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are. But people still read them. And they watch his programmes too. And some of them will no doubt be prompted to learn more, maybe even come here to find the truth for themselves. All we need is enough traffic to support a tourist infrastructure.’
    ‘They said something about me going with them to Amarna tomorrow.’
    Fatima nodded. ‘I’m sorry to land that on you,’ she said. ‘But my doctor came today. He’s not happy with my … prognosis .’
    ‘Oh, no,’ said Gaille wretchedly. ‘Oh, Fatima.’
    ‘I’m not looking for sympathy,’ she said sharply. ‘I’m explaining the situation. He’s ordered me to hospital tomorrow for tests. So I won’t be able to accompany Stafford as I’d promised. Someone must take my place. I’ve already banked my fee and I assure you I’m not paying it back.’
    ‘Why not one of the others?’ asked Gaille. ‘They know more than I do.’
    ‘No they don’t. You spent two seasons excavating Amarna with your father, didn’t you?’
    ‘I was only a teenager. It was over a decade ago.’
    ‘So? None of my people have spent anything like that much time there. And you studied the Eighteenth Dynasty at the Sorbonne, didn’t you? And haven’t you just been back there with Knox? Besides, we both know that Western audiences will respond more positively to a Western face, a Western voice.’
    ‘He’ll make it seem like I’m endorsing his ideas.’
    ‘You won’t be.’
    ‘I know I won’t be. But that’s how he’ll make it look. He’ll take what he needs and ignore everything else. He’ll make me a laughing stock.’
    ‘Please.’ Fatima touched her wrist. ‘You don’t know how tight our budget is. Once I’m gone—’
    Gaille winced. ‘Don’t talk like that.’
    ‘It’s the truth, my dear. I need to leave this project in good financial health. It’s my legacy. And that means raising the profile of this region. I’m asking you to help. If you feel you can’t, I suppose I could always postpone my tests.’
    Gaille blinked and clenched her jaw. ‘That’s unfair, Fatima.’
    ‘Yes,’ she agreed.
    The wall-clock ticked away the seconds. Gaille finally let out her breath. ‘Fine,’ she sighed. ‘You win. What exactly do you want me to do?’
    ‘Just be helpful. That’s all. Help them make a good programme. And I want you to show them the talatat too.’
    ‘No!’ cried Gaille. ‘You can’t be serious.’
    ‘Can you think of a better way to generate publicity?’
    ‘It’s too early. We can’t be anything like sure. If it turns out we’re wrong—’
    Fatima nodded. ‘Just show them the place, then. Explain how your image software works, how you recreate those old scenes after all these centuries. Leave everything else to me. My doctor insists I eat, after all. I’ll join you for dinner tonight. That way, if anyone’s made a laughing stock over this, it’ll be me.’

SEVEN
    I
    Night fell as Knox and Omar headed back towards the excavation site, avoiding the route they’d taken before, wary of being spotted. They took farm tracks instead, crossing a wooden bridge over another irrigation channel into a field, then navigating by moonlight until their further progress was balked by a high stone wall. By his reckoning, the Texas Society site lay across a lane just the other side. He trundled on a short distance until he spotted a padlocked steel gate, rolled to a stop.
    His white shirt glowed treacherously in the moonlight when he got out of the Jeep, so he rummaged in the back for a dark polo-neck jersey for himself, found a jacket for Omar too. Then he patted his pockets to make sure he had his camera-phone, and set off. A bird hooted and flapped lazily away as they climbed the gate. They crossed the lane, reached the irrigation channel. Knox grinned at Omar, enjoying himself, but Omar only grimaced in response, his discomfort clear.
    Knox clambered down the near bank, taking a cascade of earth and stone with him, stepped across the dank ribbon