Not long afterwards, the black Lexus came for him. He offered up his Jericho to the two taciturn men in suits, and they ushered him into the back. After days of harsh desert driving, the smooth, air-conditioned Lexus felt like something out of a different world. Ben rested against the cool leather as the car whisked him the eighty miles north to the nearest airfield.

From there, a light Cessna Mustang jet flew him up the Nile, over Cairo and northwest towards the Mediterranean coast and the port city of Alexandria.

Ben had to admire Paxton’s organisation. He’d barely stepped off the plane when another car sped him away across the city. They passed the new Bibliotheca Alexandria, rebuilt two thousand years after the greatest library of the ancient world had been burnt to the ground, and then followed the road up the long jetty of the Eastern Harbour. The car dropped Ben off, and he sat and watched the hundreds of boats passing by across the blue water.

Then, cutting through the busy port traffic, a white motor launch burbled to the pier and its pilot stepped out. He spotted Ben standing on the dock, spoke briefly on a phone, then started walking over.

It was Berg.

Ben’s hands were shaking as he walked to meet him.

‘Mr Paxton is anxious to meet you again,’ Berg grinned.

Ben wanted to rip the look off the man’s face. Instead he calmly walked past him up the jetty and stepped down into the launch. He sat in silence as Berg fired up the outboards and piloted the launch skilfully between the fishing boats and out of the harbour. The sea was flat and vivid blue, and the sky was cloudless.

After twenty minutes, a white dot appeared on the horizon and grew steadily larger. The twin-masted cruising yacht was resting serenely at anchor, her graceful ninety-foot hull swaying gently on the rise and fall of the sea. As they came nearer, Ben could make out the name Eclipse on the yacht’s stern. The vessel was tiny compared to the Scimitar, and he couldn’t see any crew on her deck as the launch drew up alongside. It looked as though it was just going to be him, Paxton and Berg, all alone.

He waited until the launch was a foot from the yacht’s side, grabbed a rail and hauled himself on board. Berg tethered up the launch and followed him on deck, eyeing him coldly.

‘So where is he?’ Ben asked. ‘Let’s get this done.’

‘Here I am, Benedict,’ said a familiar voice, and Ben turned to see Paxton sauntering casually up the companionway from below, a long drink in his hand. He looked cool and relaxed. ‘You look as though you’ve been in the wars.’

‘I’m not here for conversation.’ Ben reached into his bag, took out the wrapped statuette and tossed it down on the deck with a heavy thud.

Paxton stepped over to pick it up, and smiled when he felt the weight of it in his hand. He started unravelling the dirty cloth.

‘It’s not lead,’ Ben said.

‘I’m sure it isn’t,’ Paxton replied as he yanked away the cloth and the gold caught the sun. He looked up at Ben. ‘Magnificent. So it was all true.’

‘Yes, Harry, it was all true.’

‘Then, for once in his miserable life, Helen’s bastard son did something right. And what about the rest?’

‘I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.’ Ben took out the phone and tossed it to him. ‘I took pictures.’

Paxton quickly found the photos and the video clip, and spent a few moments studying them keenly. Ben could see the same look in his eyes that he’d seen in Kirby’s when the gold fever had taken hold of his mind.

Silence across the deck, just the whisper of the sea. Berg walked around Ben and stood at Paxton’s side, gazing impassively at him. Ben ignored him.

Paxton scrolled through the last of the pictures. ‘What’s this?’

‘The map,’ Ben replied quietly. ‘Drawn thousands of years ago by the High Priest who hid the treasure. You don’t want to know the details.’

Paxton frowned. ‘This is gibberish. It’s all hieroglyphics.’

‘Don’t get yourself all worked up, Harry.’ Ben dipped into his pocket and took out the folded note that he’d written on the plane. Across the top of the headed paper was printed the banner ‘Paxton Enterprises’. Underneath, in neat capitals, was Ben’s translation of the clues. He handed it to Paxton. ‘Now you have everything,’ he said.

Paxton’s frown melted away as he scanned the note, then folded it. Lying on one of the deck seats nearby was a little leather pouch. He picked it up, slipped the paper into it together with the phone, and closed the zipper. ‘Thank you, Benedict. And well done. I knew you wouldn’t let me down. I certainly chose the right man for the job.’

‘Great. Now where is she?’

‘You mean my wife?’ Paxton replied with mock innocence.

‘We had a deal,’ Ben said. ‘Remember?’

‘I remember,’ Paxton said. ‘But there’s no deal, Benedict.’

Ben shook his head. ‘That’s not how it works.’

‘It works any way I say it does,’ Paxton said. ‘I’m in control here, not you.’

‘Where is she?’ Ben said again.

‘Somewhere you won’t find her,’ Paxton said.

Berg grinned.

Ben tried not to look at him. His fists balled at his sides. ‘You really are a piece of shit, aren’t you, Harry?’

‘I told you what I do to people who are disloyal to me,’ Paxton said. ‘I meant what I said.’

Berg grinned more broadly.

Ben’s stomach churned. For a terrible moment the image of the three severed heads danced up in his mind’s eye. Then the picture of the mutilated body of Linda Downey. Except he was seeing Zara’s face on it. The glassy blue eyes, lifeless and unblinking. Blonde hair matted with dried blood. He tried to shake the image out of his mind, but it stayed there right in the foreground.

He suddenly wanted to vomit. They’d killed her. They’d kept her alive long enough to give proof of life, and then slaughtered her.

He closed his eyes and felt himself rocking on his feet. Reached out a hand to steady himself with the rail at his side.

When he opened his eyes, he found himself staring down the muzzles of two pistols. In his right hand Paxton was holding the same 9mm SIG Pro that he’d pointed at Ben in Paris, the leather pouch in his left. Berg was holding a massive Desert Eagle semi-auto with a barrel diameter half an inch across.

‘We’re going to shoot you,’ Paxton said. ‘Then we’re going to feed your body to the sharks. But, before you die, Berg is going to tell you exactly what he did to my dear wife. In detail.’

Chapter Fifty-Eight

That was it, then. Paxton had beaten him. He should have known. Should never have gone looking for the damned treasure.

‘Just shoot me,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to hear.’

‘Of course you don’t,’ Paxton replied with a smile. ‘But you’re going to nonetheless.’ He turned to Berg. ‘Come on. Tell our friend what you told me.’

Berg’s eyes glittered. He opened his mouth to speak.

Then he stopped. His mouth opened wider, and he drew in a sharp breath. A tremor seemed to run through his body, making him sway on his feet. His eyeballs turned inwards as he tried to focus on the strange object that had suddenly appeared low down in the middle of his forehead.

It was the three-bladed steel triangular point of a hunting arrow, protruding four inches from his skull.

Berg dropped like a tree and landed with a crunch on his face. The Desert Eagle slid across the deck. The slim arrow shaft embedded in the back of his head was still quivering from the impact of the shot.

But Ben wasn’t watching Berg any more. He was staring as Zara emerged from the companionway hatch behind where the man had been standing. In a summery white cotton dress that emphasised her tan, her hair catching the sunlight, she looked even more beautiful than before. In her hand was the bow she’d been shooting the first time he’d ever seen her, and a quiver full of arrows hung at her side. Her eyes caught Ben’s.