The Messiah Secret - James Becker [69]
‘The Egyptians mummified bulls?’ Bronson asked, surprised. ‘I thought it was only cats.’
Angela nodded. ‘They mummified a lot of animals, actually. Bulls and cows were the biggest, cats were probably the most popular, and they also mummified birds, especially hawks and ibis.’
The road they were on was called the Kornaish El Nile, which they guessed meant ‘Corniche of the Nile’, and as they passed the built-up area on their left, the road moved slightly away from the bank of the river before swinging back towards it. As they cleared the urbanization, they passed a bridge over the Nile.
‘That’s the first crossing point of the river we’ve seen since we left Cairo itself,’ Bronson said.
‘Yes. According to this map, that’s the El Marazeek Bridge,’ Angela replied. ‘But there are plenty of other bridges further south. Just keep going on this road.’
Within a couple of miles, the river had swung away from them, over to the west, and the road was taking them slightly to the east, so they lost sight of the Nile altogether. The traffic had thinned considerably, though there were still about a dozen cars in sight in front of them, and at least that number behind, and a fairly steady stream of vehicles heading towards them. The open road and less frantic driving conditions meant Bronson could relax a little. He glanced over at Angela, who appeared lost in thought; he guessed she was thinking about their search and the dangers surrounding them. He knew he’d have to be extra vigilant if they were going to stay safe.
On the right-hand side of the road he saw a sign displaying the universally recognized symbol of a wasp-waisted bottle and a word beside it in Arabic script, which he guessed meant ‘Coke’.
‘I could do with a drink after all we’ve been through this morning,’ he said, ‘and it looks like there’s a café or a bar somewhere ahead. Shall we stop?’
About half a mile further on Bronson pulled up outside a bar that was little more than an old and dusty shack. But they heard the sound of a generator running somewhere behind the structure, so at least the drinks should be cool. This, he thought, was a priority. If he was going to spend the day being a chauffer and bodyguard, he was going to make sure he wasn’t thirsty.
33
The sun was high in the sky by the time Killian had taken both paintings out of their frames and then systematically reduced the frames to matchwood. The obvious place to hide a small piece of paper or parchment was within a secret compartment somewhere in the heavily gilded wood that surrounded and supported each picture, he reasoned, so he’d started by examining the frames themselves, looking for any writing or marks on the wood itself that might be relevant. But both the fronts and the backs of the two frames were virtually unmarked. Killian had checked every crack and line he could see, searching for the compartment he was certain was hidden there, but no panels or drawers sprang open under his probing.
Then he’d broken the first frame, pulling apart the joints and separating the four component parts. He’d examined each of them individually, breaking the lengths of wood apart until he was surrounded by splinters and chunks of wood, and flakes of gilt paint covered the blanket like golden confetti. But still he found nothing.
He repeated the process with the second frame, with precisely the same result. There was nothing hidden inside the frame of either picture. Only then did he turn his attention to the paintings themselves.
The reverse sides of the two oil paintings appeared normal in every way. The canvases were mounted on oblong wooden stretchers, the fabric pulled taut and secured in place using short tacks. As far as Killian could see, there were no marks on the wood itself, and nothing on the rear of the canvas. The only other place Bartholomew could possibly have concealed the text of the parchment was on the face of the wooden stretcher, the part that lay hidden underneath the canvas of the painting itself.
Killian took a broad-bladed