In the Eye of the Storm

11. Secret Cases

We were casting off. Sailors were hurrying over the deck, ropes in their hands, and commands were being shouted. Mr Ambrose stood on the quarterdeck, arms folded, face as stony as ever. Beside him stood the captain, and although he was the one shouting commands, there was no doubt who was really in command here.

'So, are you going to tell me now?' I demanded, taking my place beside the stony financial magnate.

'Tell you what, Mr Linton?'

'Why we are on this blasted cockleshell, of course! Why are we going to travel a thousand miles to Egypt?'

'Three thousand, six hundred and fifteen point one three seven six miles, actually.'

'Why the hell would I care how many miles there are? Just tell me!'

There was silence for a moment.

'Anchors aweigh!'

That didn't come from Mr Ambrose, but from the captain. I was still waiting for my answer. Finally, he unclenched his teeth.

'Fine!'

With a masterly flick of his hand, he motioned for the captain to move. With a prompt salute, the man stepped out of hearing range.

'You remember the plans that were stolen from my office?'

I cocked my head thoughtfully. 'The plans for that canal between the Red Sea and the Mediterranean that was supposed to give you control over most of the world's trade? The plans we risked our lives to retrieve? The plans that sank with that bloody ship that almost drowned us, too? Yes, I think I remember those.'

He threw me a dark look.

'The planning of that canal isn't my first attempt at establishing trade between the Red Sea and the Mediterranean. Years ago, I already established a caravan route across the Sinai Peninsula.'

I frowned. 'Then why build a canal at all?'

He threw another look my way. This was the arrogant look of a man who makes millions as easily as other people make breakfast, and expects everyone to have the same ability. 'Are you sure you have your brain switched on, Mr Linton? At the moment, my goods have to be unloaded from one ship in the Mediterranean, then packed onto camels and carried at a painstakingly slow pace all the way through the desert, only to be loaded onto ships again when they reach the Red Sea. The same goes for transporting things in the other direction. Something like that is only profitable or feasible for small, light luxury goods, not for heavy industrial goods, let alone raw materials.'

'Yes.'

'What do you mean, "Yes"?'

I raised an eyebrow. 'I mean yes, I do have my brain switched on, Sir.'

'Then use it!'

'I intend to. If your caravan route is already up and running, why are we going to Egypt?'

'That's just it.' Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw Mr Ambrose's hands curl into fists. 'It is not running. At least it does not seem to be at the moment. While we were away, trying to retrieve the plans for the canal from Lord Dalgliesh, this arrived at my office.'

Pulling an envelope out of his pocket, he held it up for me to see. The sharp wind blowing around us tugged at it, trying to pull it out of his hand. In spite of the paper's bending and fluttering, I could make out a strange, curly script all over it, and on the sheets of paper peeking out.

'What is that?'

'A letter from my agent in Alexandria, Mr Linton, telling me that my caravans across the Sinai Peninsula have recently been subject to raids.'