Maspero was the one who had pulled a gun on him and stolen several items from Tut's tomb. It was one of these items, a necklace (18th Dynasty according to Mr. Braddock), that had turned up in Sir Reginald's will with her name on it. She reached into her handbag, the one that Guccio sold her in Florence, and pulled out the photograph. Evelyn explained that Maspero had taken something from the tomb, before it was officially opened, and had left the contents of this picture with Carter. Probably by way of a "pay-off" mused Chester.

Sarah showed Chester and the others the letter she received from Madeleine. It describes a communication Madeleine had received from Jack saying that he was being watched and had found something important. Things begin to fall into place. Morton has a nose for this kind of stuff, he knew Jack well enough to guess that he would have got whatever he had taken as far away from Giza as possible. The question is where would a thick headed Mick like Flynn have hidden it?

Breakfast found Morton and Chester at the table early. As the ladies were yet to rise they decided to head out early and, after a brief stop to shake down a few of Chester's old contacts, they soon had a Cairo address, near the museum in Tahrir square, for De' Lacy . Lacking subtlety, but not braverey, Morton put his boot through the side door and entered to find the gentlemen still in his bed. De' Lacy made a run for the street but Chester was ready, sat in the wicker chair on the back porch, to trip the pyjamad Frenchman to the ground with the careful placement of his cane. Morton dragged him back inside and fastened him firmly into an armchair.

Breakfast found Evelyn and Sarah at the table later than usual. It had been a long journey and they had taken some leisure in hot baths and the arms of Morphius. When they were told that their companions had left for the city they resolved to not sit idle and, after persuading the faithful Imran Il Shidi that visiting the prison would not result in “dangers untold”, they left the hotel in the JP at ten. The dry streets where hot and busy at this time of day, teaming with the life of this great city. The sounds of the market and of the faithful called to prayer. Timeless buildings hung with clothing and dried food, at counterpoint with the flurry of banners proclaiming Fuad the new King of Egypt. The streets around the prison still held long shadows in the approaching midday sun as the grey sandy edifice came crawled into view.

Morton pulled a stick of dynamite from his jacket, dropped it into the Frenchmen's lap so that the fuse was sticking out of the waistband of his pyjama trousers, and lit a cigar. De' Lacy sang like a Welsh choir at Christmas. He was indeed working for Maspero and Maspero had told him to keep his eyes open. He was to acquire anything bearing “...the symbol of a black sun” and to let Maspero know immediately.

De' Lacy would have been paid handsomely but Jack had pulled a fast one on him, he must have been on to him, and he had had to get the authorities involved to stop him leaving the country. It should have been a simple affair, but the item was nowhere to be found and an almighty fuss had been made, and Maspero was not happy.

He didn't know why Maspero wanted with these items and, despite Morton being particularly persuasive, really didn't seem to know any more. Morton helped himself to De' Lacy's brandy and calmly insisted that the Frenchman drop the charges against Jack but it was now too late, this was now a local police matter and De' Lacy was right out of the picture. Slim told the Frenchman to leave town, it wasn't safe for him here anymore, especially if they managed to get Jack off the hook.

It did not take the ladies long to get the attention of Yukman Hip Phlemsi. A woman in a Cairo prison, save for the wives and prostitutes of the guards, was a rare event indeed. When those women are pretty English girls, it is doubly so. Phlemsi, his sweating unshaven form filling his chair, was enchanted almost instantly. Enchanted that was, until they told him why they were here. It seemed that Jack was being held on a charge of theft and, now, assault.

While being “questioned”, recalled Phlemsi, Jack had broken a warder's wrist and kicked another man “in a place where he will now never start a family”. Lost though this comment appeared to be on the ladies it sounded terribly serious and, after an hour of persuading Phlemsi to let them see him, they were shown to a miserable and stinking cell block. Jack was tied to the floor by a steel neck collar, his back bare and brutally flogged, covered in dirt and dried blood. His face was bruised, as where his ribs. He smiled as they walked in and dragged himself up to the bars.

“Nice ta see ya' ladies. Sarah, ya lookin' pretty as picture. Hello there Lady Evelyn, sorry about all this, oh, nice hat. This is a dangerous place girls, you shouldn't have come. I'm damn glad that you have but ya shouldn't have come”. His usual blasé Irish charm washed with neither of them, not here. Sarah, found a smile, “You look a mess Flynn. But it's good to see you too, especially in one piece”.

“Ahh, was that why ya here. Worried that when they cut my hand off this afternoon our friend's going to make a mess of Cairo are we. You tell your bookworm not to worry, I'll still be havin' one hand left for him to draw on”. “The though did cross our mind. But no, that's not the only reason why we're here. You look awful.” Evelyn, ever the one for not beating about the bush, turned to Jacks jailer and offered him the money. She'd done this a million times.

The deal is simple, she had money, everyone has a price, and you always start at a quarter of what you think they'll want, for what you want. You always finish paying half or three quarters, everyone's happy. Phlemsi really didn't know who he was dealing with. Pretty English girl offering money, he had no defence. He'd make the paperwork go away. Jack would be punished on paper only and Evelyn counted Flora's money into his happy sticky paw. Records would show that he was punished and released this evening and, Phlemsi assured them with the air of a man who has done this many times before, no one would be any the wiser. Phlemsi gave her the key and Sarah and Imran supported Jack between them on the way back through the prison, the jailer counting his money again as he escorted them to the car.

Chester had already spoken to Jacks Cairo tailor and they all dressed for dinner. Jack, seemingly much recovered for a bath and a shave, apologised for dragging them into this but was surprised they hadn't read the letter he'd sent Madeleine. Sarah explained that Madeleine had written to her, telling her he might be in trouble and that he'd need a fast plane to fly west when he got back. Jack explained that he had found a jar bearing the mark or their infamous “sun-symbol”, but not the one on Waylons bottles. This symbol had been plain with no markings inside the sun. As he drank his Jamesons he told them how he posted it somewhere safe, just before he was captured. It dawned on Morton immediately. West from Liverpool, yes, and he'd hide it where it'd be safest, a church maybe, ah, but what could be safer to and Irishman than the place where he grew up. “You sent it to your orphanage”, he said out loud. Jack scowled at him across the table, “Damn you're good Bradock”, and filled Mortons glass for him. “Well then,” said Sarah, “next stop Dublin?”

“Aye”, said Jack, “but where's that bugger De' Lacy first?”

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